Torn
by Dooba
Summary: Bella Swan has survived a living hell, twice. She no longer speaks. Nobody ever listened. The Cullen family take her into their care. Bella fights to leave her past behind, but will she be able to let love in? AH M-rated for violence, content, language
1. Chapter 1

**A/N I don't own Twilight**

_Before you read this story, please read my warning carefully. This story is completely different from the sweetness I've written before.  
_

_This story contains dark themes such as abuse and violence. It deals with the aftermath of child abuse. If you are a victim of abuse, I suggest you consider carefully before you read this. There will be NO graphic descriptions of the abuse, but implications will be made. I try to focus on emotions in this story, because that's what it's all about in the end. If you have any questions, remarks or you just want to talk, do not hesitate to send me a private message. I will always read with care and reply in kind.  
_

_Summary: Bella Swan is 17 and has known nothing but misery in her life. The Cullen family take her into her care, as both Bella's therapist Renee and Cullen-father Carlisle strongly believe that 'this time, it will be right'. Bella fights to accept the love and trust of her new family, while constantly being betrayed by her body and her memories. Will she be able to let love in?_

_Mood music: Linkin Park - In the End; Maria Mena - Nevermind Me; Mika - Any Other World.  
_

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**_~Prologue~_**

**_BPOV_**

"Bella? Bella, wake up. Bella? Can you hear me?"

A soft woman's voice breaks through my sleeping daze and I force myself to open my eyes. I have to blink a few times to clear my vision.

A ceiling, too close above me. The space I am in is altogether too small. I panic and get up, only to find I am constrained. I can't move my hips.

Panic levels rising, I gasp in a breath that is almost too large for my lungs. My body doesn't give me time to breathe out as I gasp for air again. My hands fly to my neck, my eyes are widening.

_W__here the hell am I? Why can't I move?_

"Bella? Look at me. Look at me, Bella," the woman's voice beside me keeps pleading. I realize she's been speaking to me ever since I woke up and started panicking.

I'm hyperventilating just a tad too much to be really able to listen to her, though.

She doesn't give up. Renée never gives up on me. She sits beside me, her big brown eyes full of trust and reassurance, I see when I finally meet her gaze.

"Count with me," Renée says softly. "Here we go. One: you're okay. Two: you're on a plane. You're buckled in, that's why you can't move. Three: You are on your way to Forks, Washington. Four: Your feet are firmly on the ground. Five: you are breathing regularly. Six: your heart rate is slowing down. Seven:…"

As I look unblinking at Renée and silently count with her, my eyes fill up with tears. I'll miss her. I'll miss her so much. The counting method was her idea to help me ground when I'm upset. Start with knowing where you are, then counting your way up to breathing normally and being able to face the world again. And it works, right now it works again. My breathing slows, I get myself in check once more.

She is the only therapist that ever got through to me. And now she is leaving me, too.

Things have gone so fast. After being saved from Laurent at the age of fourteen, I finally got to settle with a family in Phoenix. My foster parents, Stefan and Irina, had been so nice at first. There had been hopes of adoption.

They had two other foster kids, Heidi and Peter. I didn't really like them and we left each other alone, mostly. They came from broken homes, too. Heidi took the art of being a bitch to a whole new level. I learned to stay out of her way when I found my books burnt in the fireplace. It wasn't like we could talk with each other about it, or something.

But then Irina miscarried again and she just collapsed or something. It was like her light went out. She got real nasty with us. She made it damn sure that I knew I was worth nothing. She got so depressed eventually that she had to be committed to a mental hospital. Heidi and Peter were replaced swiftly, but they couldn't find a suitable home for me quickly enough.

It took seven months. Glitch in the matrix, file went lost, computer crashed, and I just had to wait. I didn't tell Renee what was going on. I couldn't. From the second week after Irina was hospitalized Stefan got lonely and drunk and all hell broke loose and history repeated itself on me. I thought it was just my deal in this life, so at first I wasn't even that alarmed by it. The beatings were just physical pain. But then when he started to come to my bed at night, it was harder to ignore. It was like it had been before, with Laurent, but somehow worse. One night, I snapped.

Although I couldn't tell her what happened, Renée had understood immediately when I showed up at her house at 2 am on a Saturday night. She brought me to the hospital and I could stay with her for the couple of weeks it took her to find me a new home.

She looked apologetic when she told me she'd found the perfect family for me.

In Forks, Washington.

I cried.

She showed me pictures of the family. They did seem very nice. A young couple with three children of their own and two adoptive kids. They were all exceedingly handsome.

I cried.

I would leave in two days.

I cried some more.

And now here I am, in a plane, on my way to yet another new life. I must have fallen asleep, which alarms me. I have let down my guard, falling asleep in a strange environment. This is a dangerous mistake. I scold myself for being so careless.

I sit up a little. My breathing is regular again, my hart rate has settled back to somewhat normal. I look at my watch.

"We will land in twenty minutes," Renée says softly.

She was the one that insisted on joining me on my trip from Phoenix to Forks. Although I hate that she is going through so much trouble for me, I like that she came along. Both for having her near me and for not having to travel alone.

I sit back and close my eyes. I breathe steadily and count along in my head.

In, one two; out, one two.

"You're doing great," Renée says reassuringly. "Shall I tell you what will happen when we land?"

I nod, not opening my eyes. The soft drum of the airplane is almost reassuring. Like being on a bus, maybe.

I listen to Renée's words, telling me that after we land, we'll go to collect my luggage. Then we will go to the exit, where Carlisle and Esme will be waiting for me. It will be just them, none of their other children. Renée warns me gently that the airport will be crowded with people and that some will likely bump into me. They won't mean me any harm.

I'm not so sure about that, but what am I going to say? Renée seems certain of herself.

I'm Bella Swan. I'm seventeen years old and I've survived a living hell. Twice. The price I had to pay for that? The first time, I lost my willingness to speak. The second time, I almost lost my ability to.

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_Tell me what you think and if you think it is worth it to continue this story :)_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N I don't own twilight. **

_Given the response I got to my first chapter, I'm giving you the second one shortly after_._ Thank you all so very much that you have faith in my story. Makes me nervous about meeting your expectations. Next updates will take more time. There's such a thing as real life that demans attention._

_In retrospect, I'm not very happy with this chapter. But, I'm trying to get into Bella's skin and in this chapter, she wasn't really letting me. So, few words are used. Bella's mind is a chaos and she's so confused... I cried with her when I wrote this._

Your mood music:_ Linkin Park - Crawling; Evanescence - Whisper; __Maria Mena - Shadow._In that order. Gives you an inkling of Bella's emotions along the way.

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Chapter 2.

Carlisle and Esme are as nice as they looked in the picture. Carlisle is a stunningly handsome blond man with a charisma that blows you away. Esme is easily as pretty, with caramel hair and gentle brown eyes. She just radiates love, I don't know how else to put it. They wear expensive clothes, but don't act like they're rich. I know they are, though. They are quiet, but not reserved.

You can tell that Carlisle is a doctor. It's some sort of air about him. Even if I didn't know this about him, I would be able to guess it. And he's a dad in every fibre of his being. He could be casted for this role in a movie, easily. Esme doesn't work, she's a full time mom. With five teenage children — soon to be six — this is nothing special. For the first time, I wonder what my new siblings will be like. Will they be very hard to deal with? Right now, I'm too tired to be wary of the upcoming fights.

Carlisle and Esme. Their gentleness gets on my nerves a little. Mostly because I can tell it's _genuine_. Gah. I'd rather have cold and distant. At least I know how to handle that.

We have drinks at a diner at the airport. They bring me hot chocolate, but I don't drink it. I rather not eat or drink with people around me. Plus hot liquids kind of hurt to swallow. Carlisle and Renée talk and I see that Renée gives Carlisle my file.

He knows everything about me, I have been told. I cannot meet his eyes.

Esme knows, too. She looks at me with searching eyes, but she doesn't try to make conversation, fortunately. I like to listen. I don't look at her, either. I don't want pity. Nor do I deserve it. She's read my file. She must know that.

My siblings-to-be don't know. I have made it very clear that as far as I'm concerned, no one in Forks but Carlisle and Esme will know. They have agreed to that, which suited me fine.

Oh and of course I will have to go to a new therapist here. The thought that Renée will be leaving me here shortly makes my eyes fill up with tears again. I frown and try to blink them away. Then I look up at Renée, to memorize her face. Her soft, brown hair that never does what she wants. Her big brown eyes, her mouth that has told me reassurances I actually wanted to believe. Her strong chin, her extravagant clothing. She's the only person I've ever considered to be a sort of mother for me.

Renée feels my gaze and looks at me. "You are going to do great, you know?" she smiles. "I just feel it. This time will be right."

Like I said, I want to believe her.

All too soon, it's time to go. As we walk towards the exit of the airport, my feet feel like concrete. I don't think I will be able to pull this off. Of all the hurt I've had to bear in my life, this particular one is going to break me. I'm sure of it.

What is going to happen to me now? Where am I getting myself into? I feel like I'm drowning in a strong current, and all I can do is float along, trying to keep my head above the water, and bide my time until my feet can find purchase on the ground again.

Carlisle and Esme walk on my left, Renée is on my right. I look down at the floor. My throat feels thick with unshed tears. I feel like a coward for not fighting. But then again, would it really make things better if I dropped down to the floor and started a fit? Renée wouldn't take me home with her. She made that clear and I understand that. She cannot be my caretaker. The fact that she has helped me over the last two weeks has been extraordinary, I am aware and very grateful of that. And she wouldn't let me go with just any family. Right?

Still, it feels like yet another splinter that's pushed into my heart. Renée is the only person I could trust. My subconscious whispers evilly that this woman is sending me away with strangers. Across the country. Quite convenient, no? But no. If I believe that, that would mean there really is nothing left. The thought alone is so sad that fresh tears stain my cheeks again. We walk on. I do nothing.

My throat hurts.

The grey sky comes into sight as we reach the exit of the airport. Carlisle is rolling the cart with my suitcase on it. I'm carrying my own backpack. Yes. All my wordly possessions fit on one cart easily. I wish I had less to carry.

"So, then," Renée sighs as we are standing outside, under the canopy of the big exit of the airport. It's not really raining. It's pouring.

It's cold.

Renée comes to stand in front of me and makes me meet her gaze. "I have so much faith in you," she whispers. "I just know that you are going to be all right."

I pull my lower lip between my teeth. At this exact moment, everything is all wrong.

"I have to go back inside, Bella, because my plane will leave soon. Will you promise me one thing?"

I nod hesitantly. The look in her eyes makes me believe that my subconscious might be wrong.

"Will you e-mail me? Or, better, call me?"

E-mail, I might try. Calling? And then what? Tapping in Morse code on the receiver?

I nod again. I want desperately to hug her, but my body just freezes as soon as the thought enters my mind. So instead, I hug myself. A single tear escapes my eye and runs down my cheek.

Renée copies my gesture and hugs herself tightly, too, her eyes conveying the message that it's me she wants to have that hug. She cries too, I notice, and we both smile through our tears. No, Renée only wants the best for me. I could love her, I think. But I'll never know, won't I? She's going to walk out of my life. There's nothing I can do.

"Don't forget to count," Renée whispers, her voice husky. Is she so sad, too? I could only hope so. We've become so close over the last couple of weeks. She really saved my life. But face it, I am just one of her patients, a case with a number. I wonder if she'll still talk with me when social services no longer pays for her.

But I nod at her, for the third time. Then she abruptly turns and walks back into the airport, leaving me with two strange people I have met only half an hour ago with whom I will have to go and live with until I am at least eighteen.

Well, _fuck my life_.

I look after Renée until I no longer can find her amongst the thrum of people that occupy this airport. My heart, that was already shattered in pieces, crumbles just a little more. _See_? my mind whispers, _it's dangerous to have hope. Shouldn't you know that by now?_ A gut-wrenching sob escapes me and I just keep staring at the point where I last saw Renée. My tears won't stop anytime soon again now, I can tell. I wipe my face angrily with the sleeve of my oversized sweater.

Behind me, Carlisle clears his throat. When I turn to him, he gives me a handkerchief. I take it from him and wipe my face again. Damn those tears. I promised myself I would never cry again when I was fourteen and Laurent was arrested. The whole endeavour with Stefan has set things loose again, and now I can't seem to be able to stop.

"Bella, are you ready to come home with us?" Esme asks softly.

_No_. I nod, weary.

"Do you need to use the restroom before we go? Because it'll be a long ride," Esme asks then. I can tell she's trying to be considerate, given the fact that I cannot voice my needs, literally.

I shake my head. Any bodily fluids I might have carried have evaporated with the constant flow of tears that is now running down my face. My eyes are so sore already. I major headache is steadily building behind my eyes.

Carlisle leads the way to his car, a Mercedes that looks so expensive I am apprehensive to take a seat in it. Esme sits in the back with me and smiles reassuringly.

How do I make it clear to them that I do not deserve any form of pity? Isn't it horrible enough that they wanted to bring me into their home? I know they get a kick out of that. Pick the most broken girl and fix her right up. There's no such thing as altruism. Don't they know it's all my fault?

It's surely my fault that Renée is currently boarding a plane back to Phoenix and I am here, stuck in a place where the sun never shines. Literally.

I cross my arms and legs and settle for an unseeing gaze out of the window. I'm trying to shut down my mind a little. I don't want to think. My head throbs.

For the first two hours of the drive, my new caregivers don't try to get me talking, which is fine by me. They talk to each other. It sounds like normal conversation about their day, about their kids and how they are doing in school. They never mention me like I'm not even there, and that surprises me, I must say. What surprises me too, is that there is no litany of rules, or threats, or warnings.

When we have half an hour to go, however, Carlisle starts speaking to me. I mentally brace myself. I feel so alone right now.

"Well, Bella, I know this has been a rough day for you. We are almost home now. When we get there, I want you to know that only Alice and Rosalie will be home. The boys won't be there, so you can get adjusted a little."

I almost huff. But I don't. I've lost my spike, I think. Or maybe I'm just scared shitless.

I nod.

"I'm not going to bother you with questions or reassurances or anything. Esme and I think you'll do best when you make your way home on your own terms. As promised, the kids don't know about your past. I felt obliged to tell them you can't speak, however, as you may understand."

I nod again. I'm not really interested in meeting my new family. I'm not excited. I'm just… tired. No, not tired. I'm empty. And desperately lonely. But I don't have a clue how I could ever fix that. I don't know how anybody would ever want me in their life.

Carlisle and Esme stay quiet for the rest of the ride. I'm gazing out of the window, wondering vaguely how _green _it all is here. I can barely make out the side of the road through the rain, but it's almost like green filters have been placed over the windows. I cannot see the separate trees that must line the road.

We drive through the town called Forks. Yes, through. Because before long, we leave the houses behind us and are on a road that seems to lead right into the forest. We turn into a dirt track would never have noticed from the main road, and the forest gets thicker around us. I'm getting a little alarmed, now.

It turns out to be a driveway. After about a mile or so, a house comes into sight.

No, not a house. A mansion.

It looks even bigger than in the picture Renee gave me. It's all white with huge windows. A large underground garage must be able to hold at least four cars. To the left, broad steps lead up to a porch. The second floor is their first floor. Two more stories rise above that.

Holy hell. I thought these things only existed in movies?

Carlisle stops the care before the garage and kills the engine. He gets out and walks around to the back of the car to get my suitcase out. Esme stays in with me.

"Are you ready?" she asks softly.

No. I am scared out of my wits. Besides, I'll really have to tell her to not use those words with me. It was the exact same thing Laurent used to ask me before…

Stop.

I snap the rubber band that's around my right wrist, and wince at the pain. The skin on the inside of my wrist is constantly bruised purple from all the times I snap the band.

Esme notices.

It's supposed to stop any negative thoughts. Although that part doesn't really seem to be working, I keep on doing it as the physical pain is so much easier to bear than the pain of my memories.

I pull up the hood of my sweater, then open the car door and get out. Thick drops of rain fall on my head immedeately I walk up to the steps to the porch to get myself out of the rain. Carlisle is already there, my suitcase in his hand. Esme follows behind me.

The reality of the situation finally crashes down on me. I'm here. This will be my home. I can't leave. This is my new life, and I'll have to deal with it. I cannot even run if I want to, because we're miles from the town. Plus, where would I go? There really is nowhere, or no one, I can go to if this ends badly. _No,_ my mind sneers,_ you mean if you fuck up_. Shh. Don't think that. Please. I will be good.

I back away to the corner of the porch, near the stairs. I'm very uncomfortable all of a sudden to set foot inside this house. I have a strong feeling that once I do, there will be no going back. Esme notices my hesitation, but she doesn't say anything. She just observes.

Then I see a girl standing behind the big windows that look out on the porch. She must be Alice, I've seen her in the picture. She's who I call the pixie; black, spiky hair, fierce eyes and petite posture. As soon as she learns that I have noticed her, she claps her hands and starts bouncing up and down, grinning widely.

Oh Lord, is she mentally challenged?

She darts to the door and flits out on the porch, but Carlisle warns her with just one word.

"Alice."

She stops to look at him, and I wrap my arms around myself in anticipation. I glance at the forest behind me, calculating if I could make it if I ran for it. But with my clumsiness, I'd probably just fall down before I was down these stairs. And that had happened before, hadn't it? When Stefan…

Stop.

I want to snap the rubber band, but I can't because I'm still frozen, looking from Alice to Carlisle.

Alice huffs at him and waves his warning away with a careless hand.

She. Defies. Him.

I hug myself tighter hold my breath. I really don't want to know what will happen next. Or maybe I do. Brace myself for what I'm thrown into. Might as well get it over with.

Because, obviously, that's what I've deserved for what I've done wrong.

But nothing happens. Alice just huffs and then gingerly steps forward to me. She pauses about three feet away, which makes me tense up further, but I can't back out without having to step down the stairs of the porch, which I really rather don't.

Esme notices.

"Hi, Bella," Alice chimes in a sweet, high voice. "I'm Alice. We are so glad you are finally here! Did you have good trip?"

I look at her, dumbfounded. She's nice, too. And fully sane, as far as I can tell. Am I dreaming? Because it'll be a handsome mindfuck when I wake up.

"You must be tired. Shall I show you around the house?"

Before I can answer, she holds out her hand to me. I eye it suspiciously and look back at her. I cannot take her hand. Have they not told her that?

Alice checks herself and then moves her arm a little, making it a general gesture of invitation. After a moment of hesitation, I follow her into the house.

I can do this. I will have to. But I am so scared. So lonely. I want to cry. I feel like a convict that sets foot in prison, knowing that he will never step outside again. I take a deep breath, grit my teeth and step over the threshold. It feels like it's a mile high.

The house is beautiful, of course. Floor after floor and room after room filled with gorgeous furniture and extraordinary artwork. I'm shocked into silence — no pun intended. The Cullen children all have their own room, and they each have their own unique style. The rooms are relatively tidy, but not overly so. There's a peaceful atmosphere in the entire house. In her room, Alice shows me the dress she is making herself on her mannequin. She tells me she wants to be a fashion designer. The dress is really very pretty.

Alice tells me solemnly that I'm always welcome in her room, to watch a movie, to socialize, or anything. She wants to be my friend, she says.

I don't have the guts to warn her away from me when she looks at me with those puppy eyes.

They have a library that is so vast I can cry at the wonder of this treasure. They tell me I can use it freely and as often as I want, as they are told I like to read. They are wrong. I love to read.

They have a baby grand piano which they tell is Edward's, and only Edward plays. I hear the warning in their voice. This I can relate to. This is a solid rule. I'm relieved that there is at least one thing I can be certain about. But they need not worry. I cannot play to save my life.

My room is on the second floor at the end of the hallway. It's carefully neutral, with earth-like, light colours. It's peaceful, very balanced. The bed is in the middle of the room, a desk stands against the wall behind it. There's a laptop on the desk. At the far wall, two doors lead to my own bathroom and a walk-in closet that is almost as big as my bedroom at Irina and Stefan's house. The left wall is what gets my attention, however, as it is completely made of floor-to-ceiling windows. I feel guilty to be occupying such a pretty room. It must be their guest room, considering it has its own bathroom attached. None of the others have that, except Carlisle and Esme in their master bedroom. But surely, a mattress on the ground would have sufficed for me?

Alice leaves me to get to know my room a little. I stand at the window-wall and look outside. I can see the mountains of the Olympic Peninsula, or that's what they tell me they are. It's green, grey and misty with rain. I miss the blistering Phoenix heat already. It's cold here. I'm cold. I don't think I will ever get warm again. I miss Renee.

Carlisle clears his throat before he steps into the room with my suitcase. He puts it down near the door, then turns to me. I take a step backwards, cautiously. I'm not sure what to do now. They have not set me any rules yet, other than to keep away from the piano. Best to keep on my guard. I do not want to provoke them.

"Why don't you come downstairs with us," he offers. I hesitate. "Rosalie wants to meet you, too. Let's have a drink and then you can unpack later."

He holds out his arm in invitation, but when I don't move, he sighs and walks away from the door. I let my breath escape.

I hadn't even realized I was holding it.

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_Please, let me know what you think... _


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N I don't own Twilight**

_Hello my readers. Thank you so much for all your encouraging reviews. You give me confidence that I'm doing this right. And many thanks also for those who put me on author or story note. _

_I'm getting to know Bella as I write her. She's a very complicated person and I hope I'm doing her justice. I hope your heart will warm to her too, however reluctant she is to open up. _

_Warning: this chapter contains a flashback and references to Bella's past. It's not graphic, but please consider yourself warned. _

_I have surrendered myself to Twitter, follow me [at] DoobaWrites if you like :)_

_Your mood music: Linkin Park - Numb (forest scene); Maria Mena - Calm under the waves (bedroom scene); Philip Glass - Escape! (The Hours OST) (kitchen scene).  
_

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Chapter 3.

Rosalie is by far the most beautiful woman to ever walk the face of this planet. She is shockingly blonde, with perfectly shaped eyebrows and blue eyes that can either be hot with fire or cold as ice. Or at least, I think so, as I've only seen the cold look so far. Her cheekbones match perfection, as does her perfect mouth.

Right now she's looking some daggers at me, but it doesn't upset me much. Hate is an emotion I know.

I can handle hate.

And I'm just guessing she's not too keen on me marching into her life, which I can totally understand. I just can't tell her that. She'd really have a reason to glare at me when she knows about my past. I decide that I'll just stay out of her way as much as possible. She won't mind that, I think.

Rosalie is the adopted daughter. She and her brother Jasper where orphaned when they were toddlers I think, and Carlisle and Esme took them into their care.

Jasper really looks like his sister — blond hair, blue eyes, same bone structure. But where Rosalie's face is frozen in an arrogant look, Jasper is quite the opposite. He's kind, charismatic. But when I first meet him, I don't notice that, exactly.

I meet him a few hours after my arrival in the house. Rosalie has retreated to her room shortly after introductions, which I don't mind. Alice insisted she wanted to sit next to me on the couch and so she is, about a foot away from me. I don't like her so close to me, but I can handle it, maybe. She's trying not to look at me as much, but I know she's staring at me like she's never seen another human girl before. Her looks make me nervous.

I feel as though she is looking right through me.

It has taken her exactly ten minutes to find out I can, and sometimes will, answer to yes-or-no questions. But mainly she's babbling about all the fun things that we can do once I'm settled in. I try to listen, I do. But I'm starting to get hungry and my painkillers are wearing out. And I'm dead tired of my trip here and all the new things. And it's only 4pm. The atmosphere is tense.

Carlisle and Esme sit opposite of me. They talk a little with Alice and try to engage me in the conversation. They treat me like the person they have just met, but at the same time the knowledge that I will stay here for a while hangs heavily in the room.

Esme occasionally asks me if I am all right. I nod every time.

I lie, of course.

I'm not comfortable, but I don't dare do anything that might upset them. I don't dare to ask for anything. Asking things is showing weakness. And weaknesses provide mighty weapons in the wrong hands.

So far, I've not seen much that could alarm me though. Rosalie has even snapped at Esme and Esme didn't tell her off. Carlisle is calm too, collected maybe? There's nothing of the tension here that was thick when I was with Laurent or Stefan. But then again, they too had their own 'frequency,' maybe I still have to find the tune here.

God, what a metaphor for something so sad.

I guess I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Then I hear a car outside, and moments later, the front door opens and closes with a thud.

"I'm home," a low male voice calls out. "Can I come into the living room?"

"Are you ready to meet Jasper?" Carlisle asks.

I nod. If I'm going to live in this house with seven (seven!) others, I might as well get to know them as soon as possible.

"Come on in, honey!" Esme calls in her soft voice. I'm beginning to think that her entire demeanour is this soft, not only her voice.

I don't know yet if I should look up or not, but when the door behind me opens, I turn around so quickly it dizzies me.

Jasper stands in the doorway. He's tall, well-built. His eyes are as blue as Rosalie's. His blond curls are dripping from the rain and he rakes a hand through them in order to keep his hair from falling into his eyes. He spots me and stalks forward, his hand outstretched. "Hi!"

Alarm bells go off in my head and I fly up from the couch, walking backwards, away from this man that is approaching me at rapid speed. I back away until my back hits the wall, hard. My hands are splayed out on the wall near my hips, to keep myself steady and to gain some comfort out of the solid bricks behind my back. My heart is hammering in my chest from the shock. Whether this is the shock from Jasper approaching, or my own reaction to that, I don't know. I don't have room in my head to figure that out right now. The back of my mind screams at me that I'm acting ridiculous, but somehow I cannot seem to snap out of it.

Jasper has stopped moving and stands frozen, his outstretched hand hanging in mid-air. There is fear in his eyes.

Wait, what? Why should _he_ be afraid?

"I-I'm sorry," he stutters. Realizing his hand is still out, he lets it drop to his side. "I didn't mean to scare you," he whispers. "I'm so sorry."

Finally I can glance around me and actually register things. Alice is still on the couch and she looks dangerously pale with shock. Esme is standing up, her arms outstretched, but she's not moving. She has a shocked look on her face as well. Carlisle still sits down, his eyes darting from me to Jasper and back again.

There _is_ danger in this room. See? I was right to react this way. But when nothing happens and the seconds tick by, the realization is dawning on me that _I_ am the threat in this room. I'm the reason they are acting so alarmed.

"Breathe, Bella," Esme says then.

And again, it seems I've been holding my breath. I exhale shakily and then gasp for air so fast it makes my head spin. My lungs, that were burning for the lack of fresh oxygen, thank me profusely. I frown.

Everyone stays frozen in the room, and it's like time has come to a standstill. They are waiting for me to do something. And I don't know what I should do. I'm pretty certain now that there is no threat, but my body refuses to relax.

I'm shaken. The last couple of weeks have been a whirlwind and today has been gone on forever and for the second time today, the reality of this all comes crashing down on me. I cannot even begin to try to put my sudden desolation into words.

I look around the room and see four pairs of eyes that look worried, but also very… compassionate? Somehow, this scares the living daylights out of me. I don't know the concept and the word feels unfamiliar in my vocabulary.

My sense of self-preservation is begging me to run. Fast. My mind is not so sure anymore. She's crashed with a buffer overflow. I need some space to think. I'm so confused… I need to get out of here. But where the hell do I go? I cannot go to 'my room'. That's no place to hide. It has never been, come to think of it.

Shit.

I blink slowly and my body fully utilizes this one moment I need to collect myself. My instinct takes over violently and I bolt for the door. For once, I don't trip, and I run out of the house, down the steps of the porch, and into the thick forest that surrounds my new home.

**~O~**

It's fucking cold out here. It's still raining and my breath escapes from my mouth in white puffs. The big tree I am sheltering under is leaking thick drops of rain, the ones that always seem to find their way precisely into that tiny space between your skin and your collar, before seeking a path down your skin.

I'm sitting down, arms wrapped around my knees. I'm soaked through my skin and shivering violently. But I don't want to go back. How can I ever go back? Either they will punish me — of which I'm very certain — or I've spoiled my chance with them and they will send me away. And somehow I'm pretty certain I do not want to live in a shelter.

Fuck. I think I screwed up.

I don't know where to go. I can't go back to Phoenix, because I don't have my passport, nor any money to buy a ticket. As if I would ever even get my ass at the airport.

As if Renée would let me in.

_She would_, a voice in the back of my head whispers. _But that's not how it's supposed to be. You promised her to give it a shot_.

I did. But how do I go back?

"Bella?" a light voice calls through the woods. "Bella, where are you? Please give me a signal." It's Alice.

I'm sorely tempted to keep quiet. I'm relatively hidden where I'm sitting, if I keep quiet she might not notice me.

"Bella? We are worried about you. We are not angry, if that's what you are afraid of."

A memory forces itself on me violently. I close my eyes and frown and snap the rubber band on my wrist, but the images won't go away.

"_I'm not angry, not at all," Laurent croons as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. _

_I'm frozen in anticipation. My breathing is ragged and uneven. He's up to something, and all the more unpredictable when his voice is silken like this. _

_Laurent's hand moves from my hair to the back of my neck, where he takes my head into a vice-like grip. I stop breathing altogether._

"_You've been such a good girl to me last night. Now, let's not give me a reason to get mad at you after all." _

_His hand forces my head to move down._

"There you are!" Alice's voice snaps me out of my memory.

I'm startled by her sudden appearance in front of me, although that's my own fault. I let my guard down. Again.

I watch her warily.

Alice stops about three or four feet away from me and simply flops down on the floor, so she is at eye level with me. She's getting her clothes dirty this way. I don't want her to do that. It's easy for her parents to blame that on me later.

"Jasper is so sorry that he frightened you," Alice starts. "He never meant to scare you. I think you even scared him with your startled reaction." She smiles a little. "We're not mad at you, you know. Dad, Carlisle, thought you might be worried about that, so I'm here to assure you that 'your actions will not have consequences'." She mimics his words as well as the way he must have looked when he spoke them, trying to make me smile, I guess.

I just look at her with wide eyes.

Alice looks back at me for a long time. "It's not like you spoiled your chance with us now, you know?" she finally asks softly. "Because you didn't. I don't know what happened to you, and maybe I don't even want to know. But I want _you_ to know that you are safe with us. You've obviously been through a lot and I want to tell you that I understand, but I can't because I don't. So, I won't. I cannot even begin to imagine what you have gone through to become who you are now. Does that make sense?"

It does, actually. So I nod once.

"I can't imagine what it must feel like to be forced to start a new life with a new family. But I want you to give us a chance. Could you do that?"

I stare at her in wonder. Was she asking _me_ if I would consider giving _them_ a chance? Shouldn't it be the other way round?

I am thoroughly confused now. When I don't move, Alice changes tack.

"You must be so cold, I can see you are shivering. Will you come back with me? We can get you some dry clothes. My parents are not angry. And Jasper won't come out again if you don't want to," she adds softly. "But he really is very sweet. He's our adopted brother, but he's also kind of like my boyfriend."

At this, I look at her in horror. Even my evil mind is stunned for a moment.

"You'll see how nice he is once you get to know him. But right now, you need to get dry and warm again. Will you please come back to us?"

I don't know what it is with this Alice girl, but she somehow convinces me to get up. My legs are stiff from sitting still for so long, but it's ignorable. Alice looks me up and down, then pulls off her coat and hands it to me. I take it hesitantly and then wrap it around my shoulders. It's too small for me, but it's warm from her body heat and it warms me a little immediately. Goose flesh erupts on my body in response and I shiver involuntarily.

Alice leads the way and pulls out her phone to call and forewarn the rest. I follow her. I'm anxious, but I'm also cold. And the thought of a hot shower maybe and dry clothes is starting to appeal to me, I have to admit. If they'll let me, that is. They will, won't they?

Won't they?

My feet are heavy when I walk up the steps to the porch, but I grit my teeth and force myself to move. Once inside, only Esme approaches us, carefully. Her eyes are red, it looks like she's been crying. Why?

"Oh, Bella, I am so happy you decided to come back," Esme breathes. "Come, let's get you upstairs and into dry clothes."

I freeze on the spot. What exactly does she want to do with me?

_She wants to help you_, my inner voice soothes. I don't believe it. I want to, but I don't.

But Esme holds out her arm in an inviting gesture and I'm too much a coward to refuse her. I want to get warm and dry, and right now, I'm willing to trade. Esme leads he way up to my room and I follow. My heart rate is picking up slightly. This is one of those rare moments I actually wish I were able to speak, so I could plead for forgiveness. It was stupid to have run.

Up in my room, Esme turns to face me. She looks so sad. Is that because I disappointed in some way? What will she do?

"I'm so sorry you felt you had to run," she whispers. "I'll leave you now, so you can take a hot shower and warm up. You must be so cold. Do you have a change of clothes in your suitcase?"

I do, but they're all summer clothes. I have not much, just what Renée could buy me with her limited salary and on such a short notice. When I came to her, I had nothing with me, not even a toothbrush. The only sweater I have I'm wearing right now, and it's soaked. I don't dare to ask for something warm.

Esme looks at me, opens her mouth to speak, but decides against it and leaves the room, closing the door quietly. This happens a lot when I meet new people. Because I don't speak, they get lost for words as well.

When Esme's footsteps have disappeared down the stairs, I go and check the door. It's still open. When I look better, I can see that it can only be locked from the inside. Somehow, this soothes me incredibly.

I close the door again and lock it, and turn to my tiny suitcase. It holds my few clothes, my toothbrush and my hairbrush. And my pill.

I'm not entirely stupid.

There's also a notebook inside, which Renée gave me. She wanted me to start and keep a diary. I didn't have the guts to tell her that my aversion of speaking extends to written communication as well. The notebook is untouched. I have not even opened it yet.

I pick my only other pair of trousers out of the suitcase and three of my four tops, which I can put on top of each other; a camisole, a long sleeve and a shirt. The colors don't really match. I will look ridiculous, but that's the least of my problems right now. I consider myself happy to have a fresh set of underwear and socks in the suitcase as well.

When I pull the clothes out, I notice something on the bottom. I dig in and as soon as I realize what it is, tears fill my eyes immediately, blurring my vision. This cannot be real. I swallow thickly and pull out a thick quilt — Renée's quilt. The quilt I practically lived under while I was with her. She gave it to me, and she didn't even tell me. This is such a gift, such a surprise. I put it to my face and inhale deeply. It smells like her home, like her. I bury my face in the thick fabric and let go. I cry.

After what feels like a century, but might have been fifteen minutes, I'm able to move again. I fold the quilt carefully and put it back in my suitcase. It's wet from my tears. I'll need to find a place where I can keep it safe. But right now, I'm exceptionally cold, wet, tired and miserable. I need to shower.

The bathroom is pretty and fully stocked. I was nervous about not having any body wash or shampoo, but it seems that the Cullens are forthcoming to their guests. Plush towels are on the shelf beside the sink. A large bathtub stands in the middle of the classy black-and-white tiled room. It's very retro, standing on copper clawed feet. I like it. But I'm not taking a bath now. I will have a shower. I lock the bathroom door and look around to memorize my surroundings. Then I turn off the light and start to undress.

**~O~**

The shower felt excellent. I'm at least warmed up now, and some of my stress has washed away. Now I should eat something and finally have my much needed pain medication, and I'll be good enough. I yank a brush through my towel dried hair and produce a long shawl out of my suitcase, which I wrap around my neck four times. I look again at Renée's quilt. It means so much to me to have something of her with me here. Makes me feel like I wasn't just a patient of hers. The weird part is that I have never really told her about anything that happened with either Laurent or Stefan. She knew though. And she never forced to talk about it.

I often slept during our hour of therapy. Blissful, undisturbed sleep, and almost free of nightmares. She never minded.

She took me to the hospital the night I came to her and made me take the rape kit. Horrible, horrible experience. Wholly unnecessary, if you asked me. I shiver when I think back to that.

Renée never judged me. But she got through to me, somehow. She never pushed me into anything, but she was always there. I can only be grateful for the way she has always treated me. Because she didn't treat me like a patient, and I did not regard her as a therapist. Maybe I should e-mail her. But that means using words. Gah. Maybe I shouldn't e-mail her. She'd understand. Or not. But she's not my therapist anymore. The realization nags at my heart.

I'm horrified when I think about the fact that I will have to go to a new therapist here, soon. I don't see why I should, but if Carlisle and Esme want me to, I'll have to. Don't I?

But now, I'll have to face my new family again. I take a deep breath, count to ten to gather some guts, and leave the room to go downstairs.

I find Esme in the living room. Carlisle is building a fire in the hearth and he greets me with a smile when I cautiously step into the room. Rosalie is nowhere to be seen. Jasper is sitting next to Alice on the couch and he looks at me carefully. He doesn't move when he greets me. "Hi Bella." It's almost a whisper. "I am so sorry I scared you earlier."

I look at him, torn between acknowledging his apology or staying scared of this person who is capable of frightening me.

"I'm Jasper," he continues, although I know that already, of course. "Um, I'm seventeen and Carlisle and Esme adopted me and Rosalie when we were still very little."

I nod once. I know this already, as well.

"Bella?" Esme asks softly. "You need to eat something, and take your pills?" Her statement forms into a question. Things like this must be in my file, I'm sure. Is she really trying to accommodate me? I can fend for myself, they don't need to inconvenient themselves for me.

I nod. It seems all I can do today is nodding.

Esme leads the way to the kitchen. It's the biggest and most beautiful kitchen I have ever seen. We passed it when I got a tour of the house. Apparently Alice didn't find it important enough to show me. I look around, shocked. Esme laughs a little.

"Do you like it? Here, let me show you around. You'll have to feel home as soon as possible. You can take whatever you need, whenever you need it. Just nose around and find your way, okay?"

I nod, my eyes still big as I take in this showroom of a kitchen. The counter alone must be over twenty feet long, and a big cooking island is situated in the center of the kitchen. A breakfast bar is attached to the counter, with two bar stools underneath it.

Esme digs into the fridge and holds out two tiny packets of food. "Which one?" she asks.

This time, I shrug. Because it's astronaut food and it's vile, no matter what flavor it comes in. But I can't swallow anything solid still. And as swallowing hurts like hell, period, I'd rather do that as little as possible. So I get to drink these tiny containers of high-energy, high-protein, highly horrible food and I can survive. I have to take at least four a day as well as other food that can be consummated in fluid form, as I've lost so much weight. Today I've done one so far and it's 6 pm.

I point at the packet that says 'chocolate-orange flavor,' and Esme puts it down on the counter for me. Then she proceeds to prepare my pain meds, as she lets the pills dissolve in a glass of water. I cannot take them sober, so I'll have to drink the dreadful food before I can take my meds. The thing is it's easier to swallow _after_ the meds have kicked in.

When I reach out for the small container, a voice booms through the house.

"Where's the new girl?"

True, the voice sounds playful. Needless to say, however, I'm scared shitless. I drop the container and quickly make my way to the far wall, away from the entrance to the kitchen. I slip between the dining table and the wall. At least there's some sort of barrier now.

"Emmett!" Carlisle's voice. It sounds like he's intercepted Emmett and is now talking to him. Huddles voices sound behind the wall. I can't make out what they're saying.

Then, some shuffling, and the biggest guy I have ever seen in my whole damn life steps into the kitchen. He has short, black hair, blue eyes, and dimples, and he must play rugby, or football, or any other sport that requires bodies like this.

Because holy hell, the man is huge.

I step a little closer to the wall, and eye the back door out of the kitchen. I don't want to run again, but it's taking an effort to stay still.

Esme notices.

My heart is in my throat again. Nice.

Emmett stays at the door. Carlisle hovers behind him.

"Um, hi Bella, I'm Emmett," he says. Although he must be trying to speak softly, his voice is still loud.

Well, at least he doesn't stalk his way over to me.

"Nice to meet you," he continues hesitantly. Yeah, sure. But, for a change, I nod. "And welcome home," he then adds. I turn my head to the side a little, like a dog would do when it hears something interesting. His choice of words is not lost on me.

Esme breaks the tension by picking up the carton with fluid food from the bar and placing it on the table before me. "You are going to eat now, before you pass out," she says softly, but firmly.

Then she steps back, giving me the chance to come forward and pick up the container.

"What is _that_?" Emmett asks.

"It's Bella's food. Now shoot," Esme scolds him, and Emmett reluctantly moves away from the kitchen. Carlisle remains where he is, and he looks at me inquiringly. "You okay?" he asks softly.

I know he doesn't mean that in general. He means right here, right now. And right here, right now, I think I am. So I nod, twice for good measure, but still frowning a little. He smiles back at me and then leaves the kitchen again.

Esme notices soon enough that I won't touch my food as long as she is looking at me, so she turns and gets herself busy in the kitchen. "I thought I'd order some pizza tonight, to celebrate your arrival," she says, still with her back to me. "I know you won't be able to eat it with us, but the children really love pizza."

Celebrate?

Esme babbles away, busying herself with something on the counter. "You have to know that we do not mind that you left the house earlier. It's very understandable that all has been very overwhelming to you so far today. We're happy that you came back. It must have been really cold outside. I think you are doing great, do you know that?" No false words of comfort. Just plainly stating things. I like that. She's not pitying me.

I listen to her and watch while she works. She's not looking at me, but I cannot see what she is doing. Okay, this is not good either. I want to see her hands. Carefully, I move around the table, with my package of food, and walk around to the breakfast bar. While standing there, I can survey the entire kitchen, _and_ see Esme's hands. Yes, that'll do.

Wait. _Celebrate_? Doing great? Huh.

Esme looks up at me swiftly, then goes on cleaning the counter that is already clean.

Doing great…?

I ponder over her words as I put the straw in the carton and start to drink.

Gah. I cannot suppress a violent shudder as the awful taste hits my tongue. I swallow with effort, both for the pain and for the taste and texture of the goo that's lying in my mouth.

Esme notices and looks up. I lower the package. "Is it that horrible?" she asks sympathetically.

The corner of my mouth twitches into a smile, and Esme's eyes lit up as she sees it. I nod now, still with my half-smile. Because it _is _that horrible.

"I'm so sorry for you," she says. "What do you say we go to the supermarket tomorrow and find some nice things for you to eat? I can make you smoothies that can replace at least some of these." She points at the carton that I have put down again on the counter. "Please, drink. I'm sorry I interrupted you." She goes back to cleaning the clean counter again.

I take a deep breath and suck in three big gulps of the should-taste-like-chocolate-and-orange drink.

I almost gag, but manage to keep it down. When the package is reasonably empty, I start to look around for a garbage can. Esme looks up and gently takes the package from me, so I'm not startled. I can tell she knows it's still filled for at least a third, but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she gives me the glass of water with my pain meds in it.

This doesn't taste any better, but at least it fulfills a welcome purpose, so I drink it down without a second thought. Then I hesitantly look at the fridge. Drinking a little has made me aware of how thirsty I truly am.

Esme notices — is there anything she _doesn't_ see? — and she opens the fridge for me, gesturing that I can choose for myself what I want, and take it when I want it.

"The only rule here is that I prefer my children to not eat any candy shortly before dinner," she explains. "But even if you're hungry at night, please help yourself."

I nod, indicating I understand, and look into the giant fridge. I would kill for some orange juice, but as it is, I think the orange juice would kill me. Fruit tends to burn in raw throats.

I settle for milk. It's nice and cold and soothes my sore throat a little. When I'm done, I shuffle to the sink to rinse my glass.

"We have a dish washer, Bella," Esme points out gently.

Oh. Would that mean I don't have to do the dishes three times a day? I place my glass in the spacious dishwasher and step back. I'm not so sure what to do now.

"Why don't you peek into the cabinets? Please, I want you to." Her request is almost pleading.

Wow, okay. Tentatively, I pull open a cabinet above the counter. Then another, and another. There is a lot of china, and glassware. There should be, this family is so big.

As I pull open the big drawers underneath the cooking island, a big delighted smile breaks through on my face. I can't help myself. There are cooking equipments here that would make your average chef jealous. I bite my lip, in awe this time, as I take in the possibilities. Forgetting everything for the moment, I take a second look at the stove, noticing that yes, it works on gas. Then I saunter over to the oven and marvel at this high-tech piece of art.

Esme notices.

"You like to cook?" she asks hopefully.

I look at her and my face falls. I'm wary now. Yes, I like to cook, but does that mean I will have to make dinner from now on?

I'm sure Esme sees my expression change.

"Maybe we could cook something together someday? I really love to cook, too." She hesitates, and then adds with a gleam in her eyes, "so I'm not going to let you cook every night, if you were hoping for that." And she winks at me.

She _winks_ at me.

I'm confused, but for the first time, in a positive way. Did she really just make a joke to take away my fear? I cock my head at her and notice her expectant look. Then I smile at her, with an incredulous look in my eyes still. It's a careful smile, but it's a smile. Did I really interpret her comment right? How did she know I was afraid I would have to cook everyday? Not that I couldn't, or wouldn't, but still? Was that in my file? And does it really mean I'm not required to cook every dinner?

Esme doesn't elaborate, but smiles radiantly back at me, her eyes alight with a happy glow.

And deep down in the pit of my stomach, a tiny knot separates itself from the big tangled mess of anxiety, unties gently and slides away.

* * *

_Phew... Writing this story is much more intense than I thought it would be. I hope I will be able to keep it up.  
_

_As always, please let me know what you think, if I'm still fulfilling your expectations...  
_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N I don't own Twilight. I do own this plot**

_Hi there. I want to thank you all for your loving reviews. You ensure me I'm on the right track with this. This story is intense to write, but it demands to be written. Please keep my warning I gave in chapter one in mind.  
_

_A couple of comments before I go, as a disclaimer of sorts. Your reviews blow me away and I'm anxious I may not keep up to your expectations. I'm trying to maintain this frequency of posting chapters, but I cannot promise you anything. This is a very long chapter in exchange ;)_

_First, as you may or may not know, I am not a native English speaker. Forgive my mistakes. Second, this is a fictional story. Some things, like Jas and Alice and Rose and Emmett being adoptive siblings as well as couples, could of course never happen in real life, but in this story it fulfills a purpose (and they're just meant to be together ;) ). I do intend to write down emotions and events as 'real' as possible. Third, as some of you have asked, Bella cannot speak, physically, at this moment in the story. But even if she could, she still wouldn't. In the next chapter, it will hopefully be fully clear why she cannot speak. The reason she _won't_ speak will become clear over time. Bear with me :)_

_Last but not least, the 'astronaut's food' I refer to is the fluid food that they give to, for example, cancer patients who need extra nourishment but can only eat small amounts at a time. I have tasted it and it's as horrible as Bella describes it. _

_I have no mood music for you this time. Suggestions are welcome._

_Enjoy...  
_

* * *

An hour later, we're all in the living room. Although I am nervous to be in a room with so many others, I don't dare to excuse myself and retreat to the room I've been given. Although I have not been asked directly, they have made known that they want me in here, and I think it is best to do everything they say. I don't want to mess up again.

The TV is on, some show about funny home videos. I'm sitting in the only chair. Jasper and Alice are lounging in one corner of the large, U-formed couch, Carlise and Esme occupy the other corner. Rosalie and Emmett are cuddled up in the love seat. Rosalie and Emmett are a couple, too.

If there is a God, he has a wicked sense of humour.

The Cullens are talking off and on, or laughing at what they see on the TV. A cosy fire is crackling in the hearth. It gives the room a very homey feeling, but the atmosphere stays a little tense, formal. It's because I am in the room. I know that.

On the coffee table are boxes with half eaten pizzas. Every other person in the room is still munching on them. I haven't even tried. A week from now, I am allowed to try and eat solid food again. But the smell of the pizzas makes my mouth water. For the first time in a long while, my stomach churns with hunger.

Of course Esme hears it, and she softly says my name to get my attention. "Would you like to eat something?"

Well, no, unless it's this pizza, but I'm guessing it will lose its appeal if I put it in a blender.

"You're not eating pizza?" Alice asks. For all her observance I would have thought she'd have noticed that by now.

But, I kind of like her, so I shake my head in response.

"Why not?"

Did I say I kind of liked her? Because maybe now I kind of don't.

"I thought we agreed that we would not bother Bella with too many questions?" Esme asks calmly, saving me

Alice looks at Esme, then back at me. "I know, but I'm just curious. I want to get to know you," she smiles at me.

At this, I must look a little worried. I'm not worth getting to know. Seriously, I'm not special at all. And I certainly don't feel like explaining why I can't eat solid food. Besides, a week from now I'll be good, or so I was told back in Phoenix. It'll become a bigger problem when they learn I rather not eat with others around me. It will raise questions, and I don't like the prospect of that.

I vaguely wonder how weird it must seem to her that cooking makes my life worth living, while I make such a fuss about eating.

Well, everyone should have a quirk, no?

I tear myself from my musings as I realize that Alice is looking at me. My hands go to my neck in a gesture of insecurity almost automatically and I look back at her, not sure what to do. She looks like a thousand questions are boiling on her tongue, but she doesn't speak up. She frowns a little with the effort of containing her curiosity. How to tell her that she need not take the effort? I'm a horrible person and I know she'll not be as nice to me anymore when she knows about my past.

Alice holds my gaze and once again I feel distinctly as though she is looking right through me. It's my turn to frown now and I look away, uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze.

"How about we all have ice cream for dessert?" Carlisle then offers inconsequently, to lift some of the sudden tension in the room, I suppose.

Ooh, ice cream. Yes, please. Can I? I mean, should I? Or may I…

I'm lost.

"I wish Edward would come home, so he can eat and we can finish meal," Esme says then, effectively interrupting my spiral of thoughts.

"Oh, didn't I tell you, mom? Edward is staying at Jessica's for dinner. I don't think he'll be home soon," Emmett answers.

"That is just rude of him," Alice huffs.

I search my mind for a face that would go with the name Edward. Comparing the faces I've seen so far to the one picture I saw of this family, Edward must be the boy with the reddish brown hair. I also recall him being the most handsome of them all. And he has a girlfriend outside of this house, apparently.

"It is," Carlisle states. "I will have a word with him about that when he gets home."

"Carlisle," Esme warns softly, but it's too late.

My head snaps up and I tense up, my arms are wrapped around myself in an instant. My eyes must be big with fear, because I notice the shocked reaction of the others in the room. Shit, I can't even help myself.

"No, no, not like that!" Carlisle hastens to clarify. "Never like that, Bella. Oh, please, do not think like that."

He remains seating. His arm is outstretched to me, but he doesn't approach me.

I don't know what to do.

From the corner of my eye, I see Alice getting up. "I'm for ice cream," she announces pointedly. "And I'll make it in the kitchen. With Jasper, Emmett and Rosalie."

They get her signal and follow her tensely out of the room without complaint, taking the pizza boxes with them as they go.

This freaks me out. Why are they leaving me here? I look back at Carlisle and Esme and realize I'm getting dizzy again because I'm not breathing. And again, Esme reminds me kindly that I should.

And I breathe in. Too fast, too deep. My head spins. What do they want?

Carlisle looks at me before he speaks, to make sure he has my full attention. Esme sits beside him and holds his hand in his lap. "Bella, I want you to understand this, so I am going to be direct."

I tense up. This is it. This is my third hell. I knew it. I _knew_—

"We do not beat our children. We will not hurt you. We do not use any type of violence. We are not abusive in any way. I understand that it will take you a long time to learn to trust us. We can only hope that you will see that we would never, ever hurt you in any way."

I look at Carlisle, stunned. I blink once to clear my head. Such promises are easy to make, aren't they?

"I guess only time will heal your wounds," he continues. "But we want to help you to build a life where you are comfortable in your own skin and know yourself surrounded with people that care about you."

"We care about you," Esme adds then, choosing her words carefully. "We'll have to do this together. So you'll tell us what you are comfortable with, and we'll guide you along the way. Is that okay?"

Something about her words hits me right there where it hurts the most. She's placing the ball in my court. She's effectively saying that they want me to take the lead.

I am confused. Nobody has ever asked me what _I_ wanted, except for Renée, but she got paid for that. I will need a week to think through all that has happened today. But the fact remains, that I ran away today. And I'm still waiting for the price I'll have to pay for that.

"Is there anything you want to say?" Carlisle asks. "Shall I get a laptop or something, so you can talk?"

I shake my head. Although modern communication methods should allow me to babble constantly, I'm not much of a talker. Never been.

"So, we're good?" he asks.

_We_? Um, yes?

As if on cue, Alice trails back into the room, holding a tray with seven giant cups with ice, whipped cream and all. She places them on the table and everyone settles to dive in. I look longingly at the ice cream, but I can't move.

Esme notices.

She gets up, picks up my cup, and takes it with hers into the kitchen. While she walks, she turns to me and with a very sweet smile and a nod invites me to follow her.

To my own amazement, I do. This is dangerous. I'm starting to hope. Behind me, I can feel five pairs of eyes on my back.

In the kitchen, Esme gestures for me to have a seat at the dining table. Involuntarily, I raise one eyebrow at her. I remain standing behind the chair where she has put my ice-cream on the table. I grip the back of the chair for support.

"Did you know this is a real antique?" she asks gently, while sitting diagonally across me. She rubs the table lovingly. "It was a gift from Carlisle for our ten year anniversary. I'm fond of antiques. Most of the old stuff in this house is mine." She winks at her last comment.

I don't know what to do. I'm not good at making conversation. I never had to make conversation. What does she expect from me? Does she want me to sit down with her? I don't want to eat with her looking at me. I don't want to eat while sitting down, either.

Esme notices my hesitation and deliberately spoons up some ice cream. Her eyes close in delight as she takes a bite. "This is absolutely delicious. It should be, I made it myself." She looks back up at me. "Will you not sit down?"

Although it is not a direct order, my body reacts on automatic pilot and I sit down, albeit hesitantly. I sit straight-backed, tense. I hide my hands under the table, as I cannot stop wringing them. This feels wrong in countless ways. My instinct is on red alert and begs me to get on my feet again. It's taking all of my might to not move and give in to my urge to run.

"Do you think you could eat something with me sitting here?" Esme asks when I don't move. "I can go and do something else, if you want me to. I would really like it if you'd try to eat some ice cream."

I look at her, frowning a little I think. I do not want to inconvenience her in any way. It bothers me that she should get up and do something else to let me eat, while her own ice cream is melting away. It's _my_ quirk that I cannot eat with others around, that should not be her problem.

Seconds tick by as we look at each other. Feels like hours, but it's not a tense silence from her side. I think not, at least. I hope not, either. Could I try to eat?

"Bella," Esme finally says quietly. It's almost a whisper. "You have to help me out here. I want to make you as comfortable as possible. We didn't get a manual with you." It's not an accusation. It's an apology.

Ha. A manual. As if she would want to get to know me. I'd like one of this family, though. I still have not gotten any rules. A second look at her face tells me she's serious. Why would she want to know me? She read my file, didn't she? I'm really surprised she'd even want to take me in.

"You'll have to work with us a little," she pleads, interrupting my train of thoughts. She means it. She is so sweet. I have not seen a hint of malice in her so far. It unsettles me more than I dare to admit. But I realize that I want to. Work with them, I mean. A little. Boh, where does _that_ come from? I've been here for mere hours and my walls are crumbling down. This scares me out of my wits, frankly. I have to be careful. Hope is such a dangerous thing.

I'm so scared that all this will be a ruse, and that I'll wake up tomorrow only to realize it's all been a dream. I've met more kindness today than I have in my whole life, apart from the two wonderful weeks I have spent with Renée. I sigh deeply and grit my teeth against the anxiety that just won't leave my body. I am waiting for that other shoe to drop. Already.

Esme notices.

"Can you try to take a bite?" she nods at my ice cream, which is starting to melt a little. "I'd be offended if you didn't."

Her voice is playful and her eyes smile when she speaks, but somehow my body responds to the non-existing threat and I lift my spoon. My other hand is under the table, nails biting in my palm so hard I'm sure there will be blood later. Esme suddenly is focused intently on her own coupe, and she leaves me be as I gingerly lift a spoonful of ice cream to my mouth.

I'm doing it. Holy fuck, I'm doing it. I clench my hidden hand harder.

The ice cream feels cold and sweet and soft against my tongue. If I could have made any sound, I would have whimpered in appreciation. This. Is. Excellent. And the cool of the ice cream soothes my throat better than any painkiller could do.

Before I have time to over think it, I take a second spoonful. And another. And another.

Esme doesn't look at me, but I know she knows what I'm doing.

I'm eating. I wonder if she knows it has been years since I last sat down to eat with another person present in the room.

**~O~**

Back into the living room, my stomach almost painfully full with the most delicious ice cream I've had in my whole life, I look at the empty cups the other Cullens have set on the table. I go to collect them and bring them to the kitchen, but Esme will have nothing of it. "That's my job," she states, and then she gestures for me to take my seat again in the big chair. I sit down, a bit tensely, as I uselessly watch how Esme brings the dirty dishes into the kitchen. Only when she is done do I finally sit back in the chair again. It's amazingly soft, and my head fits just right in the corner of the headrest. I'm still alert, but my body is getting tired and I allow myself to get comfortable. I'm kind of cold, though, but I do not dare to ask for anything warm. Maybe my sweater is dry again. Esme offered to help me with that.

"Did you like the ice cream?" Carlisle asks me.

I nod and cannot help a tiny smile.

"It's dangerously delectable, I know," Carlisle grins. "Glad to know that you're not immune to it either. Esme rarely makes it though. I thought I should warn you for that before you get really addicted to it."

"Today was a special occasion," Esme tells me, smiling. "But if I'd make it every time you wanted it, you'd be having to get through the doors sideways," she laughs at the rest, and the others in the room chuckle at her joke.

"I'd happily work out more often if that'd mean I'd get more of your ice cream, mom," Emmett states.

"Oh, if you work out more than you do already you _will_ have to go through the door sideways, your back is getting so broad," Jasper retorts.

"Ah, do I sense some jealousy?" Emmett sits up and leans forward to look at Jasper with a wide grin on his face. Rosalie studiously ignores the conversation and keeps her focus on the television. But she's listening. I can tell.

"Nu-huh. I like it that people are not naturally afraid of me." Jasper's eyes flick to me as he says this, but he looks away again swiftly.

"Plus, I like him this way," Alice says as her tiny hand wraps around Jasper's shoulders which are, in my humble opinion, broader than average by far.

"Of course you would say that. That's why he loves you," Emmett teases.

Alice and Jasper both snort at this comment. "I'm not even going to react to that," Alice says, smiling.

Emmett grins. "And by that, you just did. But no worries, sis. I'm sure your fascination with fashion is high on his love-list as well."

Jasper rolls his eyes, but doesn't reply. Nor does Alice. She just snuggles closer to him and focuses on the TV again. I look away.

This is new for me. Were they teasing each other? There was no enmity in the room, no tension. This was easy conversation, as far as I could tell. I feel like I've been watching a show. I know nothing about sibling relationships. Heidi and Peter never spoke to me, and the few words they exchanged with each other varied between 'idiot,' 'bitch' and 'fuck off.' Not very inspirational conversation. But I'd rather they shouted than fought, because when they fought Stefan would step in swiftly and put an end to it. Although I was rarely involved in those fights, I always ended up getting a beating too.

I snap the rubber band at my wrist even before some memory can enter my head. I rub the painful skin a little — the bruises are getting ridiculous now — and then pull the sleeves of my long sleeve over my hands.

Hmm. I'm really getting cold now. Must be my fatigue, on top of my thin clothes. That's going to pose a problem, I think, as I have means nor money to buy new, warm clothing.

"Are you cold?" Alice's sweet voice sounds then. She doesn't sound piqued at all after Emmett's comments.

I must have shivered and I nod at her. I am cold.

"Do you have another sweater than the one you were wearing today?" Esme asks carefully, as if not wanting to upset me. I shake my head, embarrassed — no.

"Maybe you can go see if her sweater is dry yet," Esme asks Alice. "It's in the laundry room."

Alice hops up and all but dances out of the room. Jasper and I both look after her. The girl has endless energy. And grace.

"So, um, you really don't speak?" Emmett pipes up then, tentatively. Rosalie looks some daggers at him, I notice as my eyes fly toward him.

"Emmett, no need to ask such questions," Esme scolds him.

"Why not? Can't I ask that?" He looks at me again.

I shrug and move my head in a manner that tells him yes, he can ask. I wouldn't dare antagonize him, anyway. I want to see how the lands lay before I start refusing to communicate. I never expected to have to actually interact with others. Even Renée left me alone most of the time.

"So you don't speak?"

I shake my head.

"Why? Because you won't, or because you can't?"

I tilt my head. Questions like this, I cannot answer of course. I look at Esme for help.

"She can't, at the moment."

"Wow, why not?"

"That is none of your business," Carlisle says kindly.

Before Emmett can react, Alice bounces back into the room. "Your sweater wasn't dry yet, so I just took one of Edward's. He wore it only for five minutes or so this morning, so it's clean," she assures me with a wink and a smile. Slowly, she walks towards me, her hand with the sweater outstretched.

Somehow, she seems to know exactly how to approach me. I thank her with a smile. It's my second genuine smile today — the first in days — and I see several faces lit up as they see me.

Not speaking means paying a lot of attention to body language, as I have to anticipate a lot. I have to see what people will do, and how they will react to me. It can be really annoying to have to explain you cannot speak, without speaking. So I observe, and I learn. And I make myself invisible as much as possible. But I notice how people regard me as well. Although that skill was born from another need, it comes in handy at all times.

I take the dark blue hooded sweater from Alice and as soon as she is sitting down again, I quickly pull it over my head. I drown in it, of course, but I don't mind. Because as soon as the fabric glides over my face, a scent hits me that is so delicious I want to keep on inhaling to smell it.

Is this Edward's scent? Can a man smell like this? Part of me is alarmed that I'm reacting to a male scent so strongly — all things male are evil by association to me — but holy hell, I want to keep this sweater with me always.

"But if you don't speak, how do you communicate?" Emmett is not done questioning me, apparently.

"So far, everything has been perfectly clear," Alice says haughtily, saving me. "We've not misunderstood you so far, have we Bella?"

I shake my head, no. They're all very considerate, although they do not seem to notice how nervous this makes me.

Rosalie huffs. She does it quietly, but I hear her. She keeps her face poised to the television screen.

"Must be hard, not being able to talk," Emmett muses. "But you have been able to, right? I mean…"

"He means to ask if you're mute by birth," Rosalie sighs, interrupting Emmett's hesitation without looking away from the television screen.

"Rosalie!" Esme scolds. Rosalie doesn't even flinch.

I blink at her, surprised that she even addressed me. Her question doesn't catch me off guard, though. I shake my head, hoping they will understand that I am answering Emmett's question, that I have not always been silent. There was a time I did talk…

Emmett raises his eyebrows at this. "So… you lost your voice for some reason, which is none of my business," he cuts Carlisle off, who has taken a breath to interrupt Emmett. "How do you cope with that? I think I would lose my mind after even one day."

"Ah, but it would be such a treat for us, having you silent for an entire day," Jasper smiles, lightening the atmosphere a little. My gaze flits towards him and I dare to take a better look. He's relaxed, his eyes are kind. A totally different man from the tense figure I met this afternoon. He is idly playing with Alice's fingers. I look away from that.

"Ha, ha," Emmett mocks at his brother. Then he turns to me. "But, do you use something like sign language? Or a notepad to write things down? I mean, you'll have to make yourself clear sometimes, no?"

No, I don't, since you asked. But sign language? Really? How do I explain that where I come from, this was hardly needed? I shake my head, frowning a little, and Carlisle warns Emmett again to not pry me with questions that make me uncomfortable.

Emmett is not done, but changes tack after a moment of silence. "Do you miss it? Your voice?"

This question does take me off guard. I have to remind myself that he doesn't know about me. His eyes are wide and innocent as he asks me this question and although I'd rather not interact with men, or people in general, at all, I feel compelled to answer this question truthfully.

I shake my head slowly, twice. No, I don't miss my voice.

I think everybody in the room is surprised at this. But it's been such a long time since I last spoke, I'm so used to it now. I don't even remember how my voice sounds, or should sound. I don't remember what it is like to talk. Besides, I really can't imagine I could ever say anything someone would possibly want to hear. The one important thing I ever had to say has brought me to where I am now. And that's not really a happy place, now is it?

"Wow," Alice whispers. "You really don't miss it?"

No. Didn't I just tell them that?

"But… Could you speak if you tried?"

"Alice, that's enough," Esme says softly. "She's supposed to feel at home here, not cross-examined."

I'm grateful that Esme saves me from this storm of questions. Alice had a valid question, though. Could I use my voice if I tried? I've never tried. Because I know that if I did, no sound would come out of my mouth. The thought of trying hasn't crossed my mind in a long time. And I reckon it won't again for long, if it's up to me.

I don't understand why everybody is so nice to me, and actually want to know things about me. If anything, I had expected hostile behaviour. The kindness and patience I've encountered so far today unsettles me more than a cold welcome would have done.

I feel guilty. My new siblings don't know about my past. If they knew, they would not be as nice to me as they are now. I'm such a hypocrite to accept their kindness, knowing full well I do not deserve it.

"So, what are all your plans for tomorrow?" Esme asks generally, to change the subject. I vaguely recall Carlisle telling me in the car on our way over here that they have asked their children to go on with their usual activities as much as possible, giving me my time and space to make this my new home. I remember being grateful for that. Was that only this afternoon? Seems like a lifetime ago.

"What's with the sudden interest?" Rosalie snaps.

I look from Esme to her like I'm following a tennis game.

Esme isn't put out at all. She doesn't even raise her voice. "I like to know, and I'm sure Bella likes to know."

No, Bella doesn't really want to know.

"Emmett and I are going to watch the game over at James's," Rosalie retorts. "Do you want us home for dinner?"

"That's up to you dear," Esme says. "If James's parents are okay with having you over, I see no problems. Just give me a call if you won't be home for dinner, okay?"

Rosalie shrugs and looks back at the television screen.

"She's not always like this," Emmett tells me in an apologizing tone.

I beg to differ, but what do I know?

Esme looks at Alice and Jasper.

"We don't really have plans," Alice says. "But we can go out if you like. I have to work on my History paper tomorrow, though. What are you going to do?"

Esme looks at me. "I was thinking that Bella and I could go to the supermarket to get some nice things for her to eat. And you can get to know the town a little," she continues, nodding at me. "I can show you around, we can drive up to the school if you want to."

She says 'town'. She does not say 'neighbourhood.' This entire town is smaller than my old neighbourhood in Phoenix. The school here has a student body of 300, I've been told. I suppress a shudder. One week from now, everybody will know my name.

I am beyond relieved that the conversation stills and I am not submitted to another round of questions. A movie begins on the TV and the Cullens settle in to watch. Something about a Greek wedding. It's a chaotic, fast movie with slapstick jokes and lots of romance.

Certainly not my cup of tea.

But the Cullens have finally done with paying attention to me and they watch the movie in silence, laughing at all the right moments. The atmosphere in the room eases gradually, as does the tension in my rigid muscles.

I snuggle in the sweater and I don't know if it is because I'm finally warm, and full, with meds in my stomach, and sitting in an extremely comfortable chair, surrounded by people who are too nice to be believable, or because this heavenly, heady scent is all around me, but soon I find myself able to close my eyes. Only for a minute…

"_I am so disappointed in you," Laurent says. His voice is distant, cold. "What am I going to do with you?" _

_I stand before him, frozen, waiting for what I don't want to happen. My breathing is ragged and tears spill from my eyes. _

_A faint whooshing sound, and a flat hand that hits my face so hard my head snaps back._

"_Stop crying. I hate tears." _

_My cheek burns like hell. With an enormous effort, I still my tears. But I know it's not over yet. It's just beginning. _

_The hand that just hit me, now strokes my hair. I bite my lip to not cry out. I hate these tender movements so much more than the violent ones. _

"_Good girl. Come closer now." _

_No, no, no. Please, no. My body betrays me and scurries forward. _

"_Closer still."_

_Again, I inch further towards him. He's sitting on my bed, my legs I almost touch his knees now. _

"_Come on, closer." _

_I think I may have stopped breathing altogether. My head is swimming. _

"_Good girl. Now turn around." _

"Bella?" A hand on my arm.

My eyes fly open and all I know is that I am trapped in a corner and someone is restraining me. I gasp for air, thoroughly upset from my dream, and very much alarmed by the situation I woke up to.

I look to my left and see Carlisle's face. It is his hand on my arm.

And I panic. I fly out of my chair and almost fall down, but I'm just able to keep myself upright. I back away to the wall, and Carlisle is coming towards me. I suck in a deep breath, and another one, and another one. I'm already hyperventilating and I can't stop myself. I am so scared and now I've run away as well, which means hell, usually.

Trapped with my back against the wall, I find I don't have the guts or the energy anymore to try and run. And I won't fight. It's useless to fight. Behind Carlisle, I vaguely see the shocked faces of my new family. But I can no longer think straight. My mind is still in the context of my horrible dream.

My body still screams for air so I breathe in time and time again, without really breathing out. Maybe if I just give up and get it over with, it will be less hard. Still gasping for unnecessary air, I wrap my arms around my head and let myself sink to the floor. I make myself as tiny as possible and I realize I'm rocking my body. If nothing happens or I don't calm down soon, I will pass out.

"We won't hurt you," Esme says somewhere close by.

Air. I need Air. I claw at the shawl that is wrapped countless times around my neck. I'm suffocating, I cannot breathe…

"Bella, I am going to remove the shawl," Esme says softly, but firmly. Moments later, I feel hands at my neck. No, please, no. I slap and claw at them, desperate to get them away, but the hands are strong and I am weak in my panic. I try to get away, but I'm against the wall and I can't move. The hands untie the long piece of cloth and it unravels from my neck. When the cool air brushes the skin of my now exposed throat, I vaguely hear someone sucking in a breath with a hiss, and an "Oh, shit." Another person gasps and several pair of feet leave the room at Carlisle's tense request.

But I can't breathe, I just can't breathe… I claw at my throat now, desperate to tear away what's suffocating me. My eyes are shut tight and my throat is closing up even further.

"I want to try and count with you," Esme offers hesitantly. "Will you count with me, Bella? Here we go. One: you're okay… Two: you're at your new home in Forks, Washington. Three: you are here to stay with us. Four: your feet are firmly on the ground. Five: your breathing is becoming regular again. Six: your heart rate is slowing down…"

Renée must have done something right, because although it feels terribly wrong to count with Esme and not with Renée, it is soothing and my body reacts, although my mind is still in a flurry. My breathing calms a little, I succeed at breathing out before I gulp in air again. My heart is still crashing out of my chest, but I'm starting to wonder how it can be that her counting works on me.

"Seven: the tension is leaving your body. Eight: your mind knows there is no threat. Nine: you are grounding again. Ten: open your eyes."

And I do. I look into two extremely worried faces. They are close to me, but strangely I don't really feel threatened by them now. This is new. The counting has worked. It's like a drug to me. My limbs are heavy and all I want to do now suddenly is sleep.

No, I desperately want a hug. But I'm so scared to ask for anything, especially for love. I'd rather not know what it is, than have it and lose it. But I want it. It's strange how I can crave something that I don't really know. It's like my subconscious does know what I am missing, and she's begging me for it. I push her away. I don't deserve love.

"You okay?" Carlisle asks softly after a while. He's sitting beside me, about three feet away. One shoulder leans against the wall as he is turned towards me. His legs are pulled up and one elbow is resting on his knee.

My breathing has slowed a little, although my heart is still going a mile a minute. I can feel the pain pulsing in my throat.

But I nod and swallow thickly. Those stupid panic attacks make my throat tighten up and it hurts all the more afterwards. Gingerly, I bring my fingers upwards to touch the bruises. I've always bruised easily, and the purple handprints on my throat have only just begun to fade. I'm guessing my new siblings have seen the marks. I don't like that. They must know now that I've done horrible things to deserve this.

Carlisle slowly picks his phone out of his pocket. "I know it's supposed to be photographed every Sunday, but do you mind if I took the picture now? Then you won't have to tomorrow."

I nod and close my eyes against the flash of his camera phone. The bruises need to be photographed weekly, to show how badly I've been hurt. My other bruises that are remnants of the last fight I had with Stefan, have been photographed for the last time last week. It's to collect evidence when Stefan's case will serve. If his case will serve. I have not pressed charges yet. Maybe I won't. Surely, I would not have been treated this way had I been innocent of any wrongdoing. So why should _he_ be punished?

"Thank you," Carlisle says as he puts his phone back into his pocket.

Esme, who has been gone for a moment, returns with a glass of turbid water. "Pain meds," she states by way of clarification. She sits down on the ground in front of me, about two feet away, which is dangerously close, folding her legs underneath her body.

I push the thought away that it could be other drugs in the glass, and take it from her. I grit my teeth and then gulp its contents down, frowning with the effort it takes to swallow. I do it as quickly as possible, nervous with both Carlisle and Esme around me. My eyes never leave them as I drink. But pain meds are much needed and I'm willing to trade. I think Carlisle and Esme know what an effort this takes me, because they don't move at all and look away as I'm drinking. This is unbelievably considerate of them, I realize. What have I done to deserve this? When will they stand up and laugh and point their fingers at me, sneering, "got ya! You didn't think this was all real, did you?" I wouldn't be surprised at all if that happened.

When I'm done drinking, I carefully place the glass on the ground in front of me. I frown and touch my throat with my fingertips, wondering how long I will feel this pain.

"Does it hurt a lot?" Esme asks softly.

My eyes are wide when I look at her. Why would she care? But I nod in confirmation. It hurts like hell.

I want to apologize for my behaviour. I've done so many things wrong and they have been so understanding. I want to tell them that I'm a fast learner, and that I don't expect them to go easy on me. I know I am a horrible person. I look at Esme pleadingly, hoping to convey my apologies through my eyes.

Esme surprises me by hugging herself. "I know you don't want to be touched, but I want so much give you a hug right now," she whispers. A single tear escapes from her eye. I am thoroughly confused. How could someone cry over me?

Slowly, tentatively, I reach out a hand to wipe the tear from her face. But my body blocks in mid-motion and my hand falls back down in my lap. I don't want her to cry over me. The thought alone is bizarre enough.

We sit like this for what feels like hours, but I think it's minutes. Still, it's an endless moment and slowly but surely, some of the tension seems to be leaving my body, and the room. It's beginning to seem like all hell will not break loose. Not yet, at least. I heave a deep sigh and yet a little more anxiety evaporates with my breath.

An itch on my cheek makes me lift my hand and to my amazement I find my own cheeks wet with tears. I really hadn't realized that I was crying myself.

Carlisle gets up slowly. I cower as he is now towering over me, and he steps back immediately. My anxiety is back full force again. "I'm going to check on the kids," he says after clearing his throat. His voice is thick. Is he crying, too?

I could laugh, for all my fear. It's so ridiculous that they would be crying. Surely, all that happened to me is my own fault? I still don't understand why they are so gentle with me. I'd hate anybody with a record as bad as mine instantly. But they couldn't possibly be crying over me, could they? How could I ever have such influence over anyone so as to affect their emotions?

"Bella, I plan to tell them that your foster father is responsible for the bruises on your neck. Is that okay with you?" Carlisle pulls me out of my confusing train of thoughts. I was distracted, again. How can it be possible that today of all days, in a completely new and threatening situation, I so often let down my guard? What is wrong with me? I have to get my bearings together.

And I have to answer Carlisle's question.

Dilemma. I don't want him to tell them, because then they'll know what a horrible person I am to have deserved this and they will make my life a living hell. On the other hand, they deserve to know whom they are going to share a house with.

Esme starts me out of my reverie by holding up a small notepad and a pen for me. "Please, talk to us."

But I can't. I cannot talk about what happened, don't they understand that? I look at the notepad in panic, my heart rate is picking up again. The thought of communicating about this scares me out of my wits. The one time I even considered it, the consequences were so horrible, so horrible… And it was all my fault. My mother…

A sob escapes my throat, almost tearing it up in the process, or so it feels. I slap the notepad away, and it flies from Esme's hand across the room. The next moment, I realize what I have done and I look back at Esme's startled face, shaking my head in shocked apology.

_Now you've done it, you__ stupid failure. God, can't you do anything right?_

When Esme doesn't move, I prepare myself for the worst and wrap my arms around my head again in protection.

"Bella, I won't hurt you." Esme's voice breaks at the last word. "I really won't. Are you afraid I am mad at you because you flung a notepad across the room? You have good reasons to be angry and scared. I will _not_ hurt you. Look at me."

The sudden sternness in her voice makes me look up all right. "I _will not_ hurt you. Ever. Do you hear me? You have nothing to be afraid of here."

I look over her shoulder at Carlisle, who is still near the door. He nods in agreement with Esme.

I want to believe them. But this promise has been broken on me one too many times. I'd only have to look the wrong way once and the rules would change.

"I'm not angry with you," Esme whispers.

"Neither am I," Carlisle agrees. "You've been through a horrible ordeal and it almost seems like you blame yourself for it. But it's not your fault."

Yeah. That's why it happened twice. No, that makes perfect sense.

"I'll leave you now." Carlisle finally backs out of the room. I hear a flurry of concerned voices speak up the moment he enters the kitchen.

Esme is still with me, on the ground. "It breaks my heart to see you like this. It seems no words of reassurance will suffice for now. I guess time will have to teach you that you are in a safe place here."

When I don't react, she continues. "How about we call it a night? You must be exhausted. And then tomorrow we can try again."

Try what again?

But I follow her like a dog, again, when she leads the way up the stairs to my new room.

She leaves me swiftly, after placing some cold medicine on the bed stand, in case I want to use it. I lock the door behind her and stand in the middle of my room, staring at my suitcase. I don't have pyjamas. With Stefan, I'd wear sweats and a sweater, or anything thick. I slept in a big t-shirt and yoga pants of Renée's when I was with her.

And here, I have nothing. I didn't even think about bringing something. Not that it matters. I don't plan on going to sleep tonight, however exhausted I might be. Ha. As if I could sleep. Best not to get caught by surprise tonight.

I look back at the door. Should I even lock it? If I lock it and someone wants to enter, will all hell break loose? If I don't lock it, _will_ anyone enter?

I'm torn.

I hug myself. I'm still wearing Edward's sweater. His scent has evaporated now, or I've become used to it. No, it must have evaporated. This scent didn't hit me as something I could ever get used to.

After a moment of hesitation, I walk back to the door and unlock it. I open it a crack. Downstairs, I can hear my new family talking. I can't make out what they say. I hope Carlisle and Esme are not talking about my past with their children. I've asked them not to do that, but promises are easily broken.

I close the door again and turn off the light. Then I position myself at the large window. I keep the curtains open. The moon is out a bit and the forest is illuminated by an eerie glow. It's breathtakingly beautiful. I remain standing and settle myself for a long, long night.

I'm so confused and I'm crying again, I notice. My eyes are sore and my throat feels thick. My head is throbbing. It seems no decent amount of painkillers is going to help with that today.

I stand at the window and wait.

My mind wanders.

All I've ever known is pain and distrust. Carlisle and Esme and their children seem nice enough, and I've not seen any signs with the children that they get punished when they do something wrong. Maybe they just don't hurt their own children. I shiver at that thought. But I want to believe them. I want to believe that they will not harm me. That this time, it will be right.

I think back of Esme in the kitchen. She has made me eat my ice cream, sitting down, in the kitchen. And she was sitting not four feet away from me. She asked me to, of course, and I cannot refuse direct requests, but still… I didn't bolt. I didn't run. I ate.

I ran to the forest, though. I still don't know what I was thinking — if I was even thinking. I knew I would have nowhere to go, but I couldn't control my instinctual run. I really needed some time alone to process the day. And at that moment, I was willing to risk anything just to be able to be alone for a while.

Seriously, how do these people cope, living in such a full house? They seemed to be at ease with each other but damn, I was alone with Stefan for over six months and the house was too small for us.

And then Alice came out to get me, and she wasn't mad. Nobody was mad, and Esme didn't blame me for running. No, she said she was sorry I felt I had to run. Interesting choice of words, indeed. I _felt_ I had to run. So it was my fault. No, not my fault. My… choice, maybe? She made me feel like it was her responsibility that I ran. That I _felt_ I had to run. But what could she have had to do with that? I was scared shitless by that Jasper, who stalked towards me with his hand out. And I knew damn well he just wanted to introduce himself.

I know damn well that not everybody means wrong.

But it's damned hard to not react like they will.

Not everybody has been nice, though. Still, I find Rosalie the easiest to deal with. After telling me her name, she has spoken to me exactly once, and that was a sneer. But I fully understand why she is so cold to me and in a way I appreciate her honesty. She won't walk on eggshells around me and that, I like.

Alice is very kind. In some miraculous way she convinced me to come back from the forest. With a shock I realize that she was right. She said nobody was mad, and nobody was. There was not even a hint of suppressed anger in the room. This kindness… I will not deny that I like it. But I am not sure I deserve it.

No. I'm sure I don't deserve it.

I'm such a horrible person. Everything that has ever happened to me is surely my fault. I wouldn't move in time, or I would behave too boldly. Both Laurent en Stefan have used these arguments against me. And they were right, weren't they? I'm ugly, I'm in the way. I'm taking up much-needed space on this planet. I'm good for nothing. I'm not bright, or sweet, or gracious, for that matter. I'm a mistake.

When they hauled me away from Laurent, I was sure it was my fault. Laurent said so himself. That was in Chicago. Then social services placed me with Stefan and Irina in Phoenix. They were nice, in the beginning. The atmosphere was tense always, but the rules were solid and didn't change overnight at first. But then Irina got depressed and Stefan did the same things to me as Laurent had done. It was worse in some ways, but in others, it was easier. Stefan was blunt, direct. I knew what was going to happen with Stefan so I could brace myself. To him, it was not a game to catch me off guard. It was a game to catch me. I knew that if I let him, it would hurt less.

So after a while, I no longer ran. I shut down my mind and got it over with.

Renée has told me time and again that it was never my fault, but I don't believe her. If such things happen twice, it is no longer a coincidence.

At around midnight, I can hear my siblings coming to bed. An hour later, Carlisle and Esme follow. I can hear the typical sounds of people preparing to go to sleep — a flushing toilet, the use of a sink, doors opening and closing. Footsteps walk towards my door. I tense up.

The footsteps stop at my door.

This is it. My heartbeat escalates and I hold my breath.

"Her light is off, I hope she's sleeping well," Carlisle whispers.

He walks away again.

And then it is quiet.

I wait.

At 2am, I'm getting hungry. Although I'm usually quite skilled at ignoring it, right now it's hard to neglect the queasy feeling in my stomach. I need to eat.

Shit.

At 2.30, I can no longer hide the fact that I really need some food. I grit my teeth and move my weight to my other leg.

At 3am, the hunger is starting to hurt. I need to eat. Badly. Tentatively, I walk towards the door of my room and open it a crack. It's quiet, dark. Faint snoring sounds come from what I believe is Emmett's room.

What do I do? Esme told me that I could eat anytime, even in the middle of the night. Would she be mad anyway if she caught me?

As if on cue, my stomach growls again. Let's risk hell and eternal damnation, because I am _hungry_. I need food.

Slowly, I walk out of my room and feel my way towards the stairs. I manage to make little sound, which surprises but pleases me. I find my way down the stairs, into the kitchen. Every few steps, I listen carefully if anyone is awake.

I turn on a small light in the kitchen and open the fridge myself for the first time. Although I really hate the fluid food, it's instantly gratifying as it kills the hunger quickly and effectively. Although I'd rather indulge in the pudding that calls to me from the top shelf of the fridge, or some more of Esme's ice cream, I know it's better to eat something that's a little more nourishing than candy or dairy.

Maybe it is easier to drink if I put it in a glass. I shuffle around the kitchen and prepare my drink. Okay, maybe that wasn't such a good idea after all. It looks and smells and tastes like something that no sane person should want to eat. Still, I need food. I'm queasy and my hands are shaking. And, it's easier for me to eat when I _know_ nobody will interrupt me. I take a deep sigh and brace myself for the onslaught on my throat drinking will take. Just when I'm about to put the glass to my lips, I hear a voice behind me.

"Who are you and why are you wearing my sweater?"

* * *

_Guess who's home..._

_As ever, please let me know what you think and if I'm still doing this right.  
_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N I don't own Twilight. I do own this plot, so please don't mess with my story.**

_Hello again. Your reviews blow me away and give me the confidence to write along. Thank you so, so much.  
_

_This chapter is written from Edward's point of view. I don't know how often I will let him talk, but when I started to write it was obvious that Edward should tell his view on things right now._

_I want to express my profound gratitude to Sherryola, who has pre-read my chapter and encouraged me to post it already. She is an awesome woman and she has become a real friend of mine in a very short time. She also has provided the best song that could have ever been used in this chapter: Colin Raye - I volunteer. Look it up on youtube, it's worth it._

_Enjoy...  
_

* * *

**Edward**

I was _not_ in a good mood when I came home at about 3 in the morning. I had been over at Jessica's, my girlfriend of four months. As girls kept hitting on me relentlessly, I had hoped it would stop if I just picked one and get along with it. Jessica was pretty enough, with blonde curls and big blue eyes. She was all over me, which was a nice advantage.

The flirting didn't stop once I was dating. And Jessica turned out to be annoyingly jealous. As soon as some girl catches my eye, she sees red and looks green in her jealous rage. And I spend a day or two apologizing for nothing I've done wrong and then finally she comes back, pouting and petulant, and I spend another couple of days reassuring her and telling her she is the only one or whatever she wants to hear. She's quite easy with that — she just asks me rhetorical questions that are easy to answer with a simple 'yes' or 'no, of course not!'

But I stick with her, as it is becoming increasingly annoying to see my brother and sister cuddle up with my _other_ sister and brother respectively every evening.

I don't quite understand however how they can sit on the couch together quietly for hours on end. Because when I am with Jessica, I find that more and more often she gets under my skin and I am in a hurry to be away from her again.

We kiss, a lot, as that seems to be the only thing she wants to do. I would like to get to know her mind, to talk with her about everything, anything, like music or movies or any other topic that holds her interest, but I think the only thing that gets around in her head is wind. That and the knowledge that she is dating me, and she refers to me as 'the hottest guy in school.' I'm not so sure of that. I don't consider myself anything special, at any rate.

Tonight had been no different. In the afternoon we had walked through the forest after some serious begging on my part and she had kept asking me questions about how many girlfriends I had had before. I didn't really want to talk with her about that, as Jessica was my first and I was seriously starting to wonder if this was really what all the fuss was about.

Then she'd gone on about 'experience' and she told me how she and Mike Newton had felt each other up in a closet once upon a time.

I really didn't want to hear that, actually.

Then, during dinner with her parents, who were nice enough but made me feel uncomfortable as hell with their scrutinizing looks and their 'so, what are your plans after you graduate next year, Cullen?' Jessica kept shooting me those glances that made me more uncomfortable still. After dinner I helped with the dishes, so as to avoid being alone with Jessica. But when the dishes were done and gone, there really was no excuse anymore and I let her tug me up to her room.

Her room was horrible, although I would never say that out loud. It was messy, and pink, and so extremely girly-girl that I always wanted to run away as soon as I stepped in.

She all but threw me on the bed and started kissing me. Although I know it's not very polite of me, I started thinking then about when and how I could break up with her in a way that would not hurt her too much. I was torn out of my reverie when I felt her pulling my shirt out of my jeans.

I stopped her by placing my hands on her shoulders and pulling her back a little. "What are you doing?"

She looked at me coyly — or at least I think that's what she was trying to do — "I thought that tonight was a good night to start moving on to second base."

Aw, what? How to explain to her that I really didn't feel like having her — ice-cold — hands on my body? But then again, if I refused, I would come across as a prude, and I wasn't a prude. I just wanted to do things like this with the right person.

And at that moment, I _knew_ that Jessica was not the right person. She would never be.

"Really?" I hedged. "I was thinking that these transitions should be more romantic. Like, you know, I'd take you out to dinner first and then we'd have the whole evening to cuddle up."

Damn me to hell, but right now I was sure glad I'm a skilled liar.

She bought it. Her eyes went all gooey and she looked at me with a silly smile on her face. "You would do that? Oh, Edward, you would do that for me?"

I didn't want to lie to her _again_, so I just pulled her against me and let her kiss me again. I don't know much about these things, but I'm pretty sure that Jessica is not a very skilled kisser. I'm not saying that I am, as it takes two to tango, but still. It didn't turn me on. Not anymore, at least. Let's leave at that.

I convinced her to watch a movie with me and repeatedly caught her hand as it was snaking its way underneath my clothes, telling her that some anticipation could be a good thing. She would sigh with a shiver, and I felt more horrible every time.

When at 10 pm it was reasonable for me to go back home, I pried her fingers away from me and said goodbye. Internally, I was fuming. I needed to end this, fast. She was getting on my nerves and she surely did not deserve me treating her like that. Maybe I should go over to her house tomorrow and finish it. I would not do it over the phone. I can be an ass sometimes, but I can't live with myself if I don't tell Jessica in her face that it's, well, not her, but me.

And it _is_ me. All the guys in my class keep on boasting about all the things they've coaxed their girlfriends into doing. As said, I don't really understand what the fuss is about. Maybe there is something wrong with me. Or maybe I am a prude. Either way, whatever I do, it won't be with Jessica Stanley.

On my way home, I remembered with a shock that our new 'sister' would arrive today. I had totally forgotten about that and in my current mood, I really didn't feel like meeting her. My brothers and I had been kindly asked to stay away from the house when the girl arrived, that's why I'd been away. And then I'd forgotten, really, and stayed until late at Jessica's. I think my parents knew I would eat at her place, but maybe they expected me to be home earlier in the evening? Well, they could have called then, could they not? I know mom and dad would find me rude for staying away.

Dad had talked to us about her almost daily over the last week. It had all gone very fast. The girl, Bella, was badly traumatized and needed a home, soon. She lived with her therapist in Phoenix. Dad had seen her case and felt very strongly that her new home should be with us.

I wasn't all too sure about that. I really did wonder why my parents would have a 'traumatized' girl in our home. Our family was big enough as it was and surely there were other families that could pick her up and fix her? Damn.

What bothered me as well, was that my parents would not say _why_ she was traumatized. They refused to tell us what had happened to her. She had asked them not to. I thought it kind of required information, to know how to handle her. I was afraid she would be aggressive, or annoying, or altogether _there_.

My parents wouldn't tell us why she was taken out of the care of her own family. I guessed it had to do with neglect or something. That's what I knew from movies — when neglected, children got picked up by social services and placed into foster care. Why was there no foster family over in Phoenix to take her in, I had asked. I got no answer.

I must confess I spent a night wondering how it must be for her, to have lived through something horrible, obviously, and then being transferred to virtually the other side of the country, to a new family, a new home, a new life. I could not begin to imagine it.

There were certain ground rules concerning the girl. The first was that she couldn't speak. Dad would not say why, just that she didn't. But that were two different things, weren't they? Either she couldn't speak or she didn't. Was she a mute or something? How would she be able to communicate? Would we all have to learn some sign language? The good part about this was that maybe no screaming fits were to be expected then, right?

The second rule was that she would probably be frightened and skittish, and that it would take a while for her to be at ease with us. I just rolled my eyes at his ambition. There were special homes for girls like her, where they would know exactly how to make her relaxed and at home. And now here she would barge into our lives and upset everything. I vowed to myself that I would ignore her as much as possible. It wasn't very kind of me, I know.

But to be completely honest, if she was as traumatized as my folks warned us for, I was a little worried about the well being of my baby grand piano. What if she was destructive?

It's about 10.15 pm now. I don't want to go home and meet this girl while I'm still so worked up over Jessica. Jasper always says my emotions are so strong they radiate off me. Although I'm not sure about that, I know that whatever I feel is always intense. Best not meet new people now if I want to make a good impression.

_Shut up and drive_, Rihanna admonishes me through my speakers. Okay, maybe I will do just that.

I drive around town and then to Port Angeles and back in my beloved Volvo until I am calmed down somewhat. It is getting late. I am getting tired.

I find myself turning for the driveway all too soon. The small digital clock in my car tells me it's almost 3 pm. I'm not bothering to park my Volvo in the garage. The noise of the garage door would probably wake the whole house and I will get hell if my parents find out what time I'm coming home.

As I walk into the house, I notice that there is still a light on in the kitchen. Someone must have forgotten to turn it off. As I round the corner into the kitchen, I see a girl. No, not _a_ girl. _The_ girl. Bella. She's pulling a tiny package out of the fridge. It's the astronaut's food that mom has bought for her some days ago. She wouldn't tell me why the girl cannot eat regular food. Another mystery.

The girl is tiny, with messy long brown hair and a heart shaped face with a small chin. Her entire demeanour seems to be focused inward, it's like she's trying to make herself as small as possible. I don't know why, but I am mesmerized by this girl immediately.

Her lips are pretty and full, but chapped. As she bites her bottom lip as she looks around for a glass, I can understand why. It must hurt her to keep gnawing her lip like that. She looks tired. There are dark shadows under her eyes that implicate it's been a while that she's had a decent night of sleep. Her eyes are puffy. I gather she must have been crying a lot, today. As I said, I cannot even begin to imagine what this all must be like for her.

She's wearing my favourite sweater. I remember having put it on this morning, but then deciding against it as I did not want to associate this sweater with Jessica. I left it in the laundry room then, too lazy to bring it back into my room.

Why is she wearing my sweater? Did she take it herself, or was it given to her? In a wicked way, I like seeing her in this sweater. Although she literally drowns in it, it becomes her in a certain way.

She is plain, but there's something special about her. Is it her eyes? From where I'm standing, I can vaguely see that they are big, and brown.

All my earlier reservations considering this girl have fallen away. She doesn't look aggressive, or dangerous. She looks damaged, hurt. She looks like she could really use a hug. Although I do not know her, it hurts me to see how carefully she is moving, like she is alert for danger constantly. With a pang I realize that that is exactly what she must be — alert for danger. She is traumatized, after all.

I feel can watch this girl for hours without getting bored, but then I remember dad saying she's skittish and we need to make our presence known around her.

Although I'm still on edge from my evening with Jessica I opt for a light introduction. "Who are you, and why are you wearing my sweater?"

The reaction I get is certainly not what I bargained for. She turns around so quickly her hair swirls around her face. The glass she has been holding slips from her hands and shatters into a million pieces on the floor, the contents flying in every direction. Her eyes are big and I've never seen anyone look as frightened as she does now. Hell, she frightens _me_ with it.

She gasps and looks at the mess on the floor, then back at me. Her hands go out, palms towards me, in an apologizing gesture.

I'm stunned. Somehow, 'sorry' doesn't seem to be able to cover the weight of this situation, so I keep quiet. When I don't react, because I have no idea how to react to this, her hands reach behind her head to pull my sweater off. Her hands are shaking so badly that it's a miracle she even succeeds at doing it. When the sweater is off, I can see she's wearing at least three tops on top of each other underneath it. I can also see that she is painfully thin. A long scarf that doesn't match the colour of her clothes is wrapped countless times around her neck. Her whole body is shivering now, and I get the feeling that it is not only because she is cold.

While looking at me in a heartbreakingly pleading way, she folds the sweater and places it on the breakfast bar, where she shoves it towards me in what I can only call a demeaning manner. She's shaking harder now. I'm still stunned. Why in earth's name would she be this frightened? Traumatized or not, she looks like a deer in the headlights. Even if she hadn't heard me come in — and by now I think she really didn't — there is no reason at all to be this scared. Surely I do not look that threatening?

After she's done with placing the sweater on the breakfast bar, she does something that freaks me out. She sinks to the floor and makes herself as tiny as possible. I can hear the shattered glass crunch as she kneels down right in the middle of it. With her bare hands she starts collecting the shattered glass around her.

I stalk towards her quickly and kneel and put my hands on her shoulders, in order to get her to stop before she hurts herself. She goes rigid in an almost violently manner, her breathing stopping completely for the moment. Her eyes lose focus just before her arms wrap around her head as she rolls up in a ball and now she's hyperventilating herself into a full-scale panic attack.

What. The. Fuck!

She tenses up further like she's made of brick now. I put my hands on her arms and try to pull her up. "Hey, you okay? No need to be scared, you know." My words sound silly and too loud as she clearly doesn't speak. At all.

She doesn't move. She breathes so rapidly and sounds so panicked I can feel my own heart rate speeding up.

"Um. Bella? Please get up?"

She tenses up even further, hyperventilating at an alarming rate. If she keeps this up, she will faint. This is ridiculous. I grip her arms and hoist her to her feet. Her eyes are closed tightly now and her body is still rigid. Her arms wrap themselves around her waist so tightly it must hurt.

I want to comfort her. Her fear is unnerving and it hurts me to see her this way. It's like she's extremely… breakable. Somewhere deep down, some protective instinct kicks in. So I pull her against me and try to hug her, take her fear away. "Shh, Bella. It's okay. It'll be okay."

Okay, what she does now is _certainly_ not what I bargained for.

She gasps, and she lets out a sigh that sounds like it's her last breath. And her legs just give way and she starts to slide to the ground again. I try to hold her up, but I don't have a good grip on her and all I can do is slide down to the floor with her in order to keep her from falling to the tiles. The glass crunches underneath us.

And then the next oddity happens. She just shuts down. Her face goes blank and it seems she's stopped breathing altogether. Her eyes look dead, which is very disconcerting. Her arms, that have been wrapped around her mid-section in a vice-like grip, go limp and fall along her sides. Her mouth is slack, and when I shake her a little to break her out of her stupor, her head bobs dangerously.

I'm starting to panic myself now. Clearly, I've done something terribly wrong. It is not normal for a human being to act this way. What scares me the most maybe is that she didn't even try to run, or fight. She was so scared, and people tend to either flee or attack when they are as scared as this. But now she is shutting down, like she is retreating into herself.

Although I really don't want to leave her here like this, I need to do something. As I let her go to get up, her body crumples again and she rolls up in a ball, her arms once more wrapped protectively around her head.

By God, I don't know whatever happened to this girl before she got here to make her act like she does, but it is at least fifty shades of horrible. This is not an act. Nobody can fake fear like this. And it is my fault.

"I'll get help, okay?" Again my voice is too loud in the silent twilit kitchen. I hurry to the stairs, take them two at the time and bolt for my parents' room. I burst through the door, panting.

"Mom, dad, I'm so sorry, but I think I've done something wrong." My words come out rushed. As soon as I've spoken, I realize that I have indeed made some critical mistake. It was because of me that she is so terribly shocked, and it was certainly because of me that she is now catatonic on the floor in the kitchen, in the middle of shattered glass. Fuck. I hold on to the doorpost to steady myself. What have I done?

"What? Calm down, Edward," my mom says sleepily, sitting up and blinking against the light that pours into the room from the hallway. "What time is it?"

"It's Bella. I met her in the kitchen and she just freaked out and I tried to get her calm but she went all weird." I'm breathless with my own agitation.

My parents are on red alert instantly and mom whooshes out of the room without so much as a second glance at me. Her robe billows behind her and the air she shifts with her movement hits me like someone has slapped me in the face.

Dad stops at me and puts his hand on my shoulder. I know it's taking him an effort to keep calm. I feel it in the force of his grip on my shoulder, and I can see it in his eyes.

"Tell me exactly what has happened."

I recount the story to him as quickly as possible. I tell him about my failed joke and how she was so shocked that she broke the glass. I tell him about her panic attack and how she reacted when I hoisted her to her feet, and then how she just shut down.

My dad looks so anguished, now I'm very certain I've blown things up. "However much I know you tried to do the right thing, my son, you have probably done exactly the opposite. What we didn't know beforehand, and what you couldn't know, is that Bella reacts violently to people who try to touch her. And from your story I'm guessing you wrapped your arms around her?"

"I did. I'm sorry, I didn't know that. I startled her and just wanted to comfort her. You know, wrap an arm around her, like you do when…" I interrupt myself. "Why can't she stand touching?"

What dad says next makes my blood freeze in my veins. "Because, for Bella, I think touching is associated with pain."

I swallow thickly and feel my knees buckle beneath me, but I remain standing. "What." It's not even a question. Forget fifty shades. Make it a thousand.

"I'm not going into details, son, because Bella has asked us explicitly to not do that. It will suffice to say that she comes from a violent past. She will need a lot of time to heal. I was hoping to provide that place for her. It's a pity you weren't here this afternoon. I know you have not been keen on the idea of her coming here."

"I wasn't," I agree. I blush. Huh.

"But maybe now you have met her yourself…"

I know exactly what he means by that. Dad's right, I wasn't keen on having a broken girl in our home. But there is something about her. Like you would give your right hand, and do it gladly, just to see her smile, if only once.

So I was wrong. She's not just some neglected girl whose parents forgot to care for her. But then again, if that were the case, my parents would never have taken her into their care. Our family is big enough as it is. This girl is something special.

I look in the direction of the stairs, where the soft tones of mom's voice are trailing upwards. I can't make out what she is saying. "Should I…?" I'm not sure what to do. It seems to me that I've screwed up royally and that I should not show my face any time soon again. But I want to apologize as well. Tell her I never meant to scare her like that and that I did the exact wrong thing when I wanted to help her.

"Let me check," dad says softly.

As he descends, the door of Alice's bedroom opens. "So, you've met her, too," she sneers. "Just like you to screw it up."

"I am aware of that, thank you," I snap back.

"Couldn't have come home earlier, to meet her normally like the rest of us?"

When would she ever get off my back? "No. Not that it's any of your business."

"Bella is my business," she breathes arrogantly, before dancing by me and starting down the stairs as well.

I roll my eyes at her and follow her to the top of the stairs, where I stop to listen.

Then Jasper comes trailing out of his room. He's wearing just his boxers and his hair is even more hopeless than mine.

"Come to gloat as well?" My hackles are still up.

"Nah. That bad?"

"That bad," I agree. Jasper and I have ever needed few words to have an entire conversation. I like him for that.

"Want to know what happened when I got home this afternoon?" He rakes a hand through his blond curls, messing them up even further.

No. "Yeah."

"I walked towards her to shake her hand, you know, introduce myself? But then she just bolted and disappeared into the forest. Alice brought her back home after two hours or so. She didn't even have a coat on her, her lips were blue from the cold."

Poor girl. So she ran away from Jasper. But she just froze when she was with me. Was that because I was touching her? Why would she just shut down when someone was with her? Horrible suggestions force their way into my mind, but I push them away. It doesn't have to be that bad. _Don't lie to yourself. You saw how she reacted to you._ No. I refuse to draw conclusions before I know for sure what is going on.

"Do you know what happened to her?" I ask Jasper softly. Maybe they've talked about it when I was gone today. I should have been home. Shit.

"No. But it sure as hell ain't pretty. You should have seen her when dad wanted to wake her from her nightmare. She had fallen asleep in the chair and she began thrashing her head and stuff. She almost flew through the ceiling in her haste to get away from him when he put his hand on her arm."

Oh, Lord. Don't think about what that can mean. "She tried to run from him, too?" She ran from anyone but me?

"No, not like that. It was like, as soon as she realized what she had done, she just collapsed and hid her face in her arms. It was horrible to see. The girl has hyperventilation brought to an art."

I glare at him. Such things are surely nothing to be joking about? "Then what happened?"

"Oh." Jasper pauses and swallows thickly. "She, um, looked like she was suffocating and she was clawing at her scarf, so mom took it away so she could breathe more easily."

I look at Jasper carefully. He's not done talking. He's upset, and he's rarely upset. I'm alarmed again.

"And what?" I ask, gently now.

"Well, we saw her neck when the scarf was gone and, um…" he swallows again, "I think someone has tried to strangle her."

This time, my knees buckle for real and I have to hold on to the wall to stay upright.

"You okay?" Jasper asks softly.

"Just give me a minute," I breathe. I lean with my back against the wall. _Someone has tried to strangle her_. Someone has seriously tried to kill her. And it was not a stranger. Because you're not placed in foster care when a stranger tries to strangle you.

O, dear Lord.

I cannot even grasp this concept, it is so far beyond what I know. It explains why she was gasping for air like it would be her last breath. It explains why Jasper says she's made hyperventilation an art. _It explains why she reacted so strongly when you startled her in what should be a safe environment._

I'll need a week to think this all through. Some nagging realization hovers at the back of my mind, but I'm still too shaken to pay attention to it. I was right when I thought this girl would barge in and turn our whole world upside down.

But I was wrong when I thought I would be able to ignore her most of the time. And with a shock I realize that I don't _want_ to ignore her. I want to get to know her. I want to teach her that she's worth happiness. I want to make her feel _safe_. The nagging realization then crashes down full force on me. She's never been safe. The bruises that must show on her neck are probably not the only ones she's ever had to endure. The reaction she had to me was so strong, it cannot possibly have bloomed from a single encounter with some sick mind. And that sick mind was probably someone she knew, someone who was supposed to take care of her. But even though something like that must be shocking, it still doesn't relate to the fact that her entire demeanour is focused inward, and almost — I swallow — submissive. It's almost like she has never known anything else but fear.

I sigh deeply and meet Jasper's worried gaze. "Did mom or dad tell you who did it?" It's hard to even speak the words.

"He wouldn't tell us. Dad said that Bella had asked them to not tell us anything, and that we should respect that."

Bella doesn't want us to know who did it. So she knows who did.

I swallow thickly. "I thought this shit only happened in movies."

Jasper chuckles humourlessly. "Movies need inspiration, too," he says sadly, and then disappears into his bedroom again. He's done talking, and I cannot blame him for that.

I don't know what to do. Although I feel drawn to this girl, I'm quite certain it is just some protective-caveman-like instinct. And she surely wouldn't need me around her, not after our disastrous first encounter. I should leave her alone, stay out of her way a little. I'll ask dad about it tomorrow, but I think it's the best way. If she wants to get to know me, she can take the lead for that. But I would understand if she never wants to look at me again.

I'm still waiting at the top of the stairs when dad calls out softly to me. I take a deep, calming breath and go towards him. He waits at the bottom of the stairs and before I'm fully down, I can see that he has been crying. I put my hand on his arm in a feeble attempt to reassure him. I know it's my fault that he is so upset.

"I'm so sorry," I croak. "I only meant the best."

"I know, son. We have all been caught off guard. Would you like to apologize to her?" His voice is thick with emotion and I nod. I have never seen him this upset.

I hope, I thoroughly hope, that Bella will accept my apology, although I doubt that words will do any good. This is not something what will get right again easily. _She_ won't get right again easily, that's for sure.

Dad leads the way to the kitchen and I come to a halt at a safe distance. Bella is sitting on the floor, against the counter, her arms wrapped around her knees. She gazes unseeingly forward. Alice is sitting beside her in exact the same position. Esme is sitting opposite of them and is the mirror image of Bella. The glass and the spilled food have been cleaned up. Bella's dark green pants still show traces of the juice that splashed on it when she dropped the glass.

My father clears his throat softly. "Bella, Edward would like to say something. Is that alright with you?"

Bella's head shoots up at the mention of her name and she looks from Carlisle to me. Some of the earlier fear has evaporated from her eyes and now I can tell how beautiful her eyes really are. They are big, almost doe-like, and they are the deepest brown I've ever seen. Her arms wrap around her legs a little tighter when she catches my gaze. But at least she's looking at me. Maybe I can convey my integrity with my own eyes. She gnaws her bottom lip again and is obviously waiting for me to speak.

"Um," I start. _Way to go, Edward_. "I wanted to apologize for what happened. I never meant to scare you like I did and it seems I did exactly the wrong thing when I wanted to make it right." _And the Nobel Prize for the best speaker goes to… _"So, I'm sorry. Really. I'll stay out of your way if that's what you want."

When she doesn't react, I'm starting to wonder if she even heard me. But after what seems like minutes, she nods slowly, once. Something flickers in her eyes that I cannot name, but it is not fear. It's… hope?

I huff mentally. Yeah, as if.

* * *

_And... exhale... Next chapter will be Bella's story. She just needed some time to get her thoughts in order and to let me into her head again.  
_

_As ever, let me know if I'm still doing this right...  
_


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N I don't own Twilight. This particular plot is mine.**

_Hello my dear readers. You have moved me all to tears with your notifications and most of all, with your wonderful, wonderful reviews. I've had a lot of time to write last week and so I can get this chapter up much quicker than I expected to. _

_Please keep on reviewing, you make it easier for me to write this if you let me know I'm doing it right. I wanted to tell you that this will not be a story where Edward and Bella will be happily married within two weeks. Lucky for you, it won't be a story either where it takes a hundred chapters for them to find each other. _

_I think that Sherryola, who I can proudly call my beta and a very special friend, would come over and slap me hard if I did that, and that means something as we live just about on opposite ends of the world. Try chatting with each other with an 8 hour time difference..._

_This chapter is Bella's point of view again. She will tell what happens when she meets Edward and move on from there._

_Mood music: Thom Yorke - Hearing Damage; Maria Mena - Where were you. The songs are on youtube, and they are worth listening to.  
_

* * *

**Bella**

Do you know that feeling when you are absolutely certain that the shit has hit the fan and you're in for it and all hell will break loose and then nothing, just _nothing_ happens? It's like I am in the eye of the storm now, and the anticipation is eating me.

But, metaphors aside, I am so confused that I don't even know how to word what has happened.

I was in the kitchen, minding my own business and trying to finally, _finally_ eat something real, when I heard this voice behind me, asking who I was and why I was wearing his sweater. Well, I didn't hear him come in or approach me in any way so yeah, he scared the shit out of me.

When I turned to face him and to see how angry he was, I dropped the glass with the fluid food I was about to drink in my shock. Of course the muck got flying everywhere and glass splinters pivoted off the floor loudly, but all I could do was look at this guy that was standing in the doorway.

He must be Edward.

Impossible, copper hair, dark brows, fierce eyes and a strong jaw-line, and although I've sworn myself to never _ever_ find a male attractive in whatever way, he was the most handsome man I've ever seen. The picture surely didn't do him any justice.

But I'd never want him. I couldn't.

No, scratch that.

Like _he_ would ever want _me_. Ha. Ha. Funny, Bella.

But, all tackiness aside, he was pissed, and I was up in the middle of the night, and I had just dropped a glass to pieces on the floor, _and_ I was wearing his sweater.

Shit, shit, _shit_.

I'd fucked up. Again.

I looked down at the floor, then back at him, and stuck my hands out in an apologizing gesture. Not that it would help, but he should know I never meant to do this. Of course I didn't. I would find a way to pay for the glass. And I would clean the kitchen, of course. Hell, I'd clean the entire house if that's what it took.

He needed to get his sweater back. I tried to pull it off as quickly as I could with my shaking hands, all the while haunted by memories of the times I had to undress in front of Laurent or Stefan. Bile filled my throat at the association. My body was switching to red-alert mode swiftly and my heart rate was escalating. Although a small voice in the back of my mind called out frantically that I didn't need to be scared in this house, that this Edward, like the rest of his family, would probably not hurt me, I tensed up like I did every time I sensed danger.

I am Pavlov's dog personified.

I folded his sweater and put it on the breakfast bar. There was no way in hell I was going to approach him. If he wanted anything, he should come and get it. But for good measure, and to make myself clear, I pushed the sweater forward in his direction.

He didn't react. He didn't even move. He just stood there, looking at me with those intense, unreadable eyes. My heart started pounding a mile a minute and cold shivers of fear traced down my spine as I knelt down, making myself vulnerable. But I needed to start cleaning up the glass, so he'd know I felt bad about this. I sank to my knees right smack in the middle of the shatters and felt them crunch underneath my knees as I started to collect them from around me.

Quick, light footsteps hurried towards me and I cringed violently, my breathing halting. Before I could even process what had happened, I felt two hands on my shoulders. I wrapped my arms around my head to protect myself as best as I could and bent forward, making myself as small as possible to protect my vulnerable parts. My rational mind finally shut up, thoroughly confused and disappointed that she was apparently wrong about the safety in this house. My evil mind just rubbed some salt in the newly torn-open wounds. _See?_

The hands didn't let go. Fuck, this was it. Please, let it be over soon, please, please please pleasepleaseplease…

Hands on my arms now, gripping me, pulling me.

_Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh sweet Jesus fuck._

"Hey, you okay? No need to be scared, you know."

Huh. What?

Nevermind, I was hyperventilating myself into unconsciousness, I must have made these words up. My mind can do strange things when in situations like these.

"Um. Bella? Please get up?"

My muscles went on full lockdown mode now, but my mind was going a mile a minute. There was uncertainty in this voice. He was asking me to get up. It wasn't a threat, or a demand, or an order. It was a question, with a 'please'.

Gah. 'Confused' didn't really cover it anymore. But then something happened that would have made me scream if I had been able to.

His hands gripped me tighter and he hoisted me up until I was standing up beside him. His grip on my arms was strong — not pain-like strong, but strong enough to set off yet another alarm in my head. I wrapped my arms around my waist to protect the soft parts of my belly. I didn't want to see his face so close to me, so I shut my eyes tightly. I knew it was a wrong thing to do, not being able to see what was coming, but I couldn't make myself meet his eyes right now. I had given up the hope that I would make it through this day without any pain.

A burning sensation in my lungs reminded me that I probably had stopped breathing altogether again some time ago. I gulped in a big gust of air, and a scent hit me. It smelled like… Hey, didn't I know this scent from somewhere?

I couldn't finish my thought however, as two strong arms were wrapped around me now, pulling me against a taut, muscular body.

Mentally, I was screeching, for what it was worth.

I went even more rigid, I didn't even know that was possible. I couldn't control my shaking anymore, either. But. _Nothing. Happened._

Oh, the confusion. And the fear. I was so afraid and wished for something, anything, to happen all right. I felt like I had been standing there for centuries.

"Shh, Bella. It's okay. It'll be okay."

These words were terrifyingly familiar to me, but the way they were spoken to me was entirely new. I opened my eyes a little and chanced a look at the person who was holding me.

Wide, concerned eyes, filled with fear, looked back into mine.

Mercifully, my body took over just then, finally, and my mind started shutting down before I could think anything. My muscles went limp and I simply started sliding to the floor. I was vaguely aware of the two arms around me supporting me until I was on the cold tiles. The arms holding me shook me a little and I couldn't even brace myself anymore, so my head bobbed along with it. Once more a vague burning feeling in my lungs told me that I needed to breathe again sometime soon. When I was let go, I curled up in a foetal position, making myself as small as possible.

"I'll get help, okay?"

For whom? Whatever. Fortunately, my mind finally went blank after that.

**~O~**

I don't know how long it has taken them to wake me from my stupor again. But when I finally blink and focus to look around me, Alice is sitting beside me and Esme is opposite me, mirroring my position.

"There you are," Esme says sweetly. A tear falls from her chin. Has she been crying again? She shouldn't do that, it'll show on her face tomorrow. And I would be to blame for that.

I look around me. I'm sitting up against the kitchen cabinets. The floor is clean, the glass splinters are gone. As the chain of events that led to here resurfaces in my mind, fear fills my head again. I look at Esme, alarmed.

"We are so sorry that you got startled," she whispers. "I'm sure it wasn't Edward's intention. We are not mad at you, and we will not… punish you." She says the word like it's hard for her to use it.

Beside me, Alice gasps softly and I see her gaze meet with Esme for a moment.

Esme holds up a notepad and pencil. "Is there anything you'd like to say?" she asks carefully.

Well, not much, really. If it were up to me, I'd never use any words, in any way. It's hardly necessary. I listen to people babble away all day long and they rarely really _listen_. Plus of course the one time I tried to say something important, the consequences were disastrous. I stopped talking after that. And right now, I couldn't even make a sound even if I tried. Stefan has made sure of that.

But perhaps I need to try a little harder tonight. It's for the first time in years really that I want to use words to explain myself. I take the utensils from Esme and write down one single word: _sorry_.

Esme looks at the notepad, then at me. "There is no need to be sorry, Bella. We should be sorry for not being able to make you feel at ease here. But as we said, it will take time for you to learn that you are indeed safe here. You'll have to learn that for yourself."

I don't react to that, because what am I going to say?

"Here," Alice whispers then and she carefully holds out a tissue for me.

My hands travel towards my face and I'm surprised that it is yet again wet with tears. How can it be that I am crying so much without even realizing it?

_Stefan would usually let you know that you were, by demanding that you stop_, my mind whispers. I mentally slap her. Traitorous girl.

I dry my face and reach for the notepad again. Esme's face lights up as she realizes I am going to 'say' something.

_I'll pay for the glass_.

"What? Why? Of course you don't need to pay for the glass," she breathes.

Gah. However much I hate it, it seems like I need to continue this written conversation. I have to be sure that they know what I mean. I don't like to talk. It was easier when I didn't need to. But surely I'll have to pay in some way to make up for the broken glass, and the mess, and the sweater, and the breaking down?

_Of course I'll pay. I want to make it good. Tell me what I must do._

"You need to do nothing," Esme starts, but I'm writing again.

I swallow hard as I hand her the notepad again.

_Retribute. I know I deserve it._

"No." Her voice breaks, but she sounds fierce enough. "Never."

Tears are streaming down her face now constantly. I cock my head at her and bite my lip. Why is she so sad? It's heartbreaking to see. I scribble something down again, frowning with the effort, but this I really _want_ to say.

_Don't cry, please._

There's more I want to say, but my body blocks again. I'm not really one for talking.

Esme all but breaks down as she reads my note and holds it up to Carlisle, who has been hovering in the background. He sees the list of comments I've written and puts his hand to his mouth as tears start escaping his eyes, too.

This is ridiculous. When I look at Alice, she's just wiping her face. Are we all crying now? God help me, but I find I'm half-smiling at this ridiculous sight. Alice sees me and giggles, probably understanding why I'm grinning like I'm mentally challenged, startling Esme and Carlisle. When they look at us, a smile breaks through their tears as well.

We sit quietly then for a moment, and the intensity of the atmosphere has lightened a little. But before I can relax, I have to ask one more question. Tentatively, I hold out my hand for the notepad. Carlisle understands me immediately and hands it to me after he has crouched down next to me.

I must confess he doesn't seem all that threatening to me anymore now. He's kindness personified, but I'm careful with my judgment about people. I've never been wrong, but there's always a first time for everything.

I take a deep breath and hold it while I write and hand it back to Esme.

She reads it, and looks me straight in the eye when she answers. "No. Never."

After a long moment of silence, I let go of my breath. I want to believe her. I do.

And for the second time since this morning, the tight ball of anxiety in my stomach untangles a little more. Esme meets my gaze and holds it steadily for a long moment.

_I want her to know me_.

The thought scares and thrills me at the same time. But I'm mostly scared out of my wits.

Carlisle clears his throat. "Bella, Edward would like to apologize. And I think it is a good idea that you see him again with us still around, in a safe environment."

I take a shaky breath. This is weird. I'd like to see him again, but after tonight I'm pretty sure that he must loathe me. And after all the kindness I've met today in this house, I surely would find it a shame if I got off on the wrong foot with Edward. I sure hope he won't make my life all too miserable.

As if she's reading my thoughts, Alice whispers, "I'll make sure he's kind to you. He'll have to answer to me if he isn't." The thought of the tiny pixie taking on a tall, muscular man makes me smile a little.

I look back at Carlisle and he nods before walking to the stairs and calling Edward down.

I tense up a little in anticipation.

"Just so you know, I have mentally placed a comforting hand on your arm," Alice says softly. I don't know how she does it, but she seems to look into my soul and knows exactly what to say and what to do. I could love her, easily, if I would allow it.

I push the thought away violently. _No such thing as love, my love._

Carlisle comes back first, followed by an Edward who looks so anguished it hurts me.

Ah, what?

He looks down at me and his jaw is taut with tension, which makes me tense up. I look forward again, not wanting to meet his eyes.

Carlisle clears his throat before he speaks. "Bella, Edward would like to say something. Is that alright with you?"

I have to look up now, and so I do. His eyes are blazing with something I cannot identify. But it's not anger, or hate. Of that I am quite sure. I wrap my arms a little tighter around my legs as I brace myself for what he is going to say. I bite my bottom lip and for the first time feel that it's actually hurting to do so. I wait.

"Um, I wanted to apologize for what happened. I never meant to scare you like I did and it seems I did exactly the wrong thing when I wanted to make it right. So, I'm sorry. Really. I'll stay out of your way if that's what you want."

What? Stay out of my way? What for? Like he should even change an inch of his life because I am put in his house? I'm pretty sure he didn't get a say in that, did he? And then my mind stumbles across a thought that startles me. Do I _want_ him to stay out of my way? I'm not sure about that. But then, would he want to know me? And would I want him to know me? Would I?

Gah. I'll need a month to work this all out, at least. But right now, he'll want an answer maybe. How to answer him?

I can only come up with the wittiest thing I've done so far.

I nod.

Edward nods back, once, tensely. He is frowning a little. Then he looks up at Carlisle, who nods in turn, once. Edward looks back at me for a moment, then turns and leaves for the stairs, without so much as a greeting.

The sweater lies forgotten on the breakfast bar.

Yeah, okay.

Carlisle lingers, and after a moment of thought simply sits down on the floor with an agile grace that's quite stunning for a man his age. I am surround by three people now. They sit at a safe distance and they all look at me with something I cannot really identify, but it's certainly not hate, or pity. I do feel threatened a little, and I'm tense. The entire atmosphere is tense, like you're around a dog you know is vicious. It's annoying to be in the centre of the attention, though. I prefer to be on the periphery, so to speak. Or outside of the interaction completely, if it's up to me.

Carlisle tells me he wants to apologize for all the things that have gone wrong today, he feels like he is to blame. "I hope you can forgive us." His smile is gentle, and genuine.

It's still so bizarre to hear him say that they are not going to blame me for all what happened today. I'm starting to believe that their kindness really is sincere and won't stop when I get up tomorrow.

_Oooh, beware, silly girl._

I bite my lip. That really hurts and I wince as I suck it into my mouth immediately after to soothe the pain a little. It's really been a rollercoaster today.

"I am off to bed, I have to work tomorrow," Carlisle says apologetically, then gets up and leaves us with a general "goodnight."

Suddenly, I realize how tired I am myself. My stomach growls, chagrined.

Right. It all started with food.

"Oh! You still need to eat," Esme breathes, and she gets up immediately to pick a container out of the fridge. "I'm guessing it doesn't really matter which flavour you take?" she asks as she sits down again and hands me the package. It's vanilla with something. I'm so hungry it even looks tasty to me.

But, however cosy our gathering is, I cannot eat with others watching. So I hold the package in my lap. For some weird reason, I don't want to interrupt this get together in the kitchen. As long it remains as it is now, that is. I'll eat in my room later. I've waited so long now, another five minutes won't kill me. For good measure, I point towards the package and then towards the ceiling, and Esme gets the message. It's only then that I realize that I didn't even consider if I could even eat in my room, but it doesn't seem to be a problem.

Or will I pay for it later, anyway? I catch Esme's gaze again and ask for reassurance with my eyes. She smiles and nods. "You can eat where you want, whenever you want," she whispers. That's nice to know.

I want to know the rules in this household. I want to know what to do and what will happen if I fuck up. Maybe I'll ask Esme tomorrow. I'm too tired now.

"Hey, wait, have you not changed into pyjamas?" Alice then suddenly asks from my left side. She's in a purple robe that looks incredibly soft and fluffy and cosy and warm.

I don't answer rhetorical questions, though.

"Why not?"

_Because I have none. Stop asking me questions, if you please_.

"And why are you wearing three layers of clothes anyway? Don't you have warmer things?"

This I think is pretty clear as well, but okay, I shake my head. No. I come from Phoenix. The sun actually shines there.

"Why are you no longer wearing Edward's sweater?" Alice continues, getting alarmed now. "He didn't ask you to take it off, did he? Because I swear to—"

"Alice, please," Esme interrupts her, then turns to me. "Did he?"

I think back to our disastrous encounter. No, he didn't literally ask me to take it off, but he did ask me why I was wearing it and well, he sounded quite pissed.

"_Did_ he?"

I look at Esme with wide eyes. I need to tell her what happened, but how on earth do I do that? I rub my face in frustration.

Esme once again places the notepad in my lap, without a word. She sits back, an almost unsettlingly patient expression forming on her face. Her intentions are clear and I cannot refuse this, I know that. I cannot prevent nor hide the fierce scowl either however that settles on my face as I pick up the pen. Fuck, I do _not_ want to do this.

So, I write, in quick, sloppy handwriting.

_Edward asked why I was wearing his sweater. Startled me. Didn't hear him enter. Thought he was angry._

Esme reads, then nods. "Go on."

I mentally shout out every profanity I know. Do. Not. Want. To.

I write.

_I broke the glass, so so sorry. Didn't want to anger him more, so took sweater off. Is his sweater anyway. He never asked me to do it._

Esme reads again. Alice sits besides me, and she's uncharacteristically quiet as she looks back and forth between Esme and I.

"Can you tell me what happened next?" Esme asks, very softly now.

_No. _

I don't even have to try to explain fortunately, because Esme reassures me immediately that I don't have to. "I am so sorry you were so scared. We're not giving a great example in providing a safe new home for you, do we?" she chuckles humourlessly, and once again a tear escapes from the corner of her eye.

"Bella," Alice asks very softly after a short silence, "I don't want to annoy you, but do you actually have warm clothes? Because you only had this one tiny suitcase, and…" she trails off.

I must look very worried, because Alice looks at Esme now, alarmed.

"Oh my, I can't believe I haven't thought of that at all!" Esme exclaims. She slaps her forehead and closes her eyes for a moment. "Renée told me this. You don't even have a coat, do you?"

Ah, no.

"Or pyjamas?" she then asks softly after a long moment of hesitation.

No.

"Bella, I am so sorry about this. What was I thinking? We have to get you decent clothing. We'll go shopping tomorrow."

No!

I must look ten different shades of horrible and I cannot even begin to list the reasons why I do _not_ want to go shopping. Apart from the obvious fact that I will never be able to repay this debt, I also profoundly detest it. And I don't want to try on new clothes to see how they look on me. Because there is no way in hell that I ever will want to look 'good,' in whichever possible way.

Shopping for new clothes is such a miserable thought I momentarily consider just walking away from the kitchen and leaving the house altogether.

Esme seems to notice some of my distress. "It doesn't have to be a big event, but you'll need some basic things. A coat, for one."

She's right, of course, but that doesn't make it any easier. Can't we just order some stuff online? I'd be perfectly happy with hand-me-downs from the other Cullen girls as well.

My stomach growls again, the sound cutting through the silence and distracting us from the delicate topic of conversation.

Esme takes this as a cue and gestures that she wants to get up. "I suggest we'll really try to go and get some sleep now," she says while I get up with her. "You can eat up in your room at your own time and pace. And then tomorrow we can decide what we want to do. I forgot to tell you earlier, that we don't get up at set times on Sundays. You're free to sleep late if you want to."

I nod, knowing full well that I won't be able to.

Alice has gotten up as well and looks up at me with a gentle smile. "You can borrow our clothes as long as you don't have your own. You can have anything you need."

And with that, she bids her mother goodnight with a fierce hug and she bounces away and up the stairs so lightly I wonder if her feet touch the steps at all.

Esme looks down at me and smiles compassionately.

There it is again, that strange new concept.

"This must have been an… interesting day for you, to say the least," she breathes. "It seems that the more we try, the more we mess up. I hope we have not spoiled our chance with you. Come, let's get you to bed. I'll get you something to wear."

I walk after her, completely stunned by her words. _They_ messed up? I thought I was the one that frequently had 'spoiled her chance?' I sincerely hope they will not send me off to a shelter. As much as I hate living under the same roof with parenting people, I shudder at the thought of living in a place with fucked-up teens all around.

Esme disappears momentarily inside the master bedroom and comes back out with cream coloured satin pyjamas, which she hands to me. They feel thick and warm and incredibly soft. Do I dare to wear this?

I look at her and nod once in thanks. I hope my gesture transfers my message. I've used up my word quota for the next two years tonight.

My new foster mother leads the way to the guest room — my room — and flicks on the light. Of course she notices that the bed is made, unused. She turns to look at me.

"Did you not go to sleep earlier?" she asks carefully.

I do not answer rhetorical questions.

"Did you not feel safe enough to sleep?"

I have to look away from her at that question. Her words seem to cut right through my soul, because she is dead right, of course.

"There is a lock on the door, you know, if it makes you feel better…"

I still look away, wrapping my arms around my waist for comfort.

Esme steps toward me, hesitantly, and I automatically take a step back. She presses her lips together in what I think is disappointment. "I am so sorry," she whispers. "I really hope you will feel safe enough to sleep tonight."

And with that, she leaves the room, closing the door softly behind her.

I remain unmoving for several long minutes. When I am certain she isn't coming back, I do indeed lock the bedroom door.

I turn back to the room. Finally, mercifully, I am alone. The package with food is still in my hands. I pull Renée's quilt of my suitcase and wrap it around me while I huddle on the floor on the other side of the bed, hidden from the door. I press the straw through the designated spot in the carton and pull the quilt over my head, blocking out the light and creating a safe bubble to be in. A deep, shuddering sigh escapes me.

And then I can finally feed in earnest, and in peace. Honestly, I am so far gone that the taste doesn't even bother me anymore.

The package is empty all too soon. I should have brought another one, but there is now way in neither heaven nor hell that I am going downstairs again to get myself some.

I sigh again, trying to get rid of some of the anxiety that fills the rest of my empty stomach. Then I reluctantly pull the quilt off my head again, blinking against the light.

My head lolls back against the bed. I am so tired. I think I have never been this exhausted in my life. And I realize that I won't be able to wake until the morning arrives. At least, not while standing up in my usual watch position. I've done it countless times before, but this day has completely drained me. I need to lie down, or at least give my body a chance to rest.

With an effort, I get myself on my feet again. I look at the pyjamas Esme lent me. They look so tempting. I grit my teeth and leave them on the desk. Then I pull the thick comforter off the bed and carry it to the bathroom. Renée's quilt and a pillow follow suit.

I switch off the light in the bedroom and feel my way towards the bathroom, which I lock as well. Yes, this is better.

I step into the large bathtub in my stockings. Then I wrap both the quilt and the comforter around me and I sink down in the tub, which surrounds me like a shell. Snuggling into my pillow I try to make myself as comfortable as possible.

I close my eyes and sigh deeply. The comforting scent of Renée's quilt surrounds me and I try to swallow the sudden lump in my throat.

When I don't succeed, I just let go and feel my tears once again trailing their way down my cheeks, before they drip off my chin. I didn't know a person could shed so many tears on one single day. My eyes are burning and my head is throbbing still. I must look an utter and complete mess. Not that I care about that.

I wiggle a little until I am reasonably comfortable, wrapping my arms around myself in the closest resemblance I will ever come to a hug.

I don't want my mind to wander, and it seems my mind doesn't want to either. I just feel… numb. I don't have the energy to think about everything that happened today.

I have messed up countless times, and I have not been punished. Nobody has shouted at me or threatened me. The patience I've seen so far is almost unnerving.

And Edward…

No, maybe it's best not to think about him. He'll probably want nothing to do with me, anyway. And I certainly won't want anything to do with him. Right?

Right?

I sigh deeply again, and my head feels incredibly heavy. I bury my face in Renee's quilt and savour the scent that represents the closest thing I have known to a home. I tear up when I realize that this scent will not last forever. In fact, I will be lucky if I can keep it with me for even the next few days.

God, I miss Renee so much already. This quilt, this scent, feels like the last thing that's binding me to her, to the world I have known before I came over here.

I'll have to do it on my own from now on.

And whatever it is that I will encounter on my way, I will take it with my head held high. I can do this. I will have to.

With this renewed resolve, my body finally relaxes a little.

If I'm very lucky, I might even be able to sleep.

* * *

_So, it's clear enough that Bella prefers not to communicate. And so many changes for her in such a short time... I think she does quite well, actually.  
_

_What will happen when she's forced to act on something she did?  
_

_As ever, would I love to know what you think and if I'm still on the right track with this! Please, press review :)  
_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N I don't own Twilight.**

_Hello my dear readers. Thank you so much for the astounding reviews. I will reply to them, tonight or else tomorrow. For those who review anonymously: know that your review is read and cherished. The bathtub really made an impression on a lot of you...  
_

_A little heads up (I'm afraid you might become impatient): Edward will show up sometime in this story ;) Remember that Bella has been with the Cullens now for just over 16 hours. My story will pick up pace as I go along, but this first day is incredibly important. It's going to be a slow burn..._

_The words '**Thank You**' do not in the least cover my extreme and utter gratefulness for my beta, Sherryola. She bears with me and listens to me contemplate almost every single word of this story. And she's my walking dictionary. Apart from that she's a wonderful, wonderful friend and I am so grateful to know her.  
_

_Your mood music: _The hours (Philip Glass) - I'm going to make a cake_. If you have suggestions for music that would go with this chapter, please share them with me._

_For now, a glimpse into Bella's past, and into the inner workings of her wounded mind.  
_

* * *

7.

"_I miss Irina," Stefan sighs behind me. He's slouched back into the couch. I'm sitting as far away from him as I can, on the edge of the seat, but apparently I'm still within arm's reach. I go rigid as I feel his hand crawling up my back in a drunken, uncoordinated caress. _

"_I really miss her. If you hadn't been here, I'm sure all would still be fine."_

_I grit my teeth and wring my hands in my lap, unseen by the man who has sworn to take care of me, to protect me from harm and to provide me a safe home. So far, all three of those promises have been broken._

"_Yeah," he slurs, and his hand falls limply back on the couch. _

_A strange little thing happens to my body. It's like every nerve ending is suddenly on end, alert for danger. I cannot see him. He's unpredictable and I don't know what he's up to. I count to ten silently before I get up as carefully neutral as I can muster. _

"_You gonna cook?"_

_I turn to him and nod. _

"_Good," he yawns, then scratches his crotch with vigour. God, the man is so disgusting. I look away. _

"_Bring me a beer, will ya?" he yells after me when I go for the kitchen. _

_I do as I'm told and place an opened bottle of beer on the coffee table before him. _

"_Just give it to me, you stupid cow. Goddamnit, is that really so much trouble?"_

_I grit my teeth once more and walk up to him, reaching the bottle out towards him. When his hand comes out I flinch violently, and in his sudden rage at my fear he doesn't take the bottle from me but grasps my wrist in a vice-like grip. He squeezes so hard tears spring into my eyes immediately. That's going to be a handsome bruise in the morning._

_Because he grabs my wrist, the bottle first topples over and then slips from my hand entirely, spilling the contents all over Stefan's lap. _

_He roars, his swearing a string of incomprehensible slurring as he gets up, my wrist still in his hand. I give in and move with him as he drags me across the room, else my wrist will certainly snap. God, it burns. _

_I don't even see it coming as he swings the glass bottle, still spraying beer, at my head. The blow is so loud it makes my ear ring. And the bastard still holds my wrist. I cannot protect myself and all too soon comes the second blow, and the third… I find myself praying to whatever higher power that the bottle won't break. Another blow follows suit and I'm seeing stars now, the bad kind. I scurry into the refuge of my mind and search frantically for my happy place…_

**~O~**_  
_

I start awake with a violent gasp and it takes me a good deal of effort to get my breathing and my hammering heart under control. _It was a dream, it was just a dream. Count. One, you're okay, two, you're at…_ Huh. Where am I, exactly?

I'm in a bathtub.

Okay, that's neither a very new nor a very surprising thing. I carefully look around and take in my surroundings. Dull grey light enters the bathroom through a small window up high in the left wall. I'm wrapped up tightly in a thick comforter, but recognize Renée's quilt underneath it.

Ah, yes, now I remember. I am at the house, nee, mansion of the Cullen family, who have kindly taken me into their care. I will stay here until I am at least eighteen. And I went to sleep in the bathtub because… Well, that's pretty obvious, isn't it?

When I try to move a little, I notice that every joint and muscle in my body hurts. And I mean, _every_ one. I've slept in a tub before, and I know it will always result in a certain soreness, but I think that my aching muscles right now are a combined result of my many panic attacks yesterday.

Oh dear Lord, yesterday…

Well, at least I have slept a little. I feel like I've been hanged, quartered and disembowelled, though. My head is throbbing and my eyes feel like I have rubbed sand into them. My throat is dry and sore and well, _every_ part of my body hurts in one way or another. But honestly? I've had _so_ much worse.

I can do this. I will have to.

I wrestle myself free from the cocoon made of comforter and quilt and bathtub and step out of the tub, immediately shivering with cold. I yawn and stretch my aching body, and I can hear more than one joint pop into place again.

Internally, I groan. Maybe this _is_ just a little more discomfort than I had bargained for.

I shuffle towards the door and open it softly. The bedroom is undisturbed, untouched. Esme's pyjamas lie forgotten on the desk. I pick the comforter out of the bathtub and make the bed, but I do it a little differently than it had been the day before. I refold the pyjamas and place them under the pillow.

Yeah, somehow I'm not really comfortable with the thought that Esme knows where I have spent the night.

I look around the room. The desk is empty but for the laptop that's sitting on it. Did they mean for me to use it? The rest of the room is almost empty. A few stray books fill the shelves that adorn the wall above the desk. To the right of the door towards the hallway is a television set. Huh, I hadn't even noticed it before.

I glance at my watch. Yes, just what I thought. At Stefan's house I would have been up and running by this time and with the time difference it just means it's so early even the birds have not started to sing as yet. It's still relatively dark outside, the room is lit by a ghostly twilight.

Rubbing my eyes I calculate that I have slept for about two and a half hours. Well, splendid, indeed.

I can't go back to sleep. And I have to do something to distract myself, else I will go mad. I don't dare to think back on yesterday. Everything that could have gone wrong went wrong. My encounter with Jasper was horrible. My encounter with Edward was flat out mortifying.

Why did he touch me like that? Why did he hold me to him? And why was I so utterly and completely lost and confused as he did so? _Why did I not fight, or run?_

No, that's a stupid thought. I know very well I have learned long ago that it's better not to run.

_But you ran from Jasper. And you ran from Carlisle. _

I swallow and try to push back my annoying mind. I was in shock already over the broken glass. I was on the ground on my knees and then he came towards me. It's perfectly reasonable I would not try to run. Or fight.

_You even fought Esme when she wanted to remove your scarf._

Okay. Maybe I can make myself and my mind agree that we will disagree. I have no explanation for what happened. Even if I had, I would not know how to put it into words. Besides, I mean, as if. No, I have to be clear on this. I didn't run because there was no place I could run to. I didn't fight because it's better to not fight when you know you will not win the battle. Period.

But why did he look so anguished when he came back down? Was he really sorry? Could he be? What could that mean?

Well, stop it, Bella, because you can be sure he will stay away from you from now on. And that's better, isn't it? Don't mess with me, and I won't mess with you. I just hope he won't get ugly with me. It would be easiest if he just ignored me. And then I can ignore him and that's all for the best.

Same goes for every person in this household, anyway. Seven people constantly around me… Will they require me being present with them always? Are they the kind of family that sits together every night, watching television or playing games? Could I ask for some alone-time maybe?

Or maybe this would be my alone time. The house is so quiet, it's pretty obvious that nobody is awake as yet. I'm not really surprised. It's 6 am.

Let's get my ducks in a row here. I sit myself down at the desk and summarize. Some weird muscle in my lower back that I didn't even know I had protests, but I ignore it. I have to think.

I ran away yesterday when I met Jasper. I ran into the forest and did not let them know where I would be. Alice picked me up. What if they hadn't found me? Would I have gone back? Best not think about that.

Then I fell asleep right smack in the middle of a room full of people — I really want to slap myself for that — and fled from Carlisle who had put his hand on my arm for God knows what reason exactly. And then of course let's not forget the fact that I _hit_ Esme when I wanted to get rid of the notepad in her hands. Plus, I fought her when she tried to remove my scarf. Oh shit, I hope I didn't bruise her or anything.

Then Esme counted with me, and she succeeded. I still can't believe it.

And then Edward. Hmm, why keep I coming back to him? I thought I just settled that I would not bother with him?

But I have to face the facts. I got yet another panic attack when he came home and I broke the glass. Everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong.

I must have spoiled my chance with this family. They were patient with me yesterday but when they wake up, they too will have slept on it and they will undoubtedly come to realize that they do not want me here.

I swallow thickly at the realization that I would find it hard indeed if they would send me away. Who knows where I will end up again and I'm pretty sure it won't ever get any better than the patience, the care and the compassion I have met here so far.

Yes, well. It's really up to them if they want to keep me or not. Best be prepared to go if they want me to. Blowing out a silent puff of air, I get Renee's quilt out of the bathroom and fold it into my suitcase. Maybe I should get the rest of my clothing as well. It's easier if I'm all set to go if they ask me to leave. _When_ they ask me to leave.

Where was the laundry room again? I unlock my door and peek into the twilit hallway. No signs of life. Well, considering I have robbed half the household of half their night, it's not strange that they are still sleeping.

Or maybe they are just still sleeping because it's normal to be asleep at this hour of the day, especially on a Sunday.

I find the laundry room on instinct. It's above the garage and a little remote from the rest of the house. Good, they won't hear me when I'm busy in here.

My clothes are clean and folded neatly on the side table. My sweater lies on top and I pull it over my head greedily. Finally, finally something warm around me again. Alice has allowed me to sneak-peek into this room for exactly 2.3 seconds during our tour yesterday, so now I take my time looking around. Washer, tumble dryer, small sink to the left of the room. A rack stands to the right, full with clothing that can't be put in the tumble dryer. Towards the back, an ironing board and a shitload of shirts that need to be done. Washing and drying for this family must be a day job, I muse.

Well, best get to work then.

A small flashing red LED on the tumble dryer indicates that it's done. I pull out a load of towels and place them on the rather large side table to fold them. It feels almost comforting to be doing this. At least I know what to do.

Too bad it's a matter of minutes before I'm done. I eye the stack of shirts. Do I…?

Yes, I do.

Before I know it, I've plugged in the flat iron and I'm waiting for it to heat. And then I'm ironing all right. I don't know whose shirts these are, but it doesn't matter. There are all kinds — from button downs to tees to long sleeves. I iron them all and fold them or hang them and get lost in my work until I hear a cracking sound at the entrance of the laundry room.

I freeze in my tracks and look towards the door. Nothing. Have I heard it right? Is somebody there? Will they be mad if they find me here? I mean, I meant for the best, but there is always the possibility that they will take it all wrong. Should I have done this in the first place? If I still had a chance with these people, have I now messed up anyway?

A sharp, burning smell reaches my nose and I gasp in shock as I look down. I pull the iron away and sure enough, I have burned a hole in the shirt I was ironing. Dark puffs of smoke waft into my face and a very dark brown spot with the exact contours of the iron adorns the shirt.

Oh, fuck.

No. No, no, no. No…

**~O~**

I'm in the kitchen, standing at the breakfast bar. I have hidden the shirt inside the closet of my room. I know I will have to face the consequences soon, but I can't get myself to do it right now. It's not like I am going to wake them for this. I'll wait until they are up.

I have changed back into the clothes I wore yesterday and which I found washed and dried in the laundry room. Even my shoes are dry, I found them near the front door.

The kitchen is quiet. The only sound I can hear is the faint rush of raindrops that tap against the many windows in this house.

It's 10 am and I am standing, have been for two hours now. Keeping watch if you will. Watching over myself, maybe, although I'm the one in trouble and there's little I can do to protect myself from that.

Standing still like this doesn't bother me usually. I have brought this type of patience to an art as I have spent countless nights in this manner, waiting first for Laurent and later for Stefan to enter my room.

But right now, I am shifting on my feet, wringing my hands and biting my lip and I am very, very nervous. There's a big, tight ball of anxiety in my stomach and every once in a while I have to consciously remind myself to breathe. I wish there was something I could do to kill the time, to distract myself, but on the other hand I am scared to do something for fear I might mess up again and break something and make things worse still.

Why, _why_ did I have to be helpful and iron the goddamn shirts? What was I thinking? Fuck, Bella! This was such a wonderful chance and you really have made an effort to fuck up royally. I snap the rubber band at my wrist and tears come to my eyes from the sharp pain it brings on my already bruised skin. Good. I snap it again. This time, I hiss from the pain. Better.

I don't know yet how I am going to handle this. I am waiting for the family to get up, but I think it is best to let Carlisle deal with it. I hope to get him alone. It will be bad enough as it is.

Maybe I should try to eat something. The house is quiet and I should take my chance to eat in peace. But I find I'm too worked up to even drink anything. I man myself up, grit my teeth, and force myself to stand still and to wait until this household comes to life again.

I can do this. I will have to.

I do empty the dishwasher, it's the least I can do. I do it quickly and quietly and I don't even break anything. It's a puzzle though to figure out where everything goes, but I think I've done it right.

Then I move back to my spot besides the bar, where I have an overview of the entire kitchen and can see the stairs as well. I wait.

Esme is the first to come down. She wears the same robe as she wore last night. Her hair is a caramel mess and still it becomes her. Her face lights up as she sees me, but I look away. I cannot meet her gaze, I'm so ashamed. I wrap my arms around myself and bite my lip hard to not burst out in tears.

Hell, I ruined a shirt of _theirs_, and it's not like _I_ should be comforted over that. Gah.

"Good morning, Bella," Esme greets me lightly, but I hear the concern in her voice. Does she know I've done something wrong? Is there a neon sign over my head? With Stefan, I sometimes thought there was. "Did you sleep well?"

Hmm, no. I shrug, still not meeting her gaze. I've blown it up, so I no longer need to play nice and willing to communicate. It's nasty, but I'm kind of relieved by that. This woman has pulled more words out of me in one evening than I have spoken over the last, what, seven years? At least that will be over again soon.

"Is something wrong?" Esme tries to meet my gaze, but I still look away. I really think it's Carlisle that should deal with this. Esme doesn't press on and proceeds to make coffee. The rich, bitter scent makes my mouth water. It's been a while since I had this lovely drink.

"Have you eaten anything?" Esme asks then. She doesn't look up at me but is still busy with the coffee, measuring the fine brown powder and adding the right amount of water before she turns on the mean machine. Finally, she looks up. "Well?"

No. I look away again, suddenly quite nervous that she is going to make me eat something. It has taken me not twenty-four hours to realize that this woman can make me do anything and everything just by putting the right look on her face. It scares the shit out of me.

Then again, it's all nice and noble that she has barged through my walls yesterday, but I really have to be more careful. Especially right now, when I'm quite certain this fairy tale will end really soon. I need to protect myself or else I will get hurt.

Esme looks at me for a long, lingering moment, but finally doesn't ask anymore questions, fortunately. Instead, the walks to the fridge and gets a carton of my favourite food in the world. Without asking, she puts in the straw and places it on the breakfast bar before me.

"I am leaving the kitchen now. I will be in the living room. Come and get me when you are done."

She leaves the kitchen without further ado and I am stunned. Now she is waiting for me. Like I can eat when I know she is waiting for me. But my stomach growls as if on cue and it sounds very much like, _hell yeah you can eat while she is waiting for you! Just be quick, you're used to that._

What do I do? Do I eat? I'm exceptionally nervous and I don't feel like eating. Then again maybe I really should eat because who knows what is going to happen and when I will get the chance to eat again. I want to stamp my foot like a child and slam my fist through a window as I feel my resolve wavering. I take one look at the package with food… and I'm gone. Before I know it I am drinking with eager gulps, the muscles in my cheeks straining against the force with which I am sucking the goo through the straw. Seriously, people who need this usually have trouble enough to eat already, why punish them further by making it this horrible?

The swallowing hurts my throat but it's definitely better than two weeks ago. I make short work of my drink and quickly take my meds as well, downing the contents of the glass before the pills have fully resolved. Then I go to get Esme and lo and behold, the coffee is just done as we enter the kitchen again.

"Was that really so hard?" Esme asks me as she produces two mugs from a cabinet and pours the coffee. It doesn't sound accusatory. It sounds like she actually wants to know. "I take it you like coffee, by the way?" she continues, effectively taking away the need to answer her first question, to which I wouldn't have had an answer anyway.

Wonder what will happen when I can have solid food again. How, and when, will I eat?

Ah, best not to wonder about that as right now I really can't be sure how much longer I will be welcome here. The ruined shirt burns a hole into my conscience. Maybe I should tell Esme.

Esme pulls me out of my thoughts by placing a mug of hot, steaming coffee in front of me. The smell is heavenly. I won't be able to drink it until it's about lukewarm because of that damned throat, but maybe I will give it a shot when it's still reasonably warm. I mean, my throat seems to be healing, after all.

Except that maybe I shouldn't indulge in this delicious coffee with my misdemeanour lying heavy on my heart.

I sigh deeply and frown, still looking away from Esme. The atmosphere in the kitchen is slowly, but surely, tensing up.

"What's on your mind, Bella?" Her voice is so gentle, so kind… Damn that woman! If she knew what I have done, she wouldn't use that voice with me anymore.

God, I wish I could hate her.

I scowl and keep my focus on my coffee mug. I don't like to be around hot liquids. Not with somebody else near me. Nothing ever happened, but if I can see the possibilities, surely Esme can as well.

"I wish you would talk to me," she whispers. I can definitely hear some insecurity in her voice, but I refuse to look up. This is all my fault and now Esme feels bad too, obviously. I just want to be left alone, but how do I make that clear?

If only Carlisle would wake up, so I could get this over with.

Esme looks at me for a long time and I fidget nervously under her scrutinizing gaze. I pull my sleeves over my hands to hide my anxiousness a little. It doesn't work.

Somehow she seems to realize I'm not going to answer her, because she takes her mug and yesterday's paper and sits herself down at the kitchen table. "I like to read the paper on Sunday mornings," she says with her back to me. She unfolds the paper and starts to skim the headlines. "I'm usually the first one to be up, and I like the quiet time. Why don't you join me?"

It's an offer I can't refuse, but I really rather would stay where I am right now. What will happen when I don't join her?

Then again, does it matter? Everything is lost as it is. So I keep standing at the breakfast bar while my anxiety is reaching peaks I've never experienced before.

We stay quiet for a long time. Esme flips a page of the newspaper now and then and sips her coffee. She doesn't ask me again to join her and if I could, I would thank her for that. I need to keep my distance now. I've come to like her way too much and it will hurt badly enough when I will be forced to give everything up and I am asked to leave.

I watch as the steam slowly ceases to whirl off my coffee, and wonder if I could try it already. Then again I find I am too nervous do to anything. I've heard movement upstairs. Somebody else is awake.

I'm looking so intently at the stairs that I have not seen Esme turn around. "Bella, why are you so nervous? Is there anything I can do for you?"

My head whips in her direction and for the first time this morning, I meet her kind eyes. A big lump nestles itself in my throat immediately and I bite my tongue, hard, to not let my tears spill. I don't deserve sympathy and I surely shouldn't be asking for it. I feel so bad for what I've done. I look away again. I can't tell Esme without breaking down. And I still feel it's Carlisle that should deal with this.

So I sigh once again and will myself to stand still, and wait. Esme keeps looking at me and I can tell she is starting to get worried. It would be so much easier if she just left me alone.

When she finally looks away, she gets up to open the — already empty — dishwasher. Her mouth falls open and she looks at me. "Did you do this?"

I nod without meeting her gaze.

"You shouldn't have," she says softly. "Thank you, it was very considerate of you. But you don't have to do any household activities here. We certainly don't expect you to."

She is trying to comfort me, I know that, but it makes me all the more anxious for what I have done in the laundry room.

Finally, the person who I've heard upstairs comes down. It's Carlisle, and he's dressed in jeans with a button down and a smart jacket. Is he going out today? Because that would mean I might have to deal with my mistake sooner than I thought. I swallow thickly as he steps into the kitchen, somehow afraid that he already knows I have done something wrong.

But he is all smiles and kindness and presses a kiss on Esme's temple before he turns to bid me good morning. "Did you sleep well?"

I find I cannot meet his gaze either. I wrap my arms around myself and look down, taking a small step backwards as I do so. Behind him, I hear Esme opening the fridge. "Eggs?"

"Yes, please," Carlisle answers, but he's still looking at me. "Bella, is something wrong?"

I don't know exactly what I am feeling anymore, but it's close to desperation. I need to get out of here. I can't do it. I cannot face it.

I'm such a coward.

Without looking up and hoping against hope that they will let me, I walk out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I force myself to walk at a normal speed, my body is tense as I listen carefully if I'm being followed.

I'm not. I vaguely hear Carlisle say "poor girl," as I reach the top of the stairs and lock myself in the guest room they have given me. I lean back against the door and let myself slide to the ground. I'm breathing rapidly and erratically and tears stream from my eyes freely now as I sob almost uncontrollably. I warp my arms around my head and tug at my hair as I lean my forehead against my knees.

I can't do it. I can't. I've been here for not one day and I've come to realize I really want to stay here. Yet, everything I have done so far has gone wrong somehow. When I show Carlisle the ruined shirt, I am certain he will send me away. It's the second thing I have damaged beyond repair, in less than eight hours. I'm no use to them.

Stefan was right. I am utterly and completely useless. I am an idiot. And I certainly don't deserve the Cullen kindness.

But I want it.

I wait anxiously for someone to come after me, but nothing happens. I sit and wait and cry for what must be almost an hour before I heard footsteps on the stairs again. I tense up and hold my breath, but the footsteps do not approach my room. I hear a door open and close, and then there is silence. I let my breath escape again, but my heart is still thundering inside my chest.

I have to move. It will not become any easier when I keep postponing it.

I get up, grit my teeth and walk into the closet where I have hidden the shirt.

All too soon, I hear myself knock on the door of Carlisle's office. It's so soft I can barely hear it myself and I have a fleeting hope that he hasn't heard me either. But he has of course, and his reply comes immediately. "Come in."

My lungs aren't big enough to accommodate the deepness of my sigh.

I can do this. I will have to.

I let out a shaky breath and open the door to his office.

* * *

_I had to stop writing here myself because anxiety got the best of me. Poor Bella.  
_

_As ever, do I love to know what you think...!  
_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N I don't own Twilight, I do own this plot.**

_Hello everyone! Thank you so much for each and every review and alert you have sent me. I'm beyond happy, believe me. This goes too for those who review anonymously, although it saddens me I can't reply to you. Get an account; you'll get alerts and I'll be able to reply to you!  
_

_I write as fast as I can. But I want this story to maintain this level of quality, and it takes time to write that. Plus, you know, real life and such... Please, have patience :)_

_Special thanks to my beta Sherryola. She's the epitome of awesomeness and she has discussed almost every word of this story with me. She's honest and bright and just plain wonderful._

_Mood music: _Jewel - Amen_. Suggestions are much appreciated.  
_

_This chapter: Bella's visit at Carlisle. She'll also let us know precisely why she can't speak. And there's a little Jessica and a tiny bit of Edward.  
_

* * *

_... I let out a shaky breath and open the door to his office._

"Ah, Bella! What a pleasant surprise," Carlisle smiles as looks up from his PC. "What can I do for you? You seem ill at ease this morning."

I stand in the doorway and it's taking every ounce of self-control I have to not bolt and run and never look back. All I can do is swallow thickly and wait.

"Bella?"

I can't move. I'm too scared. Where has my strength gone? My resolve? My trademark apathy?

Carlisle gets up and walks around his desk, closing the door behind me. Oh, this is _so_ much worse. He sits back down and leans forward, forearms leaning on the table.

"Please, Bella. Whatever it is that is bothering you, please talk to us. It hurts me to see you so upset."

Well, that won't take long, I guess, once I show him the shirt.

_Show him the shirt_.

Every muscle in my body goes on full lock down mode.

_Just do it already!_

Gritting my teeth so fiercely it hurts my jaws, I somehow succeed in making my arms move from behind my back. Without meeting Carlisle's eyes, I place the ruined shirt before him on his desk.

"What's this?" he asks, clearly at a loss. He doesn't touch the shirt.

Ah, hell, is he really going to make me do this? I swallow again — damn the throat — and step forward to unfold the shirt, so that the blackened spot is up and on display. When I step back, Carlisle finally seems to get it and he holds up the shirt to see the damage. "Did you do this?"

Isn't that obvious?

When Carlisle looks from the shirt to me, I cannot read his expression. I step forward once again and with a hand that is trembling so hard it's embarrassing, I place the belt on the desk.

I step back and wait.

And wait.

The room is absolutely silent, I don't even think I can hear him breathe. I can only hear my hammering heart and I'm pretty sure Carlisle can hear it, too. I'm too scared to look at him, so I don't know what he's thinking right now.

"Bella," he finally says, so softly I'm not even sure I heard him. He swallows before he continues. "What does this mean?"

I have to look up to see him nodding at the belt.

Well, isn't that obvious?

_Get this over with_. Don't hesitate, it'll make it worse. I close my eyes and start to take off my sweater.

"Stop." There is an authority in his voice that I have not heard before and I freeze momentarily, before slowly tugging the sweater into place again. _Stop?_

"Bella, look at me. This is not how it works in this household. I am not going to use this belt on you. I will never use any type of violence. Nobody in this household will. You had an accident. That rotten iron needed replacement, anyway. Breathe."

Breathe, indeed. I gasp in a gulp of air and it burns in my throat. Is he being honest? I meet his gaze and what I see literally stuns me. He looks hurt. He sits back in his chair and he is tense, but it's not because he is angry.

A tear escapes from my eye and finds its way down towards my chin. I wipe it away roughly. Don't break down now. Please.

Another tear escapes and it's like a dam is broken. I cannot stop crying, but I don't move and keep looking at Carlisle. He reaches out slowly and picks up the shirt again.

"You know, I have always secretly really hated this shirt," he muses, ignoring my tears. "I guess you've done me a favour." And without so much as a second glance, he tosses the shirt into the small trashcan beside his desk. Then he looks up at me, a gleam of humour in his eyes.

Is he serious? What game is he playing? I stare at him, stunned.

"I mean it, Bella," Carlisle says kindly. "It was very brave of you to come to me, and I admire you for that. Now I hope you will believe me when I say there will not be any consequences for you. You'll probably have to help Esme choose and buy a new iron, though," he chuckles lightly. "This is about the tenth garment that is ruined by the thing. I'm not angry with you for the shirt, Bella. Esme will not be angry with you, either. As for this belt," he continues while he picks it up, and I go rigid immediately, "I believe these are made to hold up pants, and nothing else. Please take it with you, and do not ever again imply that I would use it on you for punishment."

I have to work very hard to keep standing up, and I wobble slightly as my knees buckle. My anticipation rushes away and leaves me feeling empty. Is he serious? There will be no punishment? No pain? I watch as Carlisle very deliberately places the belt right before me on his desk.

I look from the belt to him. "I'm serious," he says. "I won't ever hurt you. Please take that back."

My shaking hand reaches out and I watch him warily as I pick up the belt. I almost drop it, I'm trembling so hard. To my utter mortification, I sniffle.

"Thank you. Please don't be so distressed, Bella."

His voice is soothing and my tears stop flowing a little.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

I can see genuine concern on his face. I shake my head, but he keeps looking at me, his open gaze turning into an inquiring one.

"Bella, how many hours of sleep did you have last night?"

I look at him and blink to clear the teary haze in my eyes. Of course, the man is a doctor. Maybe he notices these things better than others.

"Just stick up your fingers."

Very reluctantly, I hold two fingers in the air. Will I be in trouble for this? I swallow and of course I immediately feel how dreadfully tired I really am. How to admit I just don't feel safe enough to sleep?

Just then, I hear a knock behind me on the door. "Carlisle, I have your coffee for you," Esme's muffled voice comes from the hallway.

"Can she come in?" Carlisle asks me.

Why would he ask me? I shrug. It's his office.

Carlisle calls out for Esme to enter and she comes in, holding a steaming cup of coffee. "Oh, hello Bella, I didn't know you were in here," she smiles, but I see her look at Carlisle in concern, or for reassurance, I don't know.

"Maybe we can use this opportunity to talk some things through," Carlisle proposes. "Is that okay with you, Bella?"

I look from him to Esme. Why are they asking me all these things? It's very confusing to me, don't they know that? And why would they even bother about what I want, or think, or feel?

Carlisle takes my silence as acceptance, because he asks Esme to close the door. Esme then sits down on the comfy looking couch that's against the wall with the door and pats the seat beside her in an invitation for me to sit down as well.

I rather remain standing, thank you very much. I walk backwards until I'm near the right wall of the office, which is lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. I shove my hands into the front pocket of my sweater, placing the belt in there as well as I go, and wait.

"Is it okay if I tell Esme what happened?" Carlisle asks, but before I can react, Esme asks in a very worried voice, "what happened?"

Carlisle looks at me and waits for me to react. I shrug again. It remains to be seen if he was right and Esme won't be angry.

I plant my feet and square my shoulders. Bring it on, then.

"I believe I can safely assume that Bella has done some ironing this morning, and as she was doing that, the iron attacked yet another shirt." There is a sparkle in Carlisle's eyes as he speaks. I'm, well, confused at his choice of words, to say the least.

"You ironed?" Esme asks, surprised.

What's so special about that? Still, I nod at her, to answer her question.

"Oh, Bella," she breathes. "You really didn't have to do that!" She turns to Carlisle. "She cleared out the dishwasher too, this morning."

"Did you? That's very considerate and however much I appreciate it, please know that you don't have to do that. We don't expect it of you," Carlisle assures me, much like Esme has done earlier this morning.

I frown now. Surely I have to own my keep in some way? Truly, these people are an enigma to me. I really can't believe they are as kind as they appear. There must be a catch.

Esme turns to me, but it takes her a moment before she speaks. "So that's why you were so anxious this morning." A beat. "I am not angry with you." She says it so softly I have trouble to hear it.

Somehow, I believe her. There is a sincerity in her voice that unsettles me.

"There is a more important matter, however," Carlisle says, "as it seems that Bella has slept for only two hours last night."

I roll my eyes at this. What's with the pity? I've had so much worse.

Esme gasps however and scowls as she berates herself. "I could have known that," she mutters. Then she looks back up at me. "Did you not feel safe enough to sleep?"

My eyes widen, as she is spot on and painfully right. Esme notices my reaction and interprets it correctly immediately.

"What can we do to make you allow yourself to sleep?"

She even sounds like she actually wants to know. The thing is I wouldn't know the answer. I was thinking I would just have to wait until I collapsed and had no other choice than to sleep. Until I am tired enough to be willing to trade.

And I realize I am tired now. But how on earth will I be able to sleep? I've been caught off guard too many times to count while I was sleeping. I don't want that to happen. I'm just too vulnerable when I sleep.

"Bella," Carlisle interrupts me from my thoughts, "I can always give you some sleeping pills, if you would like that. You will have to go to sleep at some point."

I rub my face in frustration. Yes, I _know_ that.

"Okay." Esme gets up and holds open the door. "Bella," she says gently, but firmly, "I am going to take you to bed now, and you will try to get some sleep. You can lock the door if you want, and I promise you that you won't be disturbed. You will see that I will keep that promise, but you have to give us a chance. Please," she adds, and holds out her arm in an inviting gesture to follow her.

And I do.

She leads me into the guest room and pulls back the comforter of the bed. Then she pulls out her own pyjamas from under my pillow and places them on the mattress for me. "Please," she says again. "You must be exhausted."

I realize I am. My eyes burn, both from crying and from tiredness. My entire body aches, my head throbs and my throat… Yeah, it hurts. A lot.

"I will leave you now," Esme continues softly. "I hope you will allow yourself to sleep. I will knock on your door in about four hours, otherwise you won't be able to sleep tonight."

I nod, and she copies my gesture. This is so unexpected and sweet that I get a lump in my throat. I sigh to get rid of some of the tension in my body, and then I swallow.

Esme smiles reassuringly at me before she briskly leaves the room. "See you in four hours," she says gently, and then she closes the door behind her.

I want to believe them. I wipe away an errand tear as I realize that I really do want to believe them. Maybe I should take this chance. Maybe I should not think that this is their way to coax me into a feeling of safety and then plan to catch me off guard. Maybe, they are honest.

Maybe I should just give in to a body that is shaking with exhaustion and a mind that cannot think straight anymore.

Maybe I should just change into those soft pyjamas and crawl into the bed.

Maybe I should just try to get some sleep.

Maybe I will be able to…

**~O~**

I almost wish I could say that I didn't give in. I almost wish I could say that I tossed and turned for hours before I fell into a broken, restless sleep. But frankly, once I had decided I was willing to take the risk and had indeed changed into the pyjamas, and once I had curled up under the thick and warm comforter that felt wonderfully heavy on my body, I think I spent maybe ten more seconds in a waking state until I drifted off into blissful oblivion.

I didn't even dream.

Esme wakes me with soft knocks on the door, while gently calling out my name time and again. I stir and when I open my eyes, I'm momentarily thoroughly confused as to where I am. The dull light of an overcast sky illuminates the guest room — my room. I hadn't even bothered to pull the curtains.

Gradually, Esme's sounds start to gather some meaning in my head. "Bella? Are you awake, dear? Bella? Maybe you can clap your hands twice to let me know if you are? You don't have to come out immediately, but please give me a sign."

Clap my hands? Is she serious? What am I, ten? Then again, she gives me the opportunity to let her know I'm awake without having to leave the wonderful warmth and comfort of this bed. Flinching at the prospect of making a sound, I still clap my hands twice as requested.

"Excellent, dear. I hope you slept well. You can dome down if you feel up to it, but if you'd rather stay to spend some time in your room, or anywhere else, that's okay too. Let me know if you want to go out with me, I did promise that yesterday. I'll leave you now."

I don't know what miracle has brought this woman into my life. I've never met someone — not even Renée — who could handle my muteness as she does. Esme speaks to me as if I would just answer back, still she doesn't expect me to. She doesn't seem to be ill at ease with my silence, and that, I like.

And she doesn't treat me like I am stupid. This is so very new to me. It's confusing, but somehow liberating. Stefan always treated my like I was not fully sane. It got on his nerves that I didn't speak. That I didn't make any sound at all, if it was up to me.

I don't know. Life is just so much easier to handle when you're quiet.

I turn in the bed and huddle a little deeper into the thick comforter. It's been a long time since I was this comfortable. It's dangerous to let myself relax in this way but damn, I'm way too comfy to let it go as yet. And my body is profoundly grateful. Even my neck hurts a little less.

I wonder how long it will take to heal. The doctor at the emergency room back in Phoenix told me that my vocal chords were damaged from the strangulation and that I wouldn't be able to use my voice for probably a month or so. I didn't mind that, it wasn't like I would miss it. The doctor also reassured me that I would definitely be able to use my voice again when I was healed, but that I really should try to keep quiet over the next month.

Renée and I had just exchanged a meaningful look.

The red spots in my eyes would start to cease after a couple of weeks as well. I haven't looked in a mirror for so long, I have no idea what my eyes look like. I don't care. I don't even know what red spots the doctor was referring to.

I try not to think back to the last night I was with Stefan. He had done alarming things before, but this time I snapped. I can vividly remember the feeling of his hands closing around my neck, the feeling of not being able to breathe. I wonder if that is why I start hyperventilating so quickly now. I never had that problem when I was still with Stefan, or with Renée, even.

I force my mind to think of other things. To stay in the here and now.

Esme. Esme has kept her promise. I have not been disturbed. I'm reeling at this realization, but I must remain careful. I've been promised safety time and again before, and that promise has been broken almost as many times.

Best not to think about that now. I'm too tired and weary even to snap the rubber band at my wrist. Thinking of it, I lift my left hand above the blankets and look at my wrist in the grey light of the room. The skin is bruised purple, it has been since I got the rubber band and was told to use it. It's ironic really, that I started to bruise myself once Stefan could no longer do it.

I rub my thumb softly over the delicate skin on the inside of my wrist and frown at the unfamiliar sensation. Could I ever endure to be touched? I mean, I am not entirely stupid. Nobody _will_ probably ever even want to touch me in a gentle manner. But I know it exists. In movies it does, at least. In the few novels I had to read for school, I've read about love as well. About yearning to hold and be held, about a longing to touch and be touched. I don't understand this feeling, but somehow I know it exists. I saw Jasper playing with Alice's hand yesterday, which clearly was a token of affection. And this morning, Carlisle kissed Esme's temple and Esme did not flinch. Quite the opposite — she closed her eyes in delight and smiled like a purring cat when she felt the kiss.

Could I ever want that? Will I ever want it? And who would want to do it to me? Could I ever be lovable? With what I've done in my past?

Ah, Bella, don't make it so hard on yourself. This stuff only exists in movies and it's a well-known thing that movies are fake. It would be very pleasant indeed if only the violence would cease, even though I'm not sure what I've done to deserve this peace so far.

I have to get up. I can't keep hiding in here, although I'd very much like to. I have to eat and take my meds. And then I'll see what happens.

Internally, I groan. I stretch my protesting muscles one last time under the safe cover of the comforter and then step back out into the cold, unforgiving world.

Best to deal with it one thing at a time. It remains to be seen how long the calm and safety here are going to last.

I find Esme in the kitchen. The smile she throws me when I step in borders on ridiculous, it's so wide. Any anticipation I might have felt evaporates with her easy greeting. Esme starts for the fridge immediately and pulls out a carton of food and a large jug filled with something pink.

"Did you sleep well? You sure look like you did!"

I nod at her and can't help but smile a little. Although I've not nearly slept long enough, it's the best nap I've had in a very long time.

"So, I take it you believe us when we say we are not angry?" Her smile is again so bright and innocent, almost hoping.

People cannot fake these things.

I realize I do believe her. Believe that she's not angry. It's a liberating feeling, but I'm cautious about it.

Esme asks me to eat and she does this so nonchalantly while she is busy with other things, that I drink the carton without so much as a second — no, maybe it a third — thought. The house is silent and I wonder where everybody is. Then again this house is so big, the other family members could easily be home without me knowing about it.

Done drinking, Esme gives me my meds immediately and I drink them down as well. Wow, what's with this easy domesticity all of a sudden? There's such a pleasant atmosphere here, and it's almost upsetting because I don't know why it is.

Then, Esme asks me if I would like to try her smoothie. "It's some light yogurt with fruit. I hope the yogurt will prevent the fruit burning in your throat. Will you try it?"

I look at the jug and think, why not? Everything is fine so far and if I'm honest, I am ravenously hungry indeed. I guess that being here has cost me a lot of energy in terms of anxiety. I noticed this morning that the pants Renée has bought me only last week are already fitting more loosely. I'm too thin, but I don't really mind about that. Too thin is definitely undesirable, and that is, by definition, a very good thing.

This smoothie however is also a very good thing. It smells very sweet and inviting and I think I even lick my lips in anticipation as I look at the big glass Esme has set before me.

"I'll bring Carlisle some as well," Esme says. "The man often does his paperwork on Sundays. Did you know he's a surgeon at the emergency ward of the hospital?"

I knew he was a doctor, but not what kind of doctor. Emergency surgeon sounds really impressive to me.

"And did you know he is CEO of that same hospital?"

At this, my surprise must show, because Esme chuckles proudly. "He works night and day, but I am so proud of him. I gave up my job so I could care for all my children. And now I have seven," she winks at me, and then she is off towards the stairs.

It takes me a second to realize what she just said. _And now I have seven_? But there are only five children in this household. Then I gasp a little. She said seven. She winked at me because she just called Carlisle a child. And she must have referred to me as being her seventh one.

Something very strange happens in my heart. It feels very uneasy and unknown and I try to ignore it and concentrate on the glass with the delectable smoothie in it instead. If it is even half as good as the ice cream she gave me yesterday, I am doomed indeed.

I am blissfully alone. Esme has left me here without worried looks or requests for reassurance. The trust she shows with this is staggering.

Suddenly I know what it is about her. She treats me like a human being, and more importantly, she treats me my age. She doesn't belittle me. Is that why I am so at ease? I decide I'll think more about that when I have time. Because right now, there is a smoothie with my name on it, and it demands to be drunk.

I gingerly lift the glass and let the wonderful, wonderful fluid glide down my throat.

Sweet heavens, I didn't know a taste like this could even exist.

Before I can finish my glass, I hear a car coming up the driveway. Without thinking, I put the glass back down on the breakfast bar and wait for the driver to enter the house. It's an automatic reaction. Freeze and wait to see which way the wind is blowing when Stefan comes home.

While I am waiting, I can still taste the wonderful smoothie on my tongue and I find I am pretty annoyed with the fact that yet again, I am disturbed whilst eating. I know this is entirely my own fault and my own problem; still I cannot seem to act differently than I do right now.

Just as I realize that I can, in fact, leave the room because I probably do _not_ have to wait for whoever is entering the house here, I hear footsteps on the porch, a door opening and an unfamiliar girly voice calling out, "hello? Anybody home?"

Whoa, who is that? Before I can do anything or even think about moving, a blond girl bounces into the kitchen, and we are both equally surprised when we see each other.

"Oh!" she squeals. She _squeals_.

I fight the urge to cover my ears but I am at a loss as to what to do. Is this girl supposed to be here? I can't call Esme to ask for help and surely it would be very rude if I just left the kitchen altogether.

Every ounce of anxiety that had previously finally left my body is back tenfold and I tense up, not knowing what to do. My muscles protest as they once more go rigid without volition. The girl stands in front of me and we clearly both don't know what to do.

Finally, she speaks hesitantly. "Hi. I'm sorry, I don't know who you are."

Well, that goes both ways, I guess. Her voice is very high and unpleasant to listen to. Fact remains I cannot answer her.

We stand looking at each other and the atmosphere is tensing up further at rapid speed. Should I get Esme? I'm assuming this girl has a right to be in this house, otherwise you don't just step up the porch like she did. She'll hardly be here to borrow some sugar.

"You could start by introducing yourself," she then deadpans and although she is right, fact remains… et cetera.

The silence drags on and not a sound can be heard inside the house but for our breathing. At least she's not moving towards me, although I must say I am fairly certain I can take her on should it come to a fight.

The blond girl frowns and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear in an insecure and frustrated gesture. "So, is anybody home?"

Ah, this is a question and I can answer that. I nod, once. I consider to move and go stand behind the breakfast bar, but maybe that would be a little conspicuous.

The girl is losing her patience now and rolls her eyes. "Oh my gosh, you can, like, speak to me, you know?"

_Oh my gosh, I can, like, not speak, you know?_

Shit. I look at her again and then suddenly comprehension dawns. Could she be Edward's girlfriend, Jessica? She must be. Who else would visit this house and enter like she's been here a thousand times before?

"Wow," she mutters under her breath. Then she looks at me and says very loudly, while articulating in an exaggerated manner and pointing at her ears, "are you deaf?"

I almost smile, but decide against it and shake my head. Where is Esme when you really need her?

The girl I think is Jessica rolls her eyes once again and this time her whole head moves with it, her hands lifting in exasperation. I can't really blame her. Strange people tend to have these types of reactions around me when they meet me for the first time.

"Then why won't you speak? Do you have sore throat or something?" she adds, looking at my scarf now.

Well, I think it's safe enough to go with that, so I nod, yes.

"Ah," the blond sighs, annoyed. "Could have said so. So, is anybody home? Is Edward in?"

I don't know if Edward's in. Should I know? Do I want to know?

We both look up as we hear footsteps at the top of the stairs and finally, finally Esme comes down with an empty platter in her hands. "Why, hello Jessica," she says pleasantly, but vacantly, before she looks at me and then back at Jessica again. "I see you have met Bella?"

Jessica — indeed — looks at Esme with a questioning look in her eyes. "Bella?"

"Yes, didn't Edward tell you? Bella has come to live with us for a while."

Jessica looks dumbfounded but is apparently not at a loss for words, and she certainly doesn't know when it's time to stop talking. "I'm sorry, what?"

If Esme is surprised about Jessica's oblivion, she doesn't show it. "Bella is the newest member of our household. She has come into our foster care yesterday. Bella, this is Jessica. She's Edward's girlfriend, so you'll see her around here every now and again."

I had deduced as much, but I still nod. I try not to think about what Edward sees in Jessica. Obviously, I know nothing of that stuff so I shouldn't bother with it.

"Foster care?" Jessica says then, incredulously. "Isn't she a little old for that?"

I will count to ten and then I will leave. No, make that three.

Esme raises her eyebrows at Jessica's question. "Bella is not too old for that. She is seventeen and she was in need of a home, which we gladly provided for her."

One…

"Wow," Jessica breathes. "So you're, like, abused or something?"

I do _not_ like the eagerness in her voice when she asks this, and I certainly do not like that she is right. I flinch at her words and look down, rapidly retreating to the refuge of my mind. Fuck this. I'm not even going to count to three. I won't make it until two. Would it be rude if I just left the kitchen?

"That's none of your business," Esme says flatly, and now I am sure that I was right to assume that Esme is not very fond of this girl.

I clench my fists now, nails digging into the skin of my palms. The pain distracts me from my heart, which is picking up speed at an alarming rate. I hold my breath to try and calm it down. I cannot break down now. I might as well shout it off the rooftops then.

"Did Edward know you would come over? I think he is upstairs." Esme's words sound muffled, like they come from another room. I'm retreating further into my mind.

"He is right here," I hear his voice just before he steps into the kitchen, and I am ripped violently from the sanctuary of my mind and again painfully aware of what is happening around me.

I need air and I suck in a shaky breath, which draws an alarmed look from Esme, but she looks away quickly again.

Edward is taller than I remember from last night. When I glance at him from the corner of my eye I see that his hair is a complete mess and as he rakes a hand through it, tugging at it a little before he lets it go, I can understand why.

This time, I do move to go stand behind the breakfast bar. I'm afraid he will be pissed with me for what happened last night, and overall I just feel safer with some sort of barrier between me and other people. Especially now. Damn it.

Jessica, in the meantime, has flitted over to Edward and nearly knocks him off balance with the force of her hug. He returns it awkwardly, or at least I think so. Then again, I know nothing really about love so I shouldn't even try to put labels to what I see.

It's nauseating enough that apparently I'll get to see a permanent live show of public displays of affection in this house.

Edward pulls back from Jessica and looks over her shoulder at me. "Oh, hi Bella," he says hesitantly, and my eyes flash up and meet his for a split second before I look away again.

He's not angry. I'm very sure about that, even if I don't have a very clear head at the moment. I clench my fists a little tighter, deliberately digging my nails into my skin. It burns. Good.

"I just introduced Bella to Jessica," Esme says in a voice that makes the hairs in my neck stand on end. "It seems that Jessica was unaware of Bella's arrival."

With a heartbeat that is all but crashing out of my chest, standing in a room full of people who are completely oblivious, I focus very deliberately on keeping my breathing under control. My jaws are clenched together so fiercely my ears ring. Something is going to happen, I can sense it.

"Um, yeah," Edward frowns and another hand pulls through his hair. He's obviously not going to answer that question, _and_ he's not afraid of Esme. He's not afraid? That's… confusing. He looks at Jessica. "What are you doing here?"

"Surprise!" she squeals and she even makes jazz hands to emphasize her outburst.

Edward smiles at her, but it looks like a forced smile. "Hey, why don't you go to my room, I'll bring us some drinks, okay?"

Jessica looks up at Edward, head tilting backwards awkwardly. "Why didn't you tell me about her?" she asks, jerking her head in my direction at the last word.

"We'll talk about it later. Just go upstairs," he sighs, nodding his head into the direction of the stairs.

Jessica finally nods, blonde hair bobbing around her, and with a sour "bye!" at me she saunters off.

I stare after her and I'm not sure what I should think, so I settle on being confused. It's all I feel lately, it seems. Shit, I need to breathe. Again, I am rigid with anticipation. Fuck. Is Esme very angry?

"Edward, you didn't tell her?" Esme asks, and I can hear disappointment only. There is no anger in her voice.

"Never got to it," he grumbles, avoiding giving a real answer, then walks around the bar to the fridge. I scuttle away from my corner to put some distance between him and me as he moves. Edward looks up at me from his bent position at the fridge and there is something in his eyes I can't really decipher for some reason.

It's almost like he is sorry for something.

Edward fills two glasses with soda, studiously ignoring his mother while he's working.

"You do remember what we discussed about visitors?" Esme asks carefully.

Edward looks up and I can see annoyance flashing across his face as he faces his mother, but somehow it seems that this annoyance has nothing to do with Esme. "I didn't know she was coming over, else I _would_ have prevented it. Now, if you don't mind," he adds, then picks up the glasses and leaves the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

Esme and I both look after him. "I really don't see what he likes in that girl," Esme mutters after a moment. "I'm sorry, you never heard me say that," she adds as an afterthought and smiles mischievously at me.

I just look at her, still rigid. I'm not going to keep myself together for much longer, and I'm fervently trying to think of ways I can leave this kitchen and be on my own to calm down a little. Unfortunately my mind is too panicked to let me finish even one coherent thought.

Esme nods at my glass. "Interrupted again while you were eating? Do you want me to leave so you can finish?"

I'm not hungry anymore. I'm actually pretty nauseous after this encounter with Jessica and what she said.

And the way she said it.

I shake my head, stiffly, because my body won't allow movement so much.

"Bella? Are you okay?"

No, I am not. I swallow thickly and frown. My body begs me to run and I can feel tears of desperation well into my eyes.

"Did Jessica upset you, with her question?"

Ah, _fuck_. That's it. I do _not_ want to talk about this. Ever.

I glare at Esme — fuck the consequences. Fuck this all.

Seriously.

I did not sign up for this shit and I do _not_ have to take it.

"Bella?"

I'm breathing very fast now, nostrils flared in the effort to suck in enough air with each breath. My body is preparing itself: fight, or flight.

Esme looks at me, and her shoulders sag a little as she regards me. "Don't run," she whispers. "Please don't run away from us."

Her plea confuses me and I am caught off guard by her defeated posture. Tears that have threatened to fall, finally spill over and then don't seem to stop.

Furiously, I wipe them away roughly with the palm of my hand. Damn this all to hell. I want to run, but where do I go?

Esme interrupts me by gasping and looking very alarmed. "Bella, you're bleeding!" She's coming towards before I can even think about moving and she grabs my hand without warning.

I go rigid immediately as I feel her fingers encircle my wrist. This is an all too familiar feeling, and I know all too well what is going to happen next. Disappointment doesn't even begin to cover what I feel right now. I have let them coax me into a feeling of safety and now it's about to be blasted away with the force of ten atomic bombs. I have let down my guard and this it what I get in return. So, Esme _was_ angry. How could I have been so mistaken?

This cannot be happening. Please, let this not be happening. But Esme holds my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and when I feel her fingers close around my other wrist, every nerve ending in my body switches to high alert.

Hyperventilation sets in swiftly. Esme looks up at me, aghast, and lets go of my hands immediately. "I'm sorry," she breathes. "Oh my God, I am so sorry. Did I alarm you?"

I am no longer held. I can run, or I can shut down. My body decides for me and chooses a third option, apparently. Before I can process what is happening, my vision blurs and my legs give way underneath me. A vague sensation of falling registers before my mind goes blank.

From a very long distance, I hear Esme's panicked voice call out. "Carlisle!

* * *

_So, now we know why Bella can't speak and why she left Stefan. The reason she won't speak will become clear in time. From now on, there will be a little Edward in almost every chapter. I hope you don't think of him as 11 years old, but he has to learn things in life, too. _

_By the way, Bella has been with the Cullens for exactly 24 hours by now. Give her the time she needs and give me the time to pick up pace in my story :)_

_As ever, let me know what you think! Reviews are love and confidence. Next chapter will be... short. Just to warn you in advance :)_


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N I don't own Twilight. I do own this plot.**

_Thanks for all the reviews and notifications. Thanks to Sherryola, who encouraged me to post this, just as it is. _

_I warned you... This chapter is short. No mood music this time. The silence says it all.  
_

* * *

Floating. White noise. Delicious drowsiness. I'm drifting in nothingness.

"What happened?"

That's not Carlisle's voice.

"Esme, did she faint?"

_That's_ Carlisle's voice.

"I'm so sorry."

Esme. Sobbing.

"Why is there blood on her cheek?"

Carlisle again.

"Her hands are bleeding. She wiped her face, and I saw the blood. I took her wrists to look at it and she collapsed. I wasn't thinking, how could I be so careless?"

"Ssh, mom. You meant the best. Ssh."

Fingers around my wrist.

Hey, I don't think I like that. In my attempt to get away, I roll my head.

Whoah. Dizzy.

"Bella? Are you awake?"

No, not really. Hmmm. No, definitely not.

"Wow. What happened to her?"

Annoying panicking squealy voice. Go away, squealy voice.

"Jessica, I think it's best you go home now."

"Can't I help with something?"

"Go home, Jess. I'll see you in school tomorrow."

Too much sound. I frown against the noise.

"Bella? Are you awake? Can you hear us?"

Go. Away.

"Esme, did she fall on her head?"

That's Carlisle again, his voice very close to me now. Fingertips on the side of my head, ghosting, probing.

Hey, what — _ouch!_

Oooh, that's not good. That is very definitely not good. I flinch and hiss.

"Bella, can you hear me?

Carlisle. He's lifting my head now. I squeeze my eyes shut as the world tumbles and I feel like falling, although I appear to be flat on the ground.

Gah. There seems to be something a little off with me.

"I couldn't catch her, she went down so fast. I am so sorry."

"We have to get her off the floor. Edward, can you carry her?"

"What? Me?"

"You are stronger than I am. We need to get her into bed. I am afraid she might have a concussion. Can you hold her?"

"Dad, I'm not sure… I mean, after last night… What if she panics again? I don't want to upset her."

Huh.

Hmmm, almost asleep now. Glorious, luxurious feeling indeed.

"Edward, she's almost fully out. I'm fairly certain she'll hardly notice you holding her. Please help me."

"Um, yeah, okay."

Something slipping under my shoulders, something else under my knees.

Hey, wait a…

Oh sweet Jesus I am flying now.

Never knew you could be so dizzy from flying.

Hmm. Seems I'm not flying anymore.

That's good.

I seem to be rocking a bit though. My head rolls to the right and hits something hard, but soft.

That's a heartbeat, isn't it?

Wait. Don't I know that scent?

Hey, what the fuck is going on here?

I open my eyes.

I'm being carried.

Edward is carrying me.

Huh.

Trying to lift my arms, they appear to weigh a ton.

Meh. Maybe it's not so important right now to lift my arms.

I'm too dizzy to think.

And I'm too drowsy to keep my eyes open.

I let my head rest against the heartbeat.

It's oddly comforting.

I drift.

* * *

_*Runs and hides* *Peeks out* *Please, please review!*_

_Next update... soon-ish.  
_


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N i don't own Twilight, but this plot is mine.**

_Hello all. You have blown me away and made me cry with happiness by all the reviews and notifications for chapter 9. I can't thank you enough. _

_Also endless thanks to my beta Sherryola, who is of invaluable help to me. She is writing her own fantabulous fic at the moment and she hopes to be posting it soon. I'll keep you posted!_

_This chapter has no mood music. Bella has a bit of a headache, after all...  
_

* * *

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

I believe I can safely say I have the Mother of All Headaches.

Thud.

Thud.

Ugh.

The world spins around me and my head throbs, to say it kindly. Edward — was it Edward? — has placed me on a bed and I'm lying on top of the blankets.

"Bella?"

Gah.

"Bella?"

Sheesh, leave.

"Bella, can you open your eyes?"

Please?

"Bella? Please, can you let me know if you are awake?"

Pretty please?

"Bella, I'm so sorry."

My eyes open at their own volition when I hear Esme's voice. I look at her and see her face is red from crying.

"Good, you're up."

Nah, wouldn't call it 'up', exactly.

Hmmmm, drowsy…

"Bella, I am going to examine your head now."

Oh. Whoa, shit. Get your fucking hands off my fucking head. Please.

Goddammit that _hurts_!

I throw my arms up in a wild, uncoordinated gesture to get the pain away from my head.

Ack! Dizzy!

"No, Bella, please let me look at you. Edward, do you mind getting a bowl or a bucket downstairs, and an ice pack from the freezer?"

Footsteps, retreating from the room. Those damned fingers are still on my head.

I'm too sleepy really to fight it when somebody takes my arms and gently pries them away from my head.

I'm too weak to fight, I realize. My body weighs a ton and every breath is a struggle.

I can't even bring myself to care.

It doesn't really matter anymore, maybe.

I've lost.

I close my eyes and drift.

**~O~**

They wake me every hour, on the hour. They tell me every time they wake me that they do that because I got a concussion when I hit my head on the floor.

All I know is that my brain feels like it's going to burst out of my head and I'm miserable. Whenever I move, I get sick and vomit my guts out.

So, I try to be as still as possible, which is no easy feat considering I am so dizzy I keep losing my balance while I'm lying flat on my back, resulting in involuntary jerky movements to regain some equilibrium.

Almost every time I open my eyes, Esme is sitting in the room with me, watching me intently. Sometimes it's Alice, who can be very still and very quiet, as it turns out, and once it was Carlisle. But mostly, it's Esme.

After I don't know how many times I've been wakened, I manage to keep my eyes open for longer than two seconds. I turn — slowly — and see Esme sitting in a chair at the foot of my bed.

"Hi honey," she whispers. Even that little sound hurts my ears and I frown against it. "I'm sorry." Her whisper is no more than a breath now. "It's good to see you awake. Does your head hurt?"

I nod, and a surge of nausea washes over me. I retch violently and Esme quickly hands me the bucket that has been placed by the bed.

I'm so embarrassed that she would see me like this and I hide my face in my hands when I lie back again. Her disappearing momentarily into the adjoining bathroom to clear out the bucket fuels my mortification even more.

She reappears again, looking apologetically. "I think we should get you out of your clothes and into something more comfortable," she says.

Even in my misery, alarm bells go off.

"Do you think you could try it yourself?"

Even if I couldn't, I would. So I nod, and she gets up to leave me.

When I sit up, nausea crashes down on me again and I retch, but my stomach is empty so nothing comes out. The gagging puts immense pressure on my head and I feel like it's going to explode. Even blinking my eyes seems to hurt.

Gah.

I cannot change into other clothes myself. There is no way in hell I am going to be able to do that.

I sigh in desperation lean back into my pillow again. Oh, that's so much better.

Hmmm…

I drift.

The click of the door alerts me that someone is entering my room again. I open my eyes lazily and see Esme. She's holding a glass of turbid water and a package of food, which she places by the bed. Then she sits down on the bed beside me, very gingerly. I feel the dip of the mattress when she puts her weight on it.

We look at each other for a long, but peaceful moment.

"Will you let me help you now?" It's the shadow of a whisper.

I swallow, careful not to move anything else. Both the knowledge that I need the help and the prospect of Esme touching me — undressing me — should freak me out of my mind.

But, I seem to be a little off. Everything seems to come from a distance away and all I know is that my head hurts and my body begs me to be as still as possible. Everything and anything else just doesn't seem so important anymore.

Esme gets up, slowly but deliberately, holding my gaze with her own comforting eyes. One hand slowly slides under my back and she helps me to sit up. I close my eyes against the fierce dizziness, but underneath I am scared shitless the second my body begins to move and the prospect of what is going to happen hits me. My heart rate picks up, exploding in my head with every beat.

Oh sweet Jesus, I'd give a dear thing to make that stop.

"Bella, I am going to undress you now. I won't hurt you," Esme says softly. She looks into my eyes again before her hand travels to the scarf around my neck.

But I can't. Even in my misery, I fight. My fingers close around her wrist and I pull her hand away from me, praying to whatever higher deity that she will comply and leave me alone.

She does.

My breathing is heavy, laboured. Every exhale comes out in gasps and I am so dreadfully, horribly, painfully tired. Esme looks into my eyes and I blink once when I see the obvious pain in her gaze. I don't understand why she would look that way.

But then again my head is not really very clear at this moment in time.

I look back at Esme and hope that she will understand that I can't do this.

"Okay," she says softly. "I see this is too hard for you. I wish you could trust me Bella, I really do."

Why I am crying now is beyond me, but I am. My throbbing head is not best pleased with this new development.

Esme turns to the bed stand without moving her arm on my back and then I realize what is going on.

Her arm is still around my shoulders.

She is holding me.

She is _touching_ me.

And I didn't recoil.

I'm even leaning into her.

Oh, my God.

I go violently rigid immediately, gasping for and then holding my breath. I look up at Esme in alarm and it seems we both realize what has happened here just now. The quick movement fuels my fierce dizziness however and I lose my balance, literally falling while I am sitting. And I retch, again.

The moment is broken as Esme leaves me to reach for the bucket at my bed. She is just in time as I actually give up pure gall this time. Oh _fuck_, that hurts my throat.

My head explodes. Or maybe it implodes, since you can't see any signs on the outside.

I let my head rest in my hands and shield my eyes from the light in the room. I don't think I have ever been this miserable. I can't even think of anything else.

Esme places her hand on my back again and this time I do react. I jerk my body away and hiss in my breath, scowling.

_Don't. Touch. Me._

For one horrible moment I'm dreadfully scared that she will hit me. Stefan often got violent in a flash when I flinched from him.

But Esme removes her hand, startled, and there is sudden tension in the room again. I can tell she's trying to hide her frown as she picks up the bucket to clean it once more.

I can't have this. I can't have her doing these awful things for me. At least let me clean up my own mess, if nothing else.

In a surge of energy I swing my legs off the bed, only to get them tangled in the blanket they have put over me, apparently. I struggle to get the blanket away but I am so dizzy, all that registers is the distinct feeling of falling.

"Bella!"

Esme is by my side in a beat, catching me by my upper arms and steadying me on the bed.

Her grip on my upper arms is alarming and altogether too familiar. I recoil and squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for what's to come. I will finally pay for my weak behavior. The hands on my arms do not let go to strike, but the grip lightens a little. I hold my breath and wait for one hand to disappear from my arm and hit my head.

My head. Oh, God, my head. I can cry it hurts so much.

"Open your eyes, Bella."

No.

"Bella, please. Open your eyes and look at me. Look at me."

My entire face scrunches up in the effort to open one eye, slightly. The movement of the muscles in my face makes my head throb some more. Great.

Why won't she let me go? Why are her hands still on my arms? Can I move away?

"Breathe. Look at me."

I suck in some much needed air and open both eyes now, tense in anticipation. What does she want? What is going to happen?

Tears escape from both my eyes and find their way down my face. Damnation for showing such weakness in times of danger. I would berate myself if I weren't so miserable already.

Esme is squatting in front of me, looking up at me with eyes that are big with an emotion I don't know. "See?" she breathes. "I won't hurt you. You were falling, so I caught you. Touching doesn't always mean violence, Bella. Touching can also mean care, and love."

What the…

I don't…

Why…

I can't think with her hands on my arms.

Part of me screeches at me to be on guard, to fight this, to retreat and find cover before it's too late. Gentleness can turn into viciousness within the blink of an eye. I _know_ that.

Another part of me recognizes the touch as gentle and warns me firmly that I should _not_ allow this, and that I certainly don't deserve it.

A third part of me doesn't really care — that part beats in time with my bursting head and my throbbing throat.

I exhale a shaky breath and just look at Esme, and I am at a complete loss as to what to do. I am vividly aware of Esme's hands on my arms, as am I very much aware that her hold on me is gentle and in no way restraining.

I am _so_ confused.

Finally, my instinct kicks in and I move my arms up in an attempt to let her let go of me. That's three times she had tried to touch me. I want to let her know I don't like it, but I can't bring myself to care through the haze that is still filling my head.

Esme keeps looking at me as she gently lifts her hands away from me, not startled this time by my movement. She stands up slowly and hands me my meds, before she picks up the bucket once more and disappears into the bathroom. "Stay put," she says over her shoulder. "This is my task, not yours."

My head is reeling, and not only from the concussion. I can vividly feel the exact places where her hands have been on my arms. I take my meds and faintly register somewhere that they taste a little different from what I'm used to. Then again, my mouth is still filled with the horrid aftertaste of gall and bile so it's not weird that anything should taste off.

I'm just trying to put the extraordinary tiny straw into an even smaller opening in the container of food when Esme comes back out of the bathroom. She kneels before me and we look at each other for a long time, the package with food forgotten in my lap.

The world is swimming around me a little. I sway on the bed in order to try and keep my balance.

"You will have to change into pyjamas soon," Esme says softly. "You are going to have to stay in bed for a week."

A week!

I look at her in alarm. A sudden fear, deep and primal, crashes down on me. I can't be weak like that. I can't be helpless. I'll have to own my keep here. I have to…

"Bella." Esme's voice pulls me from my impending panic attack. "You hit your heard. Hard. And I am sorry for that, because I feel that was my fault. Let me make it up to you by allowing me to care for you. Please, give your body a chance to heal. Have we hurt you yet?"

I still look at her, dumbfounded now.

"Answer me, please. Have we hurt you yet?"

I shake my head, carefully. No.

"Have we been angry with you for what you felt you had done wrong?"

I shake my head again.

"Have we punished you?"

The word sounds foreign when it rolls off her tongue. I continue shaking my head.

"Please, trust us. Please." Her voice breaks on the last word.

It breaks my heart to see her so sad. She shouldn't be crying over me. I'm certainly not worth it. For the second time, I feel the urge to reach out and comfort her, but my arms feel too heavy to lift.

My eyelids are starting to feel heavy, too.

Huh.

What exactly was in that glass with my meds?

Hmmm… Maybe I don't care. I really just want to go to sleep. Consequences be damned, I'll deal with them when I get there.

I still look at Esme, but it's becoming hard to focus.

"Lie down, Bella, and sleep now. I'll be here for you when you wake up."

I comply. There is nothing I want to do more now really, than lie down and sleep.

I drift…

**~O~**

Voices, so far away. Barely discernible.

"Should we get her into pyjamas? She can't stay in those clothes. But I don't want to meddle with her while she's out."

"I think you are right. Wait until she wakes. Shouldn't be long now."

"Do you think it was a good idea to give her those extra painkillers?"

"I do. She was in a lot of pain. Besides, her body needed to relax, or she couldn't start to heal."

"How much did you put in there, Carlisle? She's been out for hours."

"Less than the required amount, even considering the pain killers she already takes. But take one look at her and tell me she didn't need it."

"I think she'll be real pissed with you when she wakes up."

"Alice, I don't believe you were a part of this conversation."

I drift.

**~O~**

I think I may need to use the bathroom.

I open my eyes only to close them again immediately, even the little light in here piercing bright, and dizziness washing over me.

But shit, my entire abdomen hurts. I have to go, and soon.

I open my eyes again and try to keep my balance while lying flat on my back. When I'm relatively sure about which side is actually up, I sit up, slowly.

I am alone in the room.

Vaguely remembering what happened the last time I tried to get up, I remove the blanket before I swing my legs off the bed.

I don't think it ever took me so long to walk all of ten feet. I don't think it ever took me so long to take care of my necessities. But while I'm in here, I can wash my face and brush my teeth as well. I succeed, although it seems to take me hours. The activities exhaust me and I shuffle to the bed again, very, very grateful when I can sit down and lean back. I do feel a tad better though, and I'm satisfied.

I stay like this for a moment, lying on the bed with my feet still on the ground. The headache seems to have lessened a little, even if only infinitesimally. There is a haze in my head though that doesn't seem to be lifting, making everything, even my thoughts, feel like they are from a mile away.

The door opens softly and out of habit I keep still, looking at the ceiling, listening to what is going to happen.

"Hi, Bella," Esme greets me. "I see you've been up?" Her footsteps walk around the bed and she sits down at the foot of the bed, next to me.

I turn my head to look at her, and she smiles gently at me. She is wearing different clothes and her caramel hair is done nicely. "It's 6 am," she starts, and chuckles softly when my eyes widen as I register what she has just told me. Is it Monday morning? I must have been out for a very long time then. How long have I been sleeping? I'm still drowsy as hell. Esme doesn't seem to be upset that I've slept so much, though.

"You will hear the others get up and get ready for school soon," Esme continues before my alarm can set in fully. "We haven't gotten a chance to discuss with you yet as to whether you want to go to school already, but that's no concern as you will have to rest until your head is better."

I turn my head a little more to look at Esme better. She is sitting on the bed with me and I'm not entirely alarmed by it. I scold myself as soon as I realize I am letting my guard down. Again. Frowning with the effort, I sit up and scoot away from her a little, holding on for dear life to the comforter for balance because damn, it feels like I'm sitting on a waterbed. Esme doesn't show any signs of disapproval, but I try to keep my guard up. I wonder why that is becoming so hard all of a sudden?

"Now, there are a couple of things that need to be done. You need to eat, and you need to change. Are you feeling a bit better?"

I think for a moment, trying to determine how I feel. The throat is sore, but that's old news. The head still throbs, but it seems to be less than yesterday. My entire body is stiff from sleeping for so long, and, come to think of it, I'm queasy with hunger.

But, honestly? I've had _so_ much worse.

I nod, to answer Esme's question. I want to lift my hand and touch the bump on my head, but decide against it. Best not to show signs of weakness.

Outside of my room, I hear people starting to move through the house. I can hear water running through the plumbing and I hear footsteps on different flights of stairs.

"Good, that's good to hear," Esme continues. "Here's an idea. I'll go and get you some food and your medication. Then I'll go and help the children to school. After that, I'll come back to you and we can work out how we're going to make you as comfortable as possible. How does that sound?"

Sounds okay enough, I think.

Esme nods, pleased, and gets up again. She pulls a notepad and a pen out of her pocket and places them on my bedside table. "I'll just leave these here." Then she leaves the room with one last warm smile over her shoulder.

She leaves the door ajar a little, which I don't understand. But maybe I don't really care. I sit back against the headboard of the bed and look at the door, listening to the sounds in the house. I pull my legs up a little, to ease some of the tension I feel in my lower back.

There is something very peculiar going on here. The Cullens seem to be genuinely kind.

I find this thought disconcerting and altogether very hard to believe.

A knock on the door, so soft I'm not even sure I've heard it. The door opens a little and Alice's petite figure stands in the doorway. "Hi," she smiles, "can I come in?"

Not really waiting for my answer, she floats inside and stands at the foot of my bed. "How are you?"

Why would she ever want to know?

"Did you sleep well?"

That, I did. I nod.

My reaction brings out the biggest smile on her face and she sits down at the foot of my bed immediately after. The ease with which she does that puts me at ease as well, and I tense up only a little. "That's good to hear. We've been so worried about you."

Huh. _Why?_

Alice must see the question in my eyes, and the surprise is evident in her face when she speaks. "Because we care about you, silly! You're part of this family now, and so far it hasn't been very easy for you. Mom was so scared she'd ruined our chance with you, that you might want to leave."

My eyes can go wider still, as it turns out. This is completely upside down.

Alice chuckles when she looks at my face. "What, you'd think my folks would send you away after this?"

Well, yes, actually. I swallow thickly and start to nod, but Alice interrupts me as _her_ eyes go wide and fill with sadness, all traces of banter gone. "You really were scared that you would have to leave?" Her whisper is so soft I can barely hear it over the ringing in my ears from the headache.

I nod, swallowing again and feeling a lump in my throat that is not just an after effect of the strangulation. I pull up my legs further and wrap my arms around them for comfort, leaning my chin between my knees as I look at Alice.

"Oh, Bella," she whispers, and a single tear leaves her eye. "You've been with us for not two days and we all have come to love you so much. How can you think you would not be welcome here?"

_Because I have never been welcome anywhere before_.

I try to hold back a sob when I think that even Renée got rid of me as fast as she could.

Shit. My mind is a turmoil and I can't control my thoughts, it seems. I snap the rubber band at my wrist to prevent breaking down. The sharp pain is refreshing and tears my mind away from the emotional hurt.

"Bella? Why do you do that?"

I look at Alice, alarmed now. Do I really have to explain that?

When I don't speak, Alice once more advocates the uncanny ability I suspect her to have to look right through me. "Is it to distract yourself from your thoughts?"

I gasp a little as her words cut right through my soul, I can't help it.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to upset you!"

Tears spill over and blur my vision. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!

"Alice?" I think that's Esme calling.

Alice turns her head towards the door and calls back. "I'm coming! One minute!" Then she turns to me again. I have collected myself in the meantime and look back at her, not sure what to do.

"You okay?" she asks.

I don't know what carelessness has crept into me, but I shrug before I can help myself.

"Yeah, I guess that will be a while," Alice smiles before she gets up. She pauses at the door. "What a weekend, huh?" she chuckles half-heartedly. Then she blows me a kiss, and she disappears from my sight.

Yeah. What a weekend, indeed.

I sit back against the heard board of the bed and let my head loll a bit. Now I've been awake longer, the drowsiness finally seems to ease a little. I listen to the sounds of seven other people getting ready for their day and it occurs to me that all seems to be working like a well-oiled machine.

The room I am in is at the end of the hallway, so I don't see as much as I can hear. I do realize I like it that the door is open. This is a very new feeling for me.

A door nearby opens and heavy footsteps trudge out. I still look through my open door, but all I can see is the opposite wall. I'm pretty sure it's the big one — Emmett — that just came out of his room.

His footsteps seem to come my way, but before I can see anything, they halt and walk away from me again. He is the last one to get downstairs, and the hallway is silent once he reaches the ground floor and his footsteps die away.

It feels so strange to be listening. I feel like I am spying on this family, watching and hearing them move with such grace and ease. I listen to sounds of breakfast downstairs, and suddenly realize I am ravenously hungry myself.

I'd rather not get out of bed though, with so many people present downstairs.

As if on cue, I hear someone coming and before long, Esme appears in my room again. She's holding a tray with a variety of things on it. I sit up a little as she approaches me and places the tray by the bed.

"You look better," she beams at me. "A little less sleepy, maybe?"

Her sweet smile does something really weird inside my stomach. I can't quite put my finger on it though, so I push it away.

Esme squats by my bedside table and points at the tray. "Meds, oatmeal, fluid food, milk." She looks up at me. "I know you hate the fluid food, but you need it. You have eaten not nearly enough over the last days. The oatmeal is still warm, I was hoping you'd like that. You can add more sugar if you want to."

Oatmeal… my mother used to make that for me when I was little. When she was still around. Before Laurent even looked at me. I swallow at the memory.

Esme sees me looking at the food and stands up again. I lean away from her — it's pure automatism. I don't like it when people are standing over me. It makes me feel very vulnerable indeed.

She reaches out to the tray and picks up the phone that was lying on it apparently. She holds it up for me to see and holds it out for me. Very reluctantly, I reach out and take the phone from her. Or, I actually _snatch_ it from her, as I'm anxious to be out of her reach as soon as possible again.

This is so utterly ridiculous for so many reasons.

I see the question in Esme's eyes, but she doesn't ask what's on her mind. Good. Like I would be able to explain it.

As my mind is getting clearer, I am becoming more and more aware of her presence so near me and I start to tense up little by little. I don't like it. At all.

I look at the phone, then at Esme. The phone feels heavy and cool in my hand. I have an inkling what she'll want with this, but I wait for her to say it.

"I want you to use this if you need me," she says while she kneels before me again. I am now higher than she is and it helps me relax, but only marginally. "All our numbers are in there. You can let it ring, or you can text me. You know how to text?"

God, I'm mute, not stupid.

She sees my indignation and chuckles. "I'm sorry," she says, and she is sincere. "You didn't bring a phone with you here, so forgive me for assuming. I just wanted to help you out. I'm not going to be sitting at your bed the entire day, and I have a feeling you don't need that, either."

I can't help but be relieved, but there's another worry nagging in my mind. Don't I have to make myself useful in some way? I'll have to do my part in the housekeeping, don't I? I feel so much better than yesterday, surely I can get up and help?

How long are they going to accept me lying on my ass and being served breakfast in bed?

Esme seems to see my worrying, because she places the notepad and pen on the bed with me. "I know you hate it, but please tell me what's on your mind. We want to make you happy here, but you're going to have to help us."

I look at the notepad, and I look at her. I'm tempted to refuse, but then again I don't want to upset her. I replace the phone with the notepad and frown, thinking hard of what exactly I need to say.

Esme leans back on her heels and waits patiently. Downstairs, I can hear people moving around, chairs scraping on the floor.

After long seconds of hesitation, I lower the notepad and look up. I can't form the words. I don't know how to say what I feel or what my fears are. No, definitely not those. It'll give her a nice arsenal of weapons should she be so inclined as to use them against me and she knows far too much about my weaknesses as yet.

"No?" she asks kindly. It sounds like a reassurance.

I shake my head. No.

"Okay," Esme nods. "I'm very happy that you tried. I'll go downstairs and get that unruly bunch to school. You eat in the meantime. And, maybe you can try to write down what your worries were just now?"

Esme doesn't linger, but with a gentle smile leaves me with both my food and my thoughts to chew on.

**~O~**

I've eaten the oatmeal and by God, it's the best food I have had in years. Esme kept her promise and I was left alone, giving me the opportunity to eat in peace, which was actually the first time since I got here, come to think of it. I also rinsed the fluid food away with the milk.

The food has cleared my mind somewhat and I have had some time to think. I need to get my guard back up. Mentally going through all the times I slipped up, one thought sticks like a splinter in my consciousness. And as I become more aware of what has happened last night, I get more upset.

I've not taken my meds, although both my throat and my head have started to hurt more. I have written down my question to ask Esme when she comes back, and now I am manning up to show it to her.

I need to stand my ground on this, I think.

The house is empty now. I have heard the Cullen children leave for school, with lots of calling and urging. I heard more than one car leave. If I had been standing by the window, I guess I could have seen them driving away.

But I'm not standing. I'm lying on my lazy ass in a bed that's not mine.

Oh, my God, what have I been thinking?

Another slip up. I swing my legs off the bed and bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to push the dizziness down. No. I will _not_ give in this time. Sweet Jesus, the only things I've done here so far is ruining things and sleeping. So much for gratefulness.

I get up and stretch a little, blood rushing to my legs and head at the same time, making everything throb and causing a head rush that nearly makes me lose my balance again.

And Esme said this was going to take a week?

Gah.

Then again, she's lied before, as it turned out, didn't she?

I have no time to try and do anything else, as I hear Esme coming up the stairs. I walk around the bed and wait for her there. Her surprise is obvious as she comes into the room.

"Bella? What are you doing up?"

Well, I can't stick around lying in bed the whole day, now can I? Besides, maybe it's better to be standing up for this, how heavy my body may feel.

"You really should be lying down, sweetheart."

We keep looking at each other and I can tell she's thinking hard. While she is distracted, I grab the opportunity to shift forward ever so little and lean my knees against the bed for support. Ah, yes, it's easier to remain standing this way.

Esme notices, of course.

Well, fuck.

Esme's gaze shifts and she looks over at the full glass with my painkillers. Then she looks back up at me.

Yes, this is what I've been waiting for. Let her say it first.

"Why haven't you taken your meds?" she asks carefully.

Oh, she's actually playing the innocent now. Before I can stop myself, I cock my eyebrow at her.

_Careful, Bella. Don't antagonize her too much._

Not looking away, I get the notepad out of the front pocket of my sweater and throw it on the bed before her. My heart is hammering in my chest. No going back now. But I have to do this. I feel very strong about that.

When she picks it up and reads what I've written down, I see her eyes widen.

"Ah, so you've noticed that," she breathes.

Of course I did. I'm not entirely stupid, you know?

"We thought it was best for you."

I almost huff at this. Almost, because huffing means I would have to make a sound and that's not my thing.

_What's best for me._

Something snaps. I'm pretty sure Esme can see the anger flare in my eyes. I can feel it, at any rate.

My entire life I have endured a whole lot of shit under the pretext of 'being the best for me.' I have been taken away from my childhood home because 'it was best for me.' I've been placed by a foster family on the other side of the country because it was 'best for me.' I've been beaten to pulp countless times because it was 'best for me.' I've been taught my lesson time and time again, because 'it was best for me.' Every punishment I have received I have gotten because it was 'best for me.'

And now I have been drugged to sleep against my will because it was 'best for me?'

Don't start me on that. There's a lot I am prepared to believe, but not this.

Certainly not this.

I can take a lot of shit and I really don't mind, but let _me_ decide when I am and when I am not aware of what is happening around me. That's my only condition. Is that so hard to meet?

I hold my hand out for the notepad and Esme hands it to me. I snatch it out of her hands, not caring anymore about anything. I write down the one thing I need to tell her, forcing it out through a turmoil of thoughts.

_Don't do this again. Do anything, but not this._

"I'm sorry," Esme whispers when she sees my note. "Are you very upset?"

Upset? I'm a little more than upset, actually. She doesn't even deny what she did. Fucking hell, the nerve these people have! All this gentleness and kindness and effort to make me believe them, make me trust them, but the one moment I look the other way they do this to me? I knew it. Of course I knew it. I should have known, all along.

Alice was right. I _am_ really pissed.

Not only with myself, for starting to believe them. I'm angry with them, for pulling the one trick on me I could have had no resistance against, whatsoever. And they did it when I was at my weakest.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Esme even has the guts to pick up the glass of meds I have not yet taken and holds it out to me. "I promise there are only your regular painkillers in this," she says. "We gave you extra painkillers for your head yesterday, but you must have been very tired that they had such a strong effect on you. But it was a good thing that you slept. You were not allowing yourself to relax."

Of course I wouldn't allow myself to relax. Turns out I was damn right that I shouldn't have, either. God damn it, I should have known it would be something like this.

Holy fucking hell.

Holy fucking third hell.

I look at the glass Esme holds out for me. She cannot be serious about this, can she?

But Esme keeps standing, her arm with the glass outstretched over the bed. I clench my jaws together and take the glass from her.

_Now, let's see how nice they really are_.

It's now or never.

I choose now.

I'll take the consequences. I don't give a fuck. They must know that I do _not_ want to be messed with without me knowing about it. I can take a lot of shit. But not this.

Not this.

I take a deep breath, and with all my might, I throw the glass. It sounds almost satisfying as it crashes into a million pieces against the wall.

* * *

_Well, I think Bella is a lot stronger than she gives herself credit for... Next chapter will have some Edward in it again, promise :)  
_

_As ever, do I love to know what you think!  
_


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N I don't own Twilight or any of its characters. This plot however, is mine.**

_Hello everyone. I cannot believe how many reviews and notifications I got over the last week. I was crying with happiness and this is not a lie. Thank you all so very much and thank you BellaScotia (who happens to be the fantabulous author of the amazing fic Secrets and Lies - go read!) for recommending my fic. And thank you all for reading and reviewing. This means the world to me. _

_Your opinions on Bella throwing the glass were divided. One of you asked me if I didn't think this was disrespectful. Maybe it was, but giving Bella meds without her permission didn't show much respect, either :) And about her language... Yes Bella swears, and she swears a lot when she is upset. It's all she knows. She hasn't had very good examples in her life. _

_Thanks to Sherryola, who has become so much more than a friend and who now knows what this story means to me. You have no idea how much you mean to me. Get well soon, honey!_

_This chapter contains, I believe, some much awaited progress. And, finally, a little Edward. Don't blink though, or you'll miss him... ;)_

* * *

Esme looks over her shoulder at the mess, then back at me. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't lash out, either. She swallows, I can tell that even from where I am standing at the other side of the bed.

My heart is crashing out of my chest. I clench my fists and breathe rapidly through my nose, my eyes fixed on Esme and waiting for her reaction.

Stefan would have leaped over the bed by now and jumped on me.

Laurent would have cooed me into a false sense of safety and pull me in for a hug before his comforting arms turned into constraining ones.

I don't know what Esme will do. I had to find out sooner or later, and honestly, I _am_ pissed about what they did to me. Of everything they could have done, they took away the one thing I thought I had still - control over my consciousness. I put my trust in them by allowing them to prepare my medication.

Psh.

_Stupid girl, see what you get?__ This is what you deserve._

I am momentarily horrified as I think of what they could have done to me whilst I was out. But then again, no… I was still in my clothes and I think I heard Esme saying she didn't want to meddle with me.

Well, she should have thought of that before she drugged me.

Fucking hell.

Esme still stands looking at me, no doubt thinking of what she will do to me. I'm hoping for a beating and nothing else. That would be the easy way out, of course.

I don't really believe the no-violence promise anymore.

I wait.

"You are upset."

No shit, Sherlock.

"I will go downstairs and leave you to calm down. Come and meet me when you're ready, so we can talk. Just talk, Bella. No violence." Her voice is calm, almost flat, but there is hurt in her face.

She leaves the room without further ado, and I stand frozen. Her footsteps trail down the stairs and only when I know she can no longer hear me, does a sob escape me.

And another.

And another.

I bend forward and lean my still clenched fists on the bed to accommodate my irregular breathing. A panic attack combined with a break down, that's a combination I've rarely had before.

A third variable sets in swiftly and I make it to the toilet just in time as my breakfast finds its way back out through my throat.

I rinse my mouth when the retching is finally stopping and drag myself to a corner of the room. There I sink down and sit for long hours. I'm too weary to think. I feel unworthy to seek the comfort of Renée's quilt. I never felt the need to provoke her like I did with Esme just now.

By God.

Then again Renée got paid to be nice to me and we both knew I was there temporarily. But somewhere deep down, I think I never thought Renée would hurt me. She could have sent me back to Stefan easily if she wanted to. Yet, she didn't. She just waited patiently until I could be sent off to the other side of the country. How very convenient. Right?

My eyes are closed, but every so often I open them to steady my sense of balance. I'm still dizzy, but it seems to be coming along in waves now, it's less constant. I'm shaky from the vomiting and my headache is just as bad as yesterday again. I need food and I need meds. But for both of those I will have to get down and meet Esme.

Esme, who seems to be keeping her promise again and is waiting for me to come down.

But what will be waiting for me there?

I sit, and wait, and force myself to endure.

I've had worse. That time Laurent shut me in my room and didn't let me out for three days, to name one example.

I raise my hand to snap the rubber band before that memory sets in fully, but as I look at the purple bruised skin on my wrist I decide against it.

I can't do it anymore. I'm tired, and wary, and weary, and sore.

I count to a hundred and fifty and then get up. My headache hits me full force and I have to fight the urge to lie down on the bed and forget about the world around me. I am so tired of fighting, so tired…

Ah, hell. Let's get this over with. Face the consequences and see how we will move on from there. I look at the shattered glass and swipe the pieces together into a pile with my sleeve-covered hands.

_What have I done?_

Picking up the suitcase that has been packed and ready to go since yesterday morning, I find my way down the stairs, all the while holding on to the wall for support, and not only from my dizziness.

Downstairs, I immediately see that Esme is not alone in the kitchen. I recognize Carlisle by his blond, almost white hair that is combed back neatly. He sits with his back to me but turns as he hears me approaching.

I stagger backwards, literally, at what this might mean for me. Why is he here? Shouldn't he be working? Will he keep his promise about the belt?

_Be brave, Bella. You've had worse_.

I set the suitcase down and stand back straight to meet Carlisle's gaze. Esme sits opposite him and even from my peripheral vision I can see she looks worried. Not angry.

"Leaving us?" Carlisle asks.

That depends on you of course, I think.

"We're not sending you away, if that's what you think," Esme says from behind Carlisle. "I understand you are upset for what we did, I really do. But I must say Bella, that what you did was not very nice behaviour. We will not punish you for it — never. But we do not approve of it, either."

I stand, and wait.

"Do you understand that?"

I don't react. I am waiting for Carlisle to speak. I keep looking at him, to convey that message at least.

Finally, he starts talking. "I am sorry that we upset you by giving you the extra medication. You needed them for your head. I didn't know they would have such a strong effect on you. You must have been very tired."

This man calls himself a doctor? _Is_ he?

Then his words sink in. He is sorry that they upset me. He isn't sorry for what he did. But that's not what bothers me most.

If they just had _told_ me there were giving me extra meds, all would have been fine. They have acted behind my back and not told me what was going on. I have been treated as if I, and what I would want, don't matter.

There are rare times that I wish I could actually talk. This would be one of them.

I am at a loss. I want to scream, I want to run. I want to hide and I want to fight. Desperation washes over me as I realize several things at once. I realize I am as pissed as I am because they have given me meds without telling me. I realize I that Carlisle and Esme have not moved a muscle and I am starting to think that they might not lash out at me and make me pay for my wrongdoing. I realize I'm maybe more disappointed than pissed about the med affair.

But, disappointment means that I had expectations.

Then what was I expecting, precisely?

"Bella, please take your suitcase back to your room. We are not sending you anywhere," Esme says softly, but clearly, pulling me out of my reverie. "Unless of course you want to leave us. In that case, just let us know, and we'll make the arrangements. You can be gone by tomorrow morning if you want to."

I blink at her words. I look at her face and see that her eyes look worried underneath her calm façade.

"But I ask you to give us one more chance. It would mean the world of us if you gave us one more chance."

I look at her, then at Carlisle.

"We should have told you we were giving you extra medication," Carlisle says when I meet his gaze. "I'm sorry about that, Bella. It must have been very upsetting for you and it was unacceptable of us. Can you try to forgive us?"

It feels like the world is slipping away underneath me. The man has voiced my concern to the letter and he has apologized.

He _apologized_.

I exhale and it's like something just breaks inside me. My mind is too chaotic to even finish the one thought as I look at Carlisle and Esme. Esme gets up and walks towards me slowly, her arm outstretched a little.

"I wish so much I could hug you right now," she whispers.

And… I wish so much that I could get that hug. These last days have been crazy. My entire body hurts and my soul is torn.

I'm exhausted to my core.

And I realize I don't have the energy to fight it all anymore. I don't know how I have become so tired or so careless all of a sudden, but I am too weary to try and explain it.

The dams break. I wrap my arms around myself and cry.

**~O~**

I don't remember how long I sat on the floor in the kitchen, crying and hugging myself. Carlisle left at one point, and Esme sat down with me the entire time, crying with me and wrapping her arms around herself tightly, just like me.

I remember having made eye contact with her at points, and every time I saw a lot of things I couldn't name, but it was nothing negative, of that I was sure.

Esme had to get up first, asking me if I wasn't getting sore, sitting on the floor like that. She coaxed me into eating some and having meds, and she let me prepare them myself. She spoke to me about a lot of things, just random snippets about the workings of the household, her other children, Carlisle, and me. She told me she hoped that I could learn to trust them, and she apologized time and again for not telling me about the medication.

She told me she hoped I would start to try and communicate a bit. Not entire conversations, but a little thing now and then.

She told me how proud she was of me that I told her I didn't like to be drugged, and that she was actually a little proud that I stood up against her, "although I'd rather not you make throwing glasses a habit." She told me that she wanted to hear specifically what I liked and didn't like. "We have to do this together."

Together.

She asked me, pleaded with me to work with them. This scares the shit out of me. Never before have I been asked what I wanted. Never before have I been asked if I was okay with what was happening. Everything has always been decided for me. Here, I have met nothing but kindness. Not threats, no tension in the atmosphere. Of course, it's tense because I am new here and nobody knows me, but it's not tense because there is the probability of violence. I have not seen anything yet that could possibly point that way.

Maybe that's why it's so hard to keep my guard up. I still don't know where I stand and that's draining me. The constant threat used to keep me on my toes and fueled my wariness. Here, there is nothing. I have not even been warned yet.

I have to know what they expect of me.

I am in the room that I should start calling 'my room,' maybe. When Esme asked if I'd rather stay upstairs when the rest of the children came home from school, I gratefully accepted her offer. She came with me and together we cleaned up the mess of the broken glass.

I'm sitting on the bed now, head resting back against the headboard. Carlisle said it would be better for me if I tried to get some sleep, but he added that he understood that I wanted to do these things on my own terms.

I don't know what I have done to deserve these people. I can't really stay mad at them for messing with the drugs. They apologized and now I am calm and thinking rationally, although I don't approve, I slept very, very well and I really needed it. I did. Besides, nothing happened. They didn't even undress me or put me underneath the blankets while I was out and that assures me. A lot.

I have written down one question on the notepad. When I see Esme again, I will give this to her. This will placate her need for me to communicate, however horrifying that thought is to me, and it will ease my nagging unease about this.

Below me, I hear the Cullen kids coming home from school. Easy tones of conversation drift up to my room in waves. I have closed the door, wanting to be alone and hoping they will leave me. I even have watched TV for a short while, but I couldn't keep concentrated and my headache got worse from the flashing images on the screen.

A soft knock on my door, startling me a little, followed by Alice's voice. "Hi Bella, can I come in? Can you make a sound if I can?"

Sweet Alice. Do I want to talk to her?

Wait, did I just think 'sweet Alice?'

I don't dare to leave her out, though, so I get up from the bed — dizzy, shit! — and open the door. I step back immediately after until the backs of my legs hit the bed again.

Alice trails into the room. "Hi," she breathes, smiling widely.

I sit down on the bed again, against the headboard, pulling my legs up and wrapping my arms around them. Alice sits down at the foot of the bed. I'm happy the bed is so big, come to think of it. But I'm not really afraid of her, I think. She couldn't really hurt me, physically, if she tried. I don't know if she's going to play mind games, but she really doesn't struck me as the type of person who would.

I mean, I _know_ there must be kind people out there in the world.

I just haven't met them yet, really.

Then again, who would be kind to _me_?

"How are you feeling? Are you better?" Her words pull me out of my thoughts and again she strikes me as genuinely kind and sweet.

Maybe…

To answer her, I nod, I am better. I almost want to tell her that she was right, that I was very pissed about the extra medication. But don't think I want to indulge in our contact too much. When she learns more about me, she'll want nothing to do with me.

"I have so many things to ask you," she smiles shyly. "But I don't want to upset you." Her eyes are like a puppy's when she pleads me with her gaze to understand her. "I just want to get to know you. I think you are a very nice girl."

I scoff and roll my eyes a little at this. I am a lot, but nice, I am not. Or, that's what I have been told all my life.

"Why not? I mean, you've been through a lot, but I think that underneath all the stress, you are nice, and sweet, and gentle."

How she makes me comfortable to interact, I don't know, but my face seems to loosen a bit and I cock my eyebrow at her assumption. Silly girl. She should know better.

_Maybe you should tell her about it_, my mind whispers, and I'm not even sure if this is my rationale or my evil side speaking now.

Alice laughs at my reaction, throwing her head back as the bell like chimes tinkle through the room. "You obviously disagree."

"Alice? Did you have my books still?" That's Edwards voice, trailing through the hallway, followed by his footsteps. A door opens down the hall. "Where are you?"

"I'm here," Alice says just loud enough to be heard.

Edward stops in the doorway of the room — my room — and smiles carefully when he sees me. "Hi Bella, it's good to see you up. How are you?"

I just look at him, almost frozen. Is he angry? Annoyed? Dangerous? His eyes tell me differently, but I'm not sure. It seems that every time we have seen each other, it has been awkward to the extreme.

What do I do? I'm afraid of him, right? Right?

The silence extends and I finally look away, wrapping my arms a little tighter around me. I don't know what to do. Why am I unable to answer him?

"So, Alice, did you have them?" His voice is awkward, hesitating.

Alice jumps up, startling me a little. My head whips back up to see her movements, see what she will do. "Of course! Wait, I'll get them for you." She brushes out of the room, placing a hand lightly on his arm as she passes him in close proximity.

They are such a contradiction. Renée told me they are twins, but not only their gender is opposite. Alice is bubbly, happy, whereas I've seen Edward only as pensive, withdrawn even. As for looks, apart from the fact that he is about a foot taller than she, they differ in appearance as well. Alice's hair always seems to be done perfectly, but Edward's looks like he doesn't even bother to get a comb through it in the mornings. They have the same eyes, but they're not the same colour. Alice's eyes are a warm blue and they always sparkle.

Edward turns to leave as well, but hesitates and goes back to face me again. "I'm sorry for anything I have done to upset you," he says after a long moment of silence. "Please know that it was never my intention to do so."

We look at each other and I can see the sincerity in his eyes as I can hear it in his voice. He really seems upset over what he has done.

How can that be?

It's unbelievable that everybody in this house seems to be apologizing towards _me_, instead of the other way round. I suddenly realize how much everybody must have gone out of their way to make me comfortable. Everybody has been so forthcoming. Even Rosalie, in her way, by not messing with me, maybe.

How to tell Edward that I don't blame him? I thought he would be upset with me, but it seems it isn't so. I can't seem to look away as I look into his eyes.

"Here," Alice comes dancing back, and Edward breaks my gaze to look at her. Did I notice reluctance there? He takes the books from his sister. "Thanks. I'll be up studying." Then, with a nod at Alice and a half-smile at me, he leaves.

"Well done," Alice winks as she walks back into the room, obviously joking but being dead serious all the same. "No panic attack this time?"

I can't help but let out a silent laugh at that, lips curling up and air escaping. No, apparently I didn't. And it wasn't because I was too scared to move. The realization, and the laugh, feel exceptionally liberating. With the escaping air, some anxiety evaporates. I divert my eyes however, suddenly shy with being this much at ease.

Alice giggles and sits back on the bed again. "You are okay with this, by the way, aren't you?" she asks randomly, gesturing to show what she means. I nod at her. She's closer than I have allowed anyone in a long time, but she's just not threatening. I know I have to be careful, though. Alice is unaware of my confusing internal monologues. Her whole face lights up at my nod and she asks, "so, want to hear about our day?"

She tells me about the school, about the ridiculously tiny student body and about the teachers. The students know virtually everybody by name, and a lot of the teachers can be addressed by their first name as well. She has a lot of classes with either Edward or Jasper, but whereas she has more creative subjects, Edward focuses a bit on languages and Jasper on abstract courses. Emmett plays in the football team, just as I had guessed, and Rose is the technician of the bunch.

Somehow it's wonderful to hear these little things about the family. Alice makes me get to know them without making it very obvious or belittling. She just talks and talks and is clearly enjoying it.

She says they don't always spend lunch time together, as Edward is kidnapped a lot by Jessica — Alice says the time like it's something foul — and Rosalie and Emmett like to sit with their own friends, James among them. Alice, Jasper, Edward and Jessica usually sit with their other friends, and Alice tells me their names although they mean nothing to me. Tyler, Mike, Lauren, Angela, Eric.

I revel as I listen. Not really at _what_ she tells me, though — I'm not much of a group person. But to me it's a miracle really, to be interacting with someone for so long, and actually enjoying it. After a while though, my head starts swimming and I feel my concentration wavering. It feels alien to realize that I don't want this to stop. Alice has been with me for almost an hour and my body has gradually relaxed in her presence. She's just so… disarming, maybe.

Esme interrupts us from downstairs, calling everyone to dinner.

Oh. What do I do? I can't eat with them, but maybe I can sit with them? Then again, I am truly tired now and I'm not even sure how long I can stay awake anymore. But I should eat and have something for my headache. And my throat.

Alice smiles at me and asks me the question I am pondering over. Before I can answer, however, I hear Esme coming up the stairs. She enters my room again with a tray of food. "Dinner in bed, my lady?"

A small smile forms on my lips and Esme mirrors it, but tenfold. She exchanges glances with Alice and as Alice leaves the room with a pleasant "bye!" Esme sets the tray down. "Your regulars — sorry about that — and some mashed potatoes. You don't have to come down tonight if you don't want to, but know that you are very welcome to do so. Rosalie and Emmett will be out, and Jasper, Edward and Alice will probably be studying tonight, so it should be quiet. Oh," she adds as an afterthought, "I left your meds to prepare them yourself. Can I do anything else for you?"

I'm dizzy after her speech and I need a moment to process everything she just said. Then I shake my head.

"Have a nice dinner. I hope you don't feel ignored or excluded, but since you rather not eat with others…" her voice trails off.

No, I don't feel ignored. I feel pampered and I don't deserve that, at all. I shake my head to assure her that I certainly do not feel ignored. Actually, a little less attention would be nice, even. I'm not angry with her anymore. She has done her utter best to be forthcoming and the fact that I get to prepare my own meds shows that she understands I don't trust her with this anymore. And she's a nice woman. There is no denying it.

Esme leaves the room and I eat the best mashed potatoes I have had in my entire life. It even soothes my annoyance with the fluid food a little.

I wait for almost two hours after dinner, luxuriating in the feeling of a full stomach and a dull headache, instead of a sharp throbbing one. Somehow it feels unreal to be relaxing so soon, but it seems my body is acting by its own will. I'm still on guard, but the lack of constant threat in this house is liberating. When I compare this to the first time I entered Stefan's house, the differences are striking. I can tell that the atmosphere in this house is genuinely calm.

Finally, I pick up the tray and go downstairs, the notepad with my question in the pocket of my sweater.

Maybe I should have changed into different clothes. I'm rumpled to the extreme. Then again, I don't really care about appearance and if I am changing at all, it will be into soft pyjamas and after a hot shower. I'm confident I will be okay enough to do both things later tonight.

I come down and find only Carlisle and Esme in the living room. I acknowledge their gaze as I walk to the kitchen with my tray and clean up my dishes. Esme starts getting up, but from the corner of my eye I see Carlisle holding her down gently. "Let her do this," he whispers, and I'm not sure if he really meant it only for his wife to hear.

Looking up at Esme, I hold up the tray with a questioning gaze. "On top of the fridge," she smiles at me, and I stand on my tiptoes — holding on to the fridge for dear life momentarily as a rush of dizziness washes over me — and place the tray on the fridge.

Mission well achieved.

"Come sit with us," Esme asks gently as she stands up. "Do you want to drink anything? Some tea, maybe? Or hot milk?"

I hold up two fingers without thinking, unconsciously using the sign language of sorts Renée and I developed on-the-go to communicate a little. I lower my hand immediately, quite shocked myself at what I just did. Esme's face still splits into the widest smile I have ever seen, but she doesn't say anything and scurries into the kitchen to get to work.

Turning back to Carlisle, he holds out his arm in an inviting gesture. Hmm. I'm not sure if I'm ready and willing to socialize. On the other hand, if I keep refraining from everything, I'll never learn who these people are and what my life here is going to be like.

Plus, I want to ask them something, and I might as well get it over with.

Gingerly, I walk around the couch and stand at a safe distance before Carlisle. When he invites me to sit, I sit down on the edge of the big chair I have used on Saturday, which effectively is the seat furthest away from him.

He looks at me inquiringly. "How are you feeling?"

Mentally, I do my checklist. I'm pretty okay, come to think of it. Carlisle gauges my reaction and seems to be deliberating what he is going to say next.

"Here's the thing," he starts, and I tense up. I think I'm not going to like what he is going to say. Not at all. "Your throat and neck need to be checked, and I have to know how the swelling on your head is subsiding. I know how apprehensive you are about that prospect, but your healing process has to be monitored. I am of course a fully qualified doctor and I can examine you here. I can understand however if you are uncomfortable with this. In that case, we can take you to the hospital tomorrow and provide a female doctor for you. This brings along the discomfort of travelling however, and dizziness and nausea often do not lessen when being in moving cars."

I hear his attempt at humour but I don't reply as I let the rest of his words sink in. Being examined is such a stress, it was already back in Phoenix. I had a female doctor there who was kind enough, but I only let her look at me once. I don't like probing hands. And certainly not on me.

What do I do?

Esme interrupts us by bringing in a tray, with three steaming cups.

"Think about it, Bella. Although I must say I'd really like to check your head, out of both a doctor's and a father's concern."

I look up at his words, surprised. Esme smiles to herself as she places the mugs on the coffee table. She brings the tray back to the kitchen and comes back out with a jar of honey. "For your throat?" she asks, holding the honey up, and I nod.

I really am being pampered. Maybe I should ask my question now. Or should I wait for the hot liquids to cool? _Ah, stupid girl, you should have thought of that_. I grit my teeth and wait for the drinks to cool, watching TV with Carlisle and Esme but not really registering what's on the news. The flashing images hurt my head but I try to ignore it. I am happy that the questions seem to be over, at least for now. I have not answered Carlisle's question about the examination, but I'll just 'forget' it for the moment. I really wouldn't know what's the best way to deal with it. It seems my wounds have to be checked, but do I want a stranger to do it or exactly the opposite?

"I am so happy that you decided to join us tonight," Esme sighs suddenly, and she holds my gaze when I look at her. "That really means a lot to me."

Oh, wow.

"Could you try to drink anything? We could leave you if you want to."

It's starting to get ridiculous, the lengths they go to accommodate me. I fear vaguely that this courtesy will only last so long and that they will start demanding things in exchange. Then again, they really don't come across as people who would do such things. However, I have been here for two days and it's not like I have spent a lot of time with them.

I set my jaw and tell myself to just get over my own ridiculous behaviour. Deliberately, I pick up my mug and drink. Delicious. And it wasn't even that hard.

An easy warmth spreads through my belly as the milk settles in my stomach. I wish I could sleep again, but I have one more thing to do today. Before I can do anything, however, Carlisle repeats his earlier question and asks me if he can check my head. Shit. He hasn't forgotten.

I look at him and the worry must show in my eyes. I'd rather not. He nods in understanding, but I can tell he's a little frustrated. By asking me a series of 'yes' or 'no' questions, he tries to determine how I feel.

"Thank you," he says solemnly when we are done. This leaves me baffled. Carlisle chuckles softly at my surprise, but doesn't say anything.

Sometimes I really wonder what they think of me. But for now, I have one more thing to do. Picking the notepad out of my pocket, I see Esme's face brighten hopefully.

She really should stop doing that. Gah, it's not like it's _that_ special that I write something down.

Swallowing with anticipation, I stand up, toying with the notepad. Both Carlisle and Esme look up at me expectantly, and Esme nods encouragingly. "You can ask us anything, dear."

Steeling my resolve, I take one last look at the notepad. In a swift movement, I place it on the table and stand back. Even from this distance, I can still read the words, albeit upside down.

_What do you expect of me?_

I look up at them, too anxious to feel anything or to settle for a facial expression. Esme reads, frowns, and then laughs. An open, disarming laugh. Carlisle smiles too, but less exuberantly.

Well, at least they are not mad, right?

Carlisle and Esme exchange looks, and then Carlisle gets up and leaves up the stairs. I look after him in utter alarm. Wait. Where is he going? What is he going to get? Fuck. Fuck!

"Calm down, Bella, nothing's wrong," Esme says, but I am not so sure about that. I don't know her definition of 'wrong'. I hope it's not the same as Laurent's.

Carlisle appears swiftly again, with what looks like a piece of paper. Relief washes through me when I see that he's not holding a belt. Or a baseball bat.

"This is a contract," Carlisle says, and all my alarm bells go off again. Involuntarily, I take a step backwards. A contract? Saying what? What am I supposed to sign? What do they want? Horrible, horrible visions fly through my head. My heart rate is increasing and my breathing speeding up. Oh, shit, I don't want to get into a panic attack again.

"It's a non-violence act," Carlisle goes on, ignoring my distress. "Esme and I will both sign this promise that we will never hurt you, never use any type of violence against you."

I forget to breathe entirely as I take in his words.

"You can hold us to this. Maybe it's easier for you to believe that we will not hurt or abuse you if it's put in print."

What's the catch? _What's the fucking catch?_

"In exchange we will only ask one thing. That you try to communicate with us. It's okay if you don't want to, and it's okay when you feel like you can't. There will be no consequences if you don't want to communicate. This bargain is unconditional. But maybe you will try it. You don't have to sign as yet. We sign this now, and as soon as you feel ready to meet your end of the agreement, you can sign. How's that?"

I am so stunned I can't even think, really. Registering a burning sensation in my lungs, I start breathing again raggedly, wringing my hands in an attempt to take in what just happened.

Holy fuck, do they really mean this?

"Of course, you have to agree with the terms first and comment on them. Do you want to read the contract now or later in your room?"

Hesitantly I hold up two fingers.

A contract. Huh.

"Excellent," Carlisle says happily. "I am so pleased that you are willing to consider our proposal. _That's_ what we expect of you, Bella. To try and work with us to make you happy here. I'm not sure if that is what you meant with you question, but that's what we expect from you. Nothing more, nothing less. We just want you to be happy."

They both beam at me and I can't help the grimace of disbelief that must flash across my face. Esme laughs and invites me to sit down again. "Start to believe it," she says when I do indeed sit back down in the big chair. "You are going to like it here."

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_Well... I think there are some very good signs in this chapter! What do you think? Please, press review, it means the world to me and makes me want to write more :)_

_PS Tiny extra author's note as y'all want Edward to get rid of Jess - just so you know, so do I ;) However, this is Bella talking and at this point, she just doesn't know. She doesn't really care, either. Bear with me :) Thanks for reviewing!  
_


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N I do not own Twilight. I do own this plot.**

_Hello everybody. Welcome to the slowest burn ever written in fanfic history ;)  
_

_Thank you all so much for the hundreds of notifications and all the wonderful reviews. You make me tear up when I see that I have moved you to tears with my writing. I am sorry I have not yet replied to your reviews. I had a bit of a crisis in my relationship and I had to keep my priorities in the right order ;)_

_As always, endless thanks to my beta Sherryola who helped me to fix this chapter. Only she could hear the question 'afghan?' out of nowhere and know immediately what on earth I was talking about. Thank you so much for being there, lovely!_

_Again no mood music this time. In the future, I will post playlists again.  
_

_For now: enjoy!  
_

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Carlisle and Esme signed the contract before I took it with me, assuring me that if I wanted to change the terms, they would agree. But they wanted to show me that they would sign first. They wanted to keep their part of the bargain, unconditionally.

The terms were explicit, but clear. They promised no violence, no beatings, no mental games or abuse. No sexual acts in whatever conceivable way.

It was bleak, and confronting. It was very clear. I had nothing to add.

Esme notices how red my eyes are from crying when I give her the paper on Tuesday morning, after the others have gone to school. My own copy is up in my room, in my suitcase. I have not signed my part of the deal. Too much has happened yesterday. I need some time to recuperate. I hope they will understand this.

"I am so proud of you," Esme says. "You are doing so well, do you know that?"

I don't believe her. Her words sound alien in my ears.

"I'll put this upstairs in the safe. Come with me, we can do it together."

It's almost like a ceremony as we walk up the stairs and into Carlisle's office. Esme removes a painting and opens the safe that is hidden behind it. She turns and smiles at me. "It has been a rough start. Let this signal the real beginning of your stay here."

I nod, and she smiles. "I don't think you were expecting this when you arrived last Saturday."

At this, I laugh, for real. I can't help it. She's so right. I didn't know what to expect and there was a lot I was prepared for, but it certainly wasn't this.

It feels strange to laugh like this. I haven't done it for so long, it feels peculiar indeed.

Esme laughs with me and seems to understand why I am laughing myself. "I hope we will live up to your expectations."

Again, she baffles me with her words. Shouldn't it be the other way round?

I follow her to the kitchen again, where she starts to make coffee. "So, what do you want to do today?" she asks without looking up.

I don't know, really. I'm dreadfully tired still, and my head and throat hurt. I haven't slept all that well last night. It was horrifying to lie in the bed and I couldn't relax enough to fall asleep. When I finally slept, I kept waking up from disturbing, chaotic dreams, not knowing where I was. I went out of bed a couple of times to check if the door was still locked, and my body woke me a few times more because I was terribly nauseous.

"You will have to keep calm, of course," Esme says as she pours the steaming black liquid into two cups. "Black, I take it?"

She never asked me this before, I think now, and I nod. Black, and strong. Please.

Esme sits at the kitchen table and gestures for me to follow her. I do, albeit hesitantly, and sit diagonally from her. I still don't understand how everything works here. It's just so… at ease. When I arrived at Stefan, it was clear from the first day which household chores would be my responsibility. Both Stefan and Irina were very clear in what they expected of me. Both Stefan and Irina were very clear when I did something they didn't like. They were relatively nice at first. No constant threats, just clear rules. Before the end of the second day, they hit my head the first time. Funny, I don't even remember why that was.

Returning to the present, I look at the worn wood of the table before me. It really is a pretty table. I hold my hands in my lap and only realize I'm wringing them when the tiny wounds I made on Sunday start to hurt.

Esme tries to catch my attention with her gaze before she speaks again. "You can do anything you want. You can even go back to bed if you feel like it. You look tired." She frowns a little when she says this, obviously worried. "Did you not sleep well?"

No, not really. I shake my head minutely. I don't want Esme to know these things about me.

"That's a shame. I hope you will be able to sleep soundly here, soon." The worry in her eyes unsettles me, although I don't understand why.

I swallow, frowning, and look at the coffee before me. As Esme looks away, purposefully, I take my chance. Very carefully, I take a sip of the coffee. Delicious. When I swallow, it seems to burn right through my throat though and it hurts like hell.

Fuck.

Esme doesn't ask any further, but does continue her conversation. "You can go into the library, I'm confident we'll have books to your liking, although you'll probably have a lack of concentration with the concussion. You know you are free to go anywhere, right?"

I keep my focus on the mug of coffee in front of me. I can't seem to stop wringing my hands. I'm not comfortable with Esme's questions. Why does she ask so much?

Not really waiting for an answer, she catches me off guard with her next request. "Tell me what you want, Bella. Please." She leans forward across the table, her hand stretched out towards me a little.

I look up at her, eyes big with dread at the prospect of having to communicate these things that make me vulnerable. Besides, I wouldn't even know what I want, except perhaps lie down and forget the world around me. Why doesn't she give me anything to do? Surely, in a house this big work is never done?

Esme has produced a piece of paper and a pen out of nowhere and now slides them towards me on the table. "Please, talk to me."

Oh, no, I'd really rather not do this. I just don't want this. Or maybe I can't, even. Making words makes me nauseous. I start to stand from the table, desperate to get away from here. Fuck the consequences.

Stefan never made me talk. He tried once…

"No, please don't worry, Bella," Esme says quickly, interrupting that dangerous train of thoughts. "I didn't want to push you, I just want to make you comfortable. Please," she pleads. "I don't want to force you into something you don't want to do."

Her eyes are sincere, or so it seems. Is she really serious? After a long moment of hesitation, I sit back down again. The world is still easier to handle when I'm sitting down. It's a lot less wobbly, at least.

God, still so dizzy…

"I just thought that if you told me what you wanted to do, I could maybe help you with that," Esme explains.

She tumbles over her words to clarify herself, to justify her behaviour. This is so strange, it's like all the roles are reversed here. In the world I know, I have always been the one to explain my behaviour, going to great lengths to please others and not set them off. Here, it's like everybody is walking on tiptoes to make sure _I'm_ comfortable. Which makes me exceptionally _un_comfortable, to put it lightly.

We sit quiet for a long moment, looking at each other. I can see nothing but kindness radiating off Esme, and it still confuses the hell out of me. Why is she so kind? Is it even normal for people to be this kind?

That thought unsettles me so much have to blink and look away.

I'm uncomfortable here, sitting with Esme at this table. I know I've done it before, but now she is expecting something of me and I don't know if I can give it to her. I don't even know what I want. Looking back up at Esme, I can see her hopeful eyes.

My loathing for communicating must show on my face when I pick up the pen and the piece of paper. I grit my teeth against the effort of scribbling something down.

_Tell me what I can do for you._

"What? Why? You're injured, Bella. You need to stay calm. Besides, I am in charge of this household and I have decided that none of my children, _none_ of them, are forced to help out."

Her indignation is clear in her voice as well as on her face. Her expression changes as she thinks for a moment and continues to speak in a completely different tone. "I know you don't want to talk about this, Bella, but please hear me out. I have read your file and I know what you have been through. I can't even begin to imagine what your life before must have been like. But I want _you_ to know that you will not meet any violence here. We didn't sign that contract for nothing. And we certainly don't expect you to do anything here. What you can do for me, is try to relax a little and in time, you can start healing."

My head whips up — and my balance topples over — at that last comment. _Healing_? Is she fucking kidding me? What's there to _heal_? Just when I started to believe that they will indeed not beat me into oblivion, the next horror crashes down on me. _Heal me_.

Oh, my God, I should have known this.

Take in the broken girl and fix her. Surely they'll get a kick out of that.

But I am not broken.

I am malformed.

Thus I cannot be healed.

There is nothing to heal.

I have deserved anything and everything that I have had coming my way.

I stand up, ignoring Esme's pleads and protests. I can't do this. Tears well up and leave my eyes before I can stop them and just to further my humiliation, I sniffle.

"Bella, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

Her sincerity makes me pause and look up at her. Standing up has reawakened my headache and a nasty head rush washes over me. I grip the back of the chair for support as I wait for the worst of the throbbing to stop.

"Bella, please sit down and help me understand why you are upset."

The sternness in her voice makes me look back at her.

"I want to get to know you, Bella. You live with us now and we have to do it together. I don't expect you to sit down and tell me everything, but clearly my words upset you and that hurts me."

I blink in utter confusion. Why does she want to know me? To use that knowledge against me? And how can my mood hurt her?

"Won't you sit down?"

I shake my head minutely, slowly.

"But will you stay with me for now?"

This time, I nod. She asks so kindly and she looks hurt, indeed. I want to know how I can make that better. I'm still gripping the back of the chair for support and the sharp edges of the wood cut into my hand. The pain is a nice distraction from the turmoil in my mind.

Esme nods, relieved, and thinks for a long moment before she speaks. "We have signed that contract and we mean what is on it, Bella, although I fear only time will teach you that violence has no place in this house."

She waits for a moment, to see how I take this in. I'm waiting to see where she is going with this.

"We have also specified what we expect from you, and just by standing here and hearing me out, you are already fulfilling that expectation and more. Don't think I don't know what an effort it takes you to do this, I can see the tension in your hands."

We both look down at my hands, where the knuckles are white from the force I grip the back of the chair with.

"I want to ask you something, Bella."

Immediately wary, I press my lips into a thin line and wait, breath held.

Esme waits a moment, as if she's not sure if she should ask her question. "What do you expect of us?"

I let out my breath in a gust, tendrils of hair blowing away from my face with the escaping air.

What do _I_ expect of _them_?

I don't know.

No, I do. But those expectations embody something like 'hope' and I'm not ready for that. After even four days, I would be devastated if things turned bad.

Esme sees I'm at a loss, but for once she doesn't push me. "I'll tell you what," she says. "Think about this and write it down. You can show it to us when you are ready."

She gets up and places her empty coffee mug in the dishwasher. I barely touched my coffee at all. "You can talk to us about everything and anything, Bella," Esme says when she turns back to me.

I know she means it to be reassuring, but her words freak me out a little. Before I can start to worry about what she said, she changes tack. "I will lay out some clothes for you later, as well as extra pyjamas. Don't feel guilty about staying in bed, because frankly I don't think Carlisle would even approve you being up now. You must feel horrible."

My eyes widen when I hear the words 'Carlisle,' 'wouldn't' and 'approve.' I look around me anxiously immediately, to see if he is home.

"No, Bella," Esme says hastily. "As a doctor, he wouldn't approve. You need to rest in order to heal. As a father, he just wants you to do what feels right for you right now."

While I'm momentarily frozen, trying to make sense of her words, she speaks again. "Go back to bed, Bella. I can see the effort it takes you to keep standing up straight." Her words are soft and her smile is kind, and when she gestures her hand to tell me I can indeed leave, I do.

I'm scared shitless, of course. But that bed in the guest room is calling my name. Loudly.

I can't help but wondering though if this is some kind of guise to lure me into my room, so she or Carlisle can meet me there for whatever they want to do.

Then again, even my evil mind is having a hard time to believe that, frankly.

I make it to the guest room — my room — unharmed and unfollowed. Locking the door behind me, just in case, I pull out Renée's quilt and sink down in a corner of the room. I'm shaken. I don't know what to make of Esme's kindness. Does she really mean it? Will she always stay like this?

I want to believe her. But what do I expect of her? Of Carlisle? Breathing in the fast fading scent of the quilt, I think back on what happened downstairs.

It's obvious that Esme wants to communicate with me, and they have said they want me to cooperate in that. But it's so fucking hard to do so. Every word is a struggle and if it were up to me, I'd just never use words at all. I never felt the need to, either. Renée was so easy on that, with purely yes or no questions or a range of options I could hold up the right amount of fingers to. Stefan never really addressed me at all, at least not with questions. And Laurent… Laurent would always make clear what he wanted. Eventually. He rarely used words for that. He taught me it was better to be quiet.

To be silent.

I don't know if I will be able to meet the Cullen's expectations. I don't know if I _can_. Will they send me back when I keep my distance? If I keep fucking up like I've done until now? Will they change their minds, get tired of me?

Oh, shit, will they?

If they send me back, I will just run. I'd rather live on the street or in a shelter than to go back to Stefan. However horrible I am, however much I've done wrong, I do not want to go back there. I know I am useless, worthless, wanton even. Whatever happened to me, has been my own fault. I've been told so many, many times. And I don't see any other explanation. Because there isn't one. It's all me.

Right?

Ah, shit, this is useless. And I feel so useless here. I wish there was something I could do. Ironing the shirts felt good, until I fucked that up, of course. I wish I could make myself useful here. Hell, I'll even polish Esme's silverware for her. Maybe I should offer doing that. It's a task people generally tend to dislike.

I'm useless here, being in bed. Then again, Carlisle wouldn't approve if he saw I was out, Esme said. Will she tell him? What will happen then? Will there be consequences? What does 'do not approve' mean in this household?

I try to divert my thoughts to prevent a panic attack, and my thoughts drift to how Esme addressed my past. She mustn't talk about my past. I don't know what she was getting at and I don't want to know. My reaction made that clear enough. What has happened, has happened and it was my own fault. I deserved it all. And I don't want to talk about it. I feel horrible even thinking about it. The beatings, I could take. Physical pain almost always subsides after a certain amount of time. Bruises heal, as do broken bones.

I finger the scar that adorns the palm of my right hand. This is the only scar that my birth mother has inflicted on me. I had been trying to tell her for the second, and last time what Laurent did to me at nights. The poker had been lying in the burning hearth and was white hot when she pulled it out and hit me with it. _"Don't you ever talk about that!"_ I held out my hand to fend it off. The burning was excruciating, I remember the pain shooting straight up into my arm. I didn't know what to do with the wound and it never healed well. I still can't stretch out my hand fully, but I'm so used to it now I rarely notice the constriction. The palm of my hand is mostly numb, the scar is barely visible anymore.

I sigh, considering snapping the rubber band on my left wrist. The pain, when it comes, is sharp and punishing. It doesn't distract me from my memories. I force my thoughts to the present again.

Physical pain goes away and as such is bearable. It's not likeable, or desirable, but if it has to happen, I know that I will get through.

It's the emotional pain maybe that hurts, that tears at my insides and rips my soul to pieces. Laurent came to my room telling me that I should be grateful, for his discipline, for his lessons. He just taught me to be a good daughter, and all he did to me, I had brought onto myself. I remember wishing he would be more direct, instead of playing his games with me. With him, I never knew what would happen.

When I was placed with Stefan and Irina, I didn't expect my life to be much different. I already knew I was a horrible person. Insufferable to be around. Incurable. Rotten.

Stefan told me that I already knew how it felt and that he knew what my stepfather had seen in me. I never understood what he meant. Stefan told me I taunted him just by being around. Both Laurent and Stefan acted for 'my own good.'

The humiliation of what they both did to me, what they made me do, shattered me. It still does. I feel the heat in my cheeks as memories flood me. God, I'm so ashamed. I must be a horrible person indeed to have deserved all this.

I learned to ask as little attention as possible, to act like I wasn't there. I made myself as small as I could, and I faded into almost nothing. I went quiet. Words never brought the relief they promised. They only brought hurt. The incident with the poker was the last time I uttered a sound. A scream. I never spoke again after that. Never cried out anymore. It was better that way. It still is.

So why all the Cullens keep asking me questions and seem to be working their asses of to get my attention, is beyond me. I don't need it, I don't deserve it. Once the Cullen kids learn of my past, they won't want anything to do with me. And that would be the best scenario, considering what they could do if they wanted to make my life miserable.

Best to keep my distance. I've learned now what happens when I let my guard down.

_Heal me._ I wonder what Esme thinks there is to heal. Every punishment I have received, I have deserved. As such, I can't be broken. I've been malformed in the first place.

And I will never be good enough to deserve love.

The thought hits me like a ton of bricks and it feels like the air is blown out of my chest.

I will never be loved.

Better learn to live with it.

But Esme is so kind to me… Her words and eyes and gentle smiles tug at the pit of my stomach. I don't know this feeling and I'm uneasy with it. The realization that I _want_ Esme to be so kind with me is not uneasy, it's horrifying.

Wanting things only ever ends up in disappointment.

Shit, I really have to steel my guard here. I don't know what Esme is doing to me, but she's skilled at what she does. I don't know what I must do with this. How to fight it. What am I fighting, exactly?

And so I sit in the corner of the room, huddled in the quilt that represents Renée, and I worry. And I worry about the things I worry about, because all this is very, very new to me.

It scares me out of my wits, frankly. When I moved here, I knew my entire world was going to be put upside down. And I was prepared for an awful lot. But definitely not this.

It's like I am still in that current, floating in unpredictable waters, and my feet have not yet found any purchase on the ground. And I'm afraid that once I do, it'll turn out to be a swamp and I will get sucked in until I am swallowed whole.

No, best to keep floating and to try to keep my breathing under control, and my head above the water.

I wait until I am shaking with hunger and pain before I go downstairs again. I truly hope I will not run into Carlisle, as it seems I can never know when the man is around, but I need food and medication. Surely, as a doctor he could never deny me that?

Esme isn't in the living room or in the kitchen. Excellent, that means she can't ask me any more questions and I can move around in relative peace.

I eat and have meds, undisturbed. Miracles happen, apparently. Turning to the dishwasher to clear away my stuff, I finally notice the note on the counter.

_Bella, I'm so happy that you stayed with me in the kitchen. _

_I hope you have rested some. _

_Please don't feel obliged to do anything. You need to rest in order for your head to heal. _

_Pick out a movie if you want to. Come find me if you need me. _

_Love, Esme._

The irony is not lost on me.

Following her advice, I pick out a movie from the vast collection they have in the living room. The Shawshank Redemption — one of the few movies I know that doesn't hold any romance. Back up in the room, it takes a couple of minutes to figure out how the television system works. Then, finally, I get the movie to play and I crawl on the bed to watch.

I'm sleeping even before Andy Dufresne is convicted to life in prison.

I open my eyes by voices that resound through the house. Emmetts booming baritone voice becomes louder and louder as I can hear him walking heavily up the stairs, followed by a second, lighter pair of feet.

My door is closed and locked, that's why I manage to keep lying down, but barely. More shuffling feet, and voices that complain of the amount of homework that needs to be done.

I look at the television, that's back to replaying the animated menu again and again. I've been sleeping for almost four hours, I think. And Esme has let me.

Or maybe she's tried to wake me and I just didn't hear her.

Oops.

Perhaps I should go down, to check if everything is still all right. I don't want to upset Esme but I feel like I need to _do_ something, then again I don't want to upset Carlisle either and he doesn't want me out of bed.

Shit.

I'm groggy, and rumpled, and altogether in a bad mood, maybe. I wait a little longer, waiting until I am sure the hallway is empty, before I suck up the courage to go down and face the rest of the household. Gritting my teeth, I put the movie back into the case and go downstairs.

Esme is nowhere to be seen, again. The entire floor appears to be empty. I walk into the living room and place the movie back into the exact same spot I retrieved it earlier. Turning back, I think I might use this opportunity to get some food again. I'm hungry as hell, which is new to me.

I stop dead in my tracks when I see that I am not alone in the room. Edward is on the couch, huddled in a corner, eyes closed. His long legs are stretched out over the seat and his head is resting to the side, against the back of the couch. He's not moving and which a shock I realize that he must be sleeping.

He looks so relaxed. His eyes are closed and his face looks serene. His arms are loosely wrapped around his midsection and his legs are crossed at the ankles.

Slowly, silently, I let myself sink down in the big winged chair I have used every time I was in this room. I watch Edward as he sleeps. He's so quiet, I can't even hear him breathe. I have no clue why I am mesmerized by this sight so much, but the vision of him here, apparently relaxed enough to fall asleep on the couch in the middle of the day, means something very important to me.

Because people don't tend fall asleep when they don't feel safe.

And he apparently feels safe enough to sleep.

Does this mean that he's not afraid of getting punished for slacking during the day?

I keep looking, listening all the while to the distant sounds around me that tell me there are indeed others in the house. They are just not here.

Edward moves a little and wraps his arms tighter around himself. I freeze, afraid that he will wake and see me sitting here. But he doesn't open his eyes and he is still again. Is he cold, maybe? I know I am cold, and as he is not moving at all, maybe he is a little chilly.

I look at the afghan that lies folded on the loveseat.

Do I dare do this? I deliberate for a long moment. Will he appreciate it if I cover him? Will he hate me for it? Will Esme berate me for it?

Looking closely I see there are dark shadows under his eyes. He must have been sleeping poorly over the last couple of days.

That's not even surprising, I think nobody has slept well over the last couple of days. I know I haven't. Not really.

Edward moves again and now I'm very sure that he is cold. People should never be cold. It's the one thing I truly hate to be. I can handle pain, or hunger, or any type of hurt, but I hate to be cold.

That does it for me. I pick up the Afghan as silently as I can muster and gently drape it over him, very careful to remain out of arms' reach should he wake. I can't even believe I am doing this! My heart crashes in my chest and I'm having trouble to keep my breathing at least a little bit calm. Why am I feeling so caring all of a sudden? Then again, I covered Stefan with a blanket often enough when he passed out on the couch again. Not that I wanted him to keep warm, but because I didn't want him to wake up from the cold and visit my room before he went to his own bed.

But with Edward, I just don't want him to be cold. Plus, he helped me to bed when I fainted, I do remember that, so it's normal to do something in return, right?

Right?

Edward seems to notice the blanket, because he huddles in a little deeper and sighs softly.

Afraid that he will wake, I take a step back. Best to leave him now. I know I would panic if I was sleeping and somebody was watching me.

I leave for the kitchen and start for the fridge. I have to breathe deep a couple of times to get my heartbeat under control again. I hope Edward never finds out _I_ placed the blanket over him, and I hope he won't be angry when he does. It's a bit too late to take the afghan away now, too. Retrieving my food, I try to focus on other things to distract myself.

It's a wonder really, how soon I have rolled into my own rhythm in this house. I had a clear rhythm at Stefan's of course, eating whenever I could and forming my schedule around his. I often considered myself lucky that he had some important job at a bank, which kept him away from home a lot. He often had big dinners in the weekends, which meant more quiet time for me. I never minded.

At Renée's, I did as I pleased too, eating when I wanted and sleeping when I wanted. Renée always left me to do my own thing and although she told me I didn't need to, I think she didn't really mind that I cleaned her entire house while she was out working.

And here, it seems as if I automatically get to avoid the family as much as possible. It saves me so much stress, especially when I think back to last Saturday. I've been here for four days and I have seen so little of the rest of the family. The concussion is the most wonderful excuse to keep away though, and I'm hoping that by the time this will be over, they know it's better to avoid me. I'll make it easy for them to act as if I'm not there.

It's better that way.

Voices from the hallway upstairs, coming down.

Oh, shit, didn't I just think how easy it was to avoid them?

Esme comes first, followed by Emmett, Alice and the blonde one, Rosalie. Three faces light up when they see me, Rosalie looks away and refuses to meet my gaze.

Nobody seems to notice how I am gripping the breakfast bar for support.

Ah, wrong. Esme does. Of course.

"Did you sleep?" Esme asks kindly. Behind her, Rosalie trails into the living room and turns on the TV.

Oh, no, Edward is sleeping in there! When he wakes up, he will find out I must have put the blanket over him. Shit!

Noticing my red alert reaction, Emmett thinks it is directed at him. He takes a step back and throws his hands in the air as if he surrenders. "Whoa, don't panic, I'm leaving already. Jeez," he mutters as he turns and walks into the living room as well.

What happens next, scares me so much I simply flop down to the floor so I can hide in the corner between the breakfast bar and the kitchen counter.

Oh, fuck, my head, my head, my head…

Emmett takes Edward by surprise to wake him up — loudly. Hearing the surprised and angry reactions of the others, I would not be the only one whose heart skipped a beat in fright.

I cover my head and look with wide eyes into nothingness after that sudden sound. I'm not really scared that something will happen to me, but sudden sounds apparently render me motionless like I am now.

Will Edward be upset over the afghan?

I shouldn't have done this. I just shouldn't. What was I thinking?

Fuck.

I listen to the rest of the conversation.

"Shit, Emmett! Couldn't just let me sleep, could you?"

"Your legs are taking up much needed space, man. If you want to sleep you should go to bed. Or did Jess keep you awake all night?" he adds in a suggesting tone.

Edward mumbles something in response but I am distracted from that answer because someone is saying my name very close to me.

"Bella?" It's Alice and she sounds worried.

Carefully, I focus my gaze on her. She's kneeling in front of me, but at a safe distance away. Esme stands back a little, a mixture of worry and annoyance on her face.

Oh, shit, is she annoyed with me? My eyes go bigger still in apprehension.

"Bella, did Emmett scare you with his scream?"

I keep looking at Esme. I can't move and although I'd rather not answer this question, I _think_ my reaction is self-explanatory.

Alice stays in her kneeling position, but she leans backwards and calls around the breakfast bar, "Emmett, you prick, you scared the shit out of Bella. Seriously, you really don't have a brain, do you?"

"Aw, sorry!" His words are short, but sincere enough. I think.

"Alice, mind your tongue, please," Esme admonishes. Then she looks into the direction of the living room. "Emmett, we've spoken time and again about your crude behaviour. I would appreciate it if you kept Bella's presence in mind as well. Now come over here and apologize properly, please."

I hear Emmett's footsteps as he approaches the kitchen.

Wait, is he coming here? What…

"Where is she?"

Alice nods in my direction and Emmett appears around the breakfast bar.

Oh fuck, he's like ten feet tall from where I am sitting.

"Sorry again, Bella! Didn't mean to scare you." He smiles down at me from about a mile away and I just look up at him, frozen, eyes fixed in their wide stance.

Maybe I should blink soon but that part seems to be malfunctioning at the moment.

Emmett waits a moment, but he soon learns I'm not going to react and he walks back to the living room again. I follow him with my eyes until he disappears from sight and then Esme catches my gaze, smiling now. "Thank you, Emmett. Bella, let's get you up. There's really no reason to be scared. Emmett didn't mean any harm."

"No, he's just loud by default," Alice clarifies. "Come, it must be cold on the floor."

It is, come to think of it.

I lift myself up into a standing position again, holding on to the breakfast bar until the dizziness passes. Then I look back at Esme. I need to know why she was annoyed.

"Did you eat anything?"

I nod.

"Good. I'm glad to see that you're starting to eat more. How is the nausea? Is it getting better?"

I nod again, still waiting. Anxiety is still wound tightly in my stomach. I was less nervous around Stefan, come to think of it.

"Good. Listen, I don't know if you're up to it but I wanted to make some soup for dinner tonight and I was wondering if you wanted to help me?"

While Esme speaks, Alice nods once and disappears into the living room.

"I'll tell everyone the kitchen is off limits, so it would be just us. I know you want to help me out, and I know you like to cook. What do you think?"

She sounds hopeful and although I dread the prospect of cooking with her around, I like the idea of being able to do something and that something being cooking is a hopeful thought indeed.

But what will Carlisle do when he gets home?

Esme sees my hesitation. "What has you worried? Wait, I'll get you something to write on."

Accepting the pen and paper for once, I ask Esme if Carlisle will not be mad, since he wouldn't approve of me being out of bed. I'd give my right arm to not have to ask these questions that make me so vulnerable. I'm literally shaking with the weakness I feel.

Esme however smiles at me. "You've slept through the day, it's good for you to be up for a while. So, will you help me? Carlisle will approve."

Will I do it? It will feel good to be doing something again. And if Carlisle will approve, it means I can appease him too. So I nod, and Esme's face lights up.

"You couldn't have made me happier," she breathes, and then she is suddenly all business getting the utensils and ingredients out. She calls out to the others in the living room that they should not come into the kitchen, and then we set to work.

**~O~**

I've never been more exhausted from such a simple thing as cooking. Esme noticed how tired I was after just cutting the vegetables — which I did sitting at the kitchen table to suppress the dizziness a bit — and sent me to my bed with a resoluteness that surprised me. But I am grateful for it. Finally, some clarity. Finally, some clear orders that I know what to do with.

It did feel very unnatural to leave the kitchen without setting the table. To leave things unfinished. But Esme wouldn't have it.

I'm too tired, too dizzy and too weary to really worry about the fact that she sent me to my room. I don't know what will happen next. And I don't want to know.

Or maybe I do.

It's been four days and I'm still waiting.

Waiting for that other shoe to drop.

I sit on the bed with my back against the headboard. I'm very tired and wish I could go to sleep, but I'm too wound up for that. I don't trust this situation. Not at all.

How is it that I am so tired?

The door to my room is opened just a crack, because Esme told me she'd bring me some food as soon as she was done cooking. Through that crack, soft sounds from a chattering Cullen family drift into my room.

It's almost comforting to listen to.

Footsteps on the stairs alert me that someone is coming and soon enough, Esme steps into my room with a tray again. On automatic pilot, my body brings my knees up to my chin and my arms wrap themselves around them. I don't stand up. I learned it's better to keep as still as possible.

Esme walks around my bed and puts the tray on the desk. I follow her with my gaze and feel utterly useless and even more horrible that she serves me like this.

"Please try to eat something. You made it yourself, you know," she smiles at me. She keeps looking at me expectantly, but I don't know what she wants. "Maybe you can try to eat at the desk. Hot soup is not really something you want to spill."

Ah. I nod once, to let her know I have understood her request. I will do that as soon as I'm alone again.

Esme nods into the direction of the laptop, that is still sitting on the desk, untouched. "You probably knew this already, but this laptop is yours now. Don't hesitate to use it."

So I _am_ allowed to use the laptop. Well, that's good to know, isn't it?

I look at Esme and the tension is steadily building in the room. Or, maybe it's not tension. It's… awkwardness?

"Would you like me to stay here and keep you company?"

Why is she asking this? I'd rather she didn't, but could this be a trick question? I shake my head carefully. I'm really rather alone.

Esme nods in return, sighing softly.

I can't help but think that she is getting tired of me. It won't be long before they realize they have made a mistake by letting me live here. Well, I wouldn't want to live with me, either.

"Use your phone if you need me, okay? I'll come check on you later."

I nod again.

I'm getting pretty sick of nodding.

Of answering questions, in general.

I follow Esme with my eyes as she leaves the room, leaving the door ajar a little behind her. I wait until she is downstairs, count to ten, then lock the door and eat the soup.

It's delicious. Of course.

**~O~**

Soft knocks on the door awaken me. I fell asleep sitting on the bed and my neck is stiff and sore when I lift my head to listen.

Sharp bolts of pain shoot up my neck and down my back. Fuck, that kind of hurts. A lot.

"Bella?"

Carlisle.

"Bella, are you awake? Can you please open the door for me?"

Alarm bells go off in my head so loudly that I barely can hear Carlisle's voice over the noise. I tense up and curl myself up into as small a form as possible, all the while careful to not make a sound.

Why is Carlisle here? What does he want?

I'm not breathing at all anymore now, but listen to Carlisle's knocks and his voice, asking me to open the door.

I don't want this.

"Bella?"

Please.

This can't be happening. Then again, I _was_ waiting for this to happen. Waiting for that shoe to drop.

I guess this is it.

What will happen if I open that door?

What will happen if I _don't_ open that door?

Oh, shit, I don't know what to do.

"Bella?"

The knocks are getting louder now and I realize that he _intends_ to wake me.

He won't go away.

That means I will have to react.

Yes, this is it.

My mind retreats and softly closes the door, disappearing from sight with lowered eyes. An eerie calm comes over me as I move my stiff muscles to get up. Squaring my shoulders and gritting my teeth, I make my way to the door.

I can do this. I will have to.

_Let's get this over with._

Fumbling with the lock with my shaking hands, I open the door and meet my foster father's gaze.

Carlisle looks down at me and smiles. "Thank you."

He's pretty tall, I notice when he stands so close to me. I step back immediately and keep walking backwards until the back of my knees hit the side of the bed.

Now what?

Carlisle steps into the room carefully. "Can I come in?" He is still smiling, as if he wants to reassure me. What is he getting at? Could he be like Laurent? Oh, no, could he really be like Laurent?

The thought hits me like a ton of bricks and I wobble on my legs in fright. It's all I can do to keep myself standing up straight.

"Still dizzy?" Carlisle asks softly.

He misinterprets me. But I am still a bit dizzy, so maybe it's safe to nod. Better to not let him know my fear.

God, my heart is going to explode it's beating so fast.

"Bella, there's no need to be afraid or nervous. I just came by to check on you. I really want to see if you are okay."

Yeah, I think I'm frowning.

"We can do this here, or in my office. It's up to you." He smiles again, and there isn't a hint of malice or anger in his eyes.

I'm scared shitless, however. I swallow thickly, realizing I'm at a loss. I don't know what to do. I don't know what the consequences of my choices will be.

"_I'll let you choose, Isabella. Shall I use the belt, or not?"_

The memory makes bile rise in my throat and I frown again at the burn. Without thinking, I snap the rubber band at my wrist. I wish it would help me escape this current situation. But the memory was fleeting and has long left my head as Carlisle is now stepping forward, approaching me.

Not being able to step further back, I lose my balance and flop down on the bed. I want to cringe, or cry, or fight, or run. But I sit completely still, looking at this man with wide eyes. Not ten seconds have passed since he asked me his question.

My mind paces anxiously behind her door. I must remember my resolve. But it's increasingly hard to do so as Carlisle is still walking towards me. I follow his every moment minutely as he squats before me and meets my gaze.

"I won't hurt you, Bella. I thought I had made myself clear on that in our conversation last Sunday, and with the contract."

I still look at him, unmoving.

I wish I knew what was going to happen. My mind opens the door a crack and I register everything with a little more clarity. It's taking too long. My mind wants to know what to do.

"I want to check on you," Carlisle says. His voice is soft, but I'm afraid to call it sincere. I don't trust my own judgment right now. My breathing is short and hard and my head hurts. Why doesn't he just get this over with?

"I think the most important thing right now is your concussion. I want to ask you a few questions. Is that okay with you?"

Numbly, I keep looking at him. I notice how he gradually changes into his doctor mode. Can I trust him? What will he do with the knowledge I am going to give him?

"How is the dizziness, is it better than yesterday?"

I nod stiffly. It is.

"Good. And the headache?"

Still going strong, but I'd rather not tell him that.

We keep looking at each other for a long moment.

"Please, Bella," Carlisle says, then hesitates to think for a moment. "I'm sorry. I need to get up because my legs are killing me," he chuckles without humor, and he rises. His knees pop when he stretches his legs.

I lean backwards as he is now towering over me and he goes to sit down on the chair by the bed, picking a small pen-like stick out of his pocket as he does so. "Can I just check your pupil reflexes?"

I nod slowly, seeing no harm in that. He flashes the small light in front of my eyes and asks me to follow his finger with my gaze. I've had these kinds of examinations before and the familiarity makes me ease up a tiny bit. So far, so good?

Then he puts the flashlight away and leans forward, hands outstretched, I'm so alarmed I stagger backwards on the bed.

What the fuck?

Carlisle pulls back. "I'm sorry, that's the automatic pilot of being a doctor. But I need to check your head Bella."

There is a sternness in his voice I have never heard before. My heart is crashing out of my chest and I'm starting to hyperventilate again.

I look at Carlisle and somehow I know he's not going to go away.

_Let's get this over with then_, my mind mutters, resigned. She steps back again, fading into blackness with lowered eyes. My vision blurs and I shut down, retreating once more into the sanctuary of my mind.

* * *

_Up next: Carlisle telling his part, and I think a lot of questions about Bella's past will be answered.  
_

_Your reviews are my personal brand of heroin. __As ever, let me know what you think!  
_


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N I do not own Twilight. This plot is mine. **

_Long note coming, and long endnote too. Feel free to skip (but please read) ;)_

_Hello everybody. I cannot thank you enough for the wonderful, wonderful reviews you have sent my way. You were all pretty pissed with Carlisle for forgetting the tiny detail that you shouldn't surprise Bella. It shows how much you are all involved in my story and it moves me to tears.  
_

_Here, as promised, Carlisle's version. I have started this chapter about 4 or 5 times from scratch. Carlisle is impossible to write. I'm sure I have forgotten things, but if you notice any wrongs or have questions, please ask me! You help me improve my story :) _

_Thanks, as ever, to my wonderful beta Sherryola. Without her I would not have written this chapter. Without her, I would have stopped writing this story altogether, maybe. Thanks lovely, you know what you mean to me. Sherry has started her first ever fanfic on here: Seeing Bella. Go read and review, it's magnificent: fanfiction dot __net /s/6579398/1/Seeing_Bella._

_Mood music: Martina McBride - Concrete Angel; Simon & Garfunkel - Bridge over troubled water. Put it on repeat.  
_

_This chapter will hopefully answer a lot of questions regarding Bella's past and her behavior. Meet me at the end for a personal note. For now: enjoy!_

* * *

_Warning: This chapter can be bleak and confronting. _

**Carlisle**

It started with a phone call. Renée Dwyer, an excellent therapist and a very good friend of the family, contacted me on a Sunday night, now little over two weeks ago.

She was tense, although I could tell she was trying to hide it. She caught up with me, asked me how I was and asked after my wife and my children. She asked specifically how Jasper and Rosalie were, our two adoptive children she had known since they arrived with us.

Guessing that she didn't call to chitchat, I waited for her to tell me what the real reason was she was calling me. I guessed right.

Renée told me how one of her clients had found her way to her home in the middle of the previous night. The girl, Bella, was 17 and traumatized beyond reason. The girl needed a home, a family. Renée refused to let her go back to Stefan, her foster father. And Renée refused to 'put her away' in an institution. A loving family was the most important 'therapy' she needed right now, not treatment methods in an anonymous environment.

I asked her what happened with this girl and mentally braced myself. Renée was a very professional woman and she would never take a girl into her home if it weren't a serious case. And as her specialty was dealing with traumatized children, I knew that what she was going to tell me wouldn't be pretty.

I was right. The girl Bella had come to Renée's house in blind panic. Renée had seen the purple bruises on her neck immediately and knew that the foster father had tried to strangle her. Renée had taken Bella to the hospital and convinced her to let the doctor examine her and collect evidence. It was obvious that she had been brutally violated.

Renée's voice broke when she told me this had not been the first time. She hadn't known. Bella never gave any sign. In the hospital they learned that the bruises on her neck were just the tip of the ice berg. No only was her entire body covered in bruises — some fading, some very new — she was covered in scars as well. The nurse who was assisting had had to excuse herself and leave the room. The trauma doctor himself had had trouble to keep his emotions under control.

It became clear that this had been going on for God knew how long. Renée had been trying to get Bella transferred earlier, for other reasons, but bureaucracy had gotten in the way for months. When Bella ran from Stefan, Renée didn't want to wait any longer for Bella to be taken away from him, to be given a safe home. She couldn't let Bella go back to her foster father, but she couldn't keep Bella herself.

And that's where I sensed my family would be coming into the picture.

Before I let her ask that question, I wanted to know more. I did not ask if Bella was 'okay.' It was very clear that she wasn't. So I asked the first thing that came into mind, in the meantime jotting down questions I wanted to ask later on.

I asked if Bella was going to press charges.

"Ah, that might become a problem," Renée said.

I made a compassionate sound. "Is she too traumatized still to talk about it?"

"Yes, you can say that again. She, ehm, she doesn't speak."

I thought I understood, although I did think that Renée had a peculiar way of putting things into words. "Ah, her vocal chords must have been damaged from the attempted strangulation. This will hopefully be temporary?"

Renée hesitated for a moment before she spoke again. "Yes, her vocal chords are damaged and she wouldn't be able to talk even if she tried. But that's not what I meant, Carlisle. Bella doesn't speak, she didn't even before this incident."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"She doesn't speak, Carlisle. She hasn't spoken in a very long time."

"At all?" I had never heard of something like this before. Surely a person could be silent, but to not be speaking at all seemed virtually impossible to me.

"At all. I think she hasn't spoken in years."

I sat back at my desk, intrigued but stunned by this piece of information. Of course, I had heard of trauma cases where a person would not talk for some time. But not speaking for years? I had a hard time to grasp this concept. Not to mention the sheer impossibility

"How can this be? And you say she has spoken before?"

"Yes, there are people who have heard her talking when she was little. It's a psychological barrier. Physically there is nothing wrong with her. Well, except for now, but that's temporary."

I was silent for a moment. "But how does she communicate? She must participate in the world around in some way. How does she function in school? Does she go to school? Does she use sign language?" I felt out of my depths here and when Renée chuckled at my question, this feeling was multiplied.

"Oh, don't worry about that. She communicates all right. I believe that at school the students and teachers have accepted that she doesn't speak. But, to complete the answer to your first question — Bella will probably not press charges against Stefan. Even if she could talk, she wouldn't."

I thought I understood why. If this Bella had only gotten out of this situation so recently, she would need some time to heal before she could face the process of testifying against her foster father. I changed the topic. "Tell me more about this girl."

And then Renée started talking, and I was stunned into silence.

Renée talked to me for about two hours, answering my questions and providing details. All she had told me and more was collected in a file. She had it on her pc.

I anticipated her next question, and I knew my answer would be yes. We would read the file. We would consider Bella. We would call Renée back.

When I finished the phone call, I wasn't really surprised that I got the email notification instantly. I printed the file and went to find Esme, my loving wife of almost twenty years.

**~O~**

Esme and I read the file together. It was chaotic, incomplete. As Bella never talked about what happened to her, the only facts that were certain came from the limited medical records and from the placement forms Social Services had filled out. Renée added her theories — to her the signs were obvious. Bella had known little other than violence, both physical and mental abuse have been her life from when she was maybe five years old. The mental abuse was never officially proven, but Bella's behavior made it unmistakable that she had been through unimaginable horror. The things that were mentioned in the file rendered both Esme and I sleepless for days.

Until she was fourteen years old, Bella lived with her stepfather Laurent. Her birth mother left when she was about seven. The birth father had never acknowledged the child. When Bella was fourteen, Laurent was arrested for fraud and sentenced to several years in prison. Because Bella's birth mother had given up on her parental rights and could not be found at the time, Bella was placed into foster care.

Although she never spoke about it and she never pressed charges, there were very strong indications that Bella had been abused by her stepfather Laurent. She was showing signs of mental trauma. The fact that she didn't speak was only one of them. She was irrationally afraid of her caretakers and reacted violently when she was surprised. Her demeanor spoke volumes to those who were trained to see the signs.

Still, when asked, Bella would not press charges. And she refused to acknowledge any reference to her past.

She was, very probably, trying to protect her stepfather or she was too afraid to betray him.

Bella was placed with a foster family in Phoenix. Stefan and his wife Irina had two other foster children already. After three years, Irina got committed to a mental hospital after a miscarriage and an emotional breakdown. The two other children were replaced swiftly, but for some unknown reason, Bella's replacement took longer. Seven months longer. Stefan was the foster father Bella had fled from.

At Stefan's family, things seemed to be all right at first. Renée was assigned as Bella's therapist by Social Services, because the girl obviously needed some help. Renée had kept a close eye on Bella throughout the years, but she never got her to speak.

Bella avoided interaction with others entirely if she could. She would answer yes or no questions, if she had a mind to it. But she was withdrawn, as Renée put it. I wondered how much of a euphemism that might be.

Even when Bella showed up at Renee's house in the middle of the night, the signs of her struggle evident on her neck, she still did not speak. She would not answer the questions the doctors asked her. She would not answer the questions the police officer asked her. She would not in any way imply what had been done to her. She simply refused to communicate, or even to acknowledge the people around her.

Her lack of communication was known at school and children tended to avoid her. Teaches were worried but could never discover anything wrong, so they never alarmed the societies. Bella was just really calm and quiet. She never got into fights, and she never went against the teachers. She was almost easy going. And exceptionally bright.

Bella was quiet. Not only because she was silent, but in her entire demeanor she was calm. She tended to keep to herself. She was not violent, not to herself nor to others. She was only damaged and very afraid. She reacted forcefully when startled or caught off guard.

She could not bear to be touched.

This little piece of information jolted Esme and I. I knew victims of sexual assault sometimes were uncomfortable with touching. But Renée warned in the file that with Bella, it was worse. Usually, her being touched resulted in a 'shutdown.' I didn't know what that meant exactly, but I had a hunch.

When Esme and I were done reading and looked at each other afterwards, we knew our decision had been made.

"We need to help her," Esme said simply.

We looked at each other for a long time. "We do have to realize that this girl may never heal. What she has been through…"

"We have to try. Surely you agree?"

"I do, Esme. But we have to be careful with our aspirations."

Esme huffed. "I don't have aspirations. I have a girl who needs a home."

Her choice of words was not lost on me. "I strongly feel we should welcome her into the family too, but we have to talk this through, consider the risks."

"Yes, we do. And the children have to agree with this, too. But from what I've read… I think she would fit in here. If by risks you mean if she turns out aggressive — her school files and Renée agree on the fact that she is not."

"Not only if she is aggressive. We need to contemplate if we can give her the home she needs."

Esme thought for a moment. "I think that all she needs, is a loving family around her. Not therapists or methods or pity. Just… a regular life. Show her what it can be like. But of course, I'm not a therapist. I'm just a mother."

"I would hate it if we were to try this and it would turn out we couldn't give her what she needs, Esme. I don't want to fail this girl. She has had so many disappointments in her life."

Esme cupped my face in her hand and looked lovingly at me. "Oh, Carlisle, I can see where Edward got his tendency to worry from. You know you have made the decision, why make it so hard on yourself?"

"We shouldn't do this rashly, Esme. We have to talk about this."

"And we are, aren't we? I think there is a reason Renée called us first, instead of letting Social Services find a family for her. And I am positive Bella will heal in time."

"How so?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"From what we know, Bella fought Stefan when he tried to strangle her. She fought herself free and she sought help. If anything, I think this shows she wants to fight for a good life. She has taken the first step already. Maybe we can help her along the way."

My wife, as always, had a good point.

We talked for days, with each other and with Renée, half-heartedly trying to find reasons to not take Bella into our home. We couldn't really find one. We all felt the overwhelming conviction that there was only one right place for Bella. If it were up to us, she would arrive tomorrow.

However, there were more members in our family, and we wanted them all to be okay with this. If they didn't agree, Bella would not come here.

Unsurprisingly, our children were not entirely enthusiastic about the idea of bringing Bella into our lives. We summoned a family meeting and told them about a seventeen-year-old girl called Isabella, who had been through a rough time and who needed a home. We knew by then that Bella had explicitly requested (so, she communicated indeed when she wanted to) that none of her past should be disclosed to the children of her new foster family. It was tedious to try and give our children a complete picture of what to expect, whilst not being able to give details.

So, we told them she was traumatized, and we told them how she didn't liked to be touched. We told them she didn't speak, and Esme and I noticed how our children, too, had a hard time to grasp that concept. We didn't tell how long Bella hadn't spoken. We thought it wasn't very important.

The questions were expected. We answered them as well as we could. We tried to explain how glad we would be if the children would welcome Bella into our home, but only if they would agree. We asked, no, _requested_ honesty in their opinion — it was their house too and we needed to do this as one, as a family. Besides, we would never be able to give Bella the home she needed if she didn't feel welcome here.

Alice was all for it, Jasper shrugged and asked us to do what we thought was right. Emmett was a bit worried but didn't generally mind, and Rosalie refrained from giving her opinion entirely. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing — had she not approved we would have known it loud and clear. Edward tugged his hair and looked at me for a very long time, but remained silent as well.

He came to find me some days later, when I was doing paperwork in my office. "When

will she be coming?"

I looked up at him. Tall and lean, he was turning into a fine young man. He was the youngest in our family, albeit by mere minutes. His twin sister Alice came out first when they were born.

"We haven't decided yet if she will be living with us," I answered my son.

"Oh, come on, dad. Of course you have decided."

Although he was a teenager still, his wisdom could be far beyond his years. Esme often joked that although he was only seventeen, his soul must be over a century old.

I decided to be honest with him. He deserved it. "We are earnestly considering taking her in, yes."

He looked at me for a long moment. "What's with the sudden altruism?"

I chuckled a little at that, I couldn't help it. "No altruism. Or maybe it _is_ altruism. Your mother and I have heard her story and we want to help her."

"Yet you won't tell us her story." There was regret in his voice.

"Bella has asked specifically for that, and we respect that wish."

Edward sat down on the couch that stood against the wall, thinking. "How do you suppose we can make a decision about wanting her here, when we don't know anything about her?"

I looked at Edward, at the worried expression on his face. He had the tendency to over think things. He always wanted to know every side of the story, every possible scenario. "We have told you all you need to know. You know, Edward, sometimes you just have to take the leap. Not every decision you make can be without risk."

"I think it's quite a risk, taking a girl into our home who has been traumatized. What if she's violent?"

"She isn't. We have told you that."

"You don't know that," he persisted. "What if she's impossible? What if she…"

"Edward, stop." I could not, would not tolerate this. "Stop thinking about all that could go wrong for one moment and think about how _she_ must feel."

The look on his face went from worried to pained in an instant. "I have, dad." He spoke so softly it was almost a whisper. "But what if we can't help her?"

I thought for a moment before I answered. "By taking her in willingly, by making her feel welcome and providing a safe home for her, I think we are helping her already."

"It's really bad, isn't it? Her story? Not like Jazz and Rose's?"

"It's bad," I admitted. "That's why we think it's best you know little about it, apart from the fact that Bella doesn't want you to know. She will probably disclose her story in her own time."

"But she doesn't speak?" Like all of us, he had a hard time getting his head around this fact.

"Apparently not."

"Then how will we communicate?" He was worrying again.

"I'm sure we will find a way, Edward. There are more ways to interact than just by spoken words. And maybe in time, she will speak again."

I hoped I was right.

**~O~**

I don't regret taking Bella into our home. And I know Esme doesn't regret it either.

We waited delivering the message to Renée until we were absolutely positive that our children supported the decision. Then Renée, Esme and I had kept on calling on almost a daily basis before Bella arrived, to discuss every detail, every aspect, every possibility.

Still, nothing, and I mean nothing, could have ever prepared us for this.

The girl is broken, she has been through more than any person on this earth should ever have to take. We can only hope that the damage is reparable.

Physically, my trained doctor's eye sees what is wrong immediately. Dark shadows under her eyes betray an exhaustion that is the result of more than one night's bad sleep. She is malnourished and underweight. She was probably underfed before she fled from Stefan but it has become worse since she hasn't been able to take solid food for weeks, her wounded throat not allowing her to eat. When I saw the bruises on Sunday, I realized in how much pain she still must be.

She doesn't show this, however. Even to me, a trauma doctor with years and years of experience, it is hard to tell whether she is in pain or not. No wonder Renée never noticed anything. The girl is a master in hiding her discomfort.

The physical horrors she has had to endure, and of which the results of the last are not yet over, are indescribable and beyond comprehension. But it's not the physical that strikes us all.

It's the amount of fear in her eyes that is so unsettling it's disturbing. I don't need to be a therapist to see that this girl is traumatized. Anxious and skittish, she is constantly on guard. She barely slept the first night she was with us, too afraid to go to sleep. She seems desperately afraid to do things wrong, she expects to be punished for things that aren't her fault — the episode in the kitchen and the ruined shirt being only two examples. It upset both me and Esme thoroughly that she _requested_ punishment for what she felt she did wrong.

I am devastated when I think that this is how her life must have been before. Apart from the sexual abuse she most likely has had to endure, she has been victim of physical violence as well. And considering the way she moves, how she behaves, this has not happened at rare occasions. What could Stefan have done to make this girl so afraid? What has happened to her to make her be this way?

I must say I am baffled by the amount of courage it must have taken for her to approach us for retribution, to place the belt on my desk. Where on the one hand her life seems to be fear-driven, on the other hand she is strong beyond belief. When she learned I had given her medications without asking her or letting her know, she made her point very clear.

And she was absolutely right. I am proud of her that she has shown us her limits. Her anger gave me the hope that there is hope for her, after all. She still has the will to fight. Maybe in time, she will have the will to heal as well. The will, and the strength, to leave her past behind.

It hurts me that she wouldn't even believe us when we told her we wouldn't hurt her. We hope the contract will be a small step into the right direction. I wish we could do more to take away her fear. The few times she has been touched, either by accident or by unknowingness, she has reacted violently, just as Renée had warned about. The panic attacks are wreaking havoc in her body and it is clear that she doesn't have much reserve to lean on. One time I was fairly certain she would pass out from hyperventilation. These episodes exhaust her even further. I'm surprised she is still so steady on her feet.

But it's not only that she is alarmed when people try to touch her. Her trepidation seems to go much deeper than that. Her distrust is not only based on her fear of violence, but it seems to me that she is suspicious of every kind word, every kind gesture that we direct at her. She narrows her eyes and seems to be contemplating our motivations each time again. The alarm in her eyes when we say her name to ask her attention is unsettling.

We don't regret taking Bella into our home, into our lives. We do not expect to fix her up or that she will be magically healed within weeks. We do not expect to gain her trust within days. We just want to show her that life can be kind, too. We want to show her that life can be more than living in constant fear. I hope Bella will give us that chance.

But how do you soothe a girl who cannot voice her fears, and who cannot bear a friendly touch?

**~O~**

So far, we have not been doing very well in providing a quiet and stable home for her I'm afraid.

Every one of us, except Alice and Rosalie, have unfortunately succeeded in upsetting Bella.

Even I did, just now. After having struggled through a conversation with her — I honestly don't know how Esme seems to manage this so easily, the woman is a miracle — trying to find out how she was feeling, I reached out to check the swelling on her head, knowing full well that Bella will not tolerate touch. Knowing full well that I should have told her what I wanted to do.

How I ever could have made such a disastrous mistake will forever be a mystery to me.

Bella staggered at my sudden movement. The fear in her eyes was heartbreaking to behold. She was afraid of _me_, and it was because of something I did. I apologized and tried to explain to her what I wanted to do, hoping to put her at ease. It's disconcerting to see someone so upset and knowing that you have caused that.

And then I witnessed what both Edward and Esme had seen happening before. After trying to use some of my doctor's authority on her, knowing from experience that it sometimes could help nervous patients to relax a little, she retreated into complete apathy.

From a doctor's point of view, this was fascinating behavior. From a father's point of view, I was very concerned indeed. And I felt guilty for being the cause of this. How could she ever learn to trust us if we would not keep our promises?

I tried to get Bella out of her apathy, but to no avail. I wondered if she even registered what was going on around her still. She was still sitting up straight in the bed, but her eyes were blank and her mouth was a bit slack. There was no sign at all that she was lucid at this moment in time.

As a doctor, my curiosity was burning — I couldn't help it. Was she catatonic? What would she do if I snapped my fingers in front of her face, or if tried to lift her arm? How would she come out of this stupor again?

But Bella was not a test subject and I was definitely not going to try and provoke a reaction from her. Out of the question.

As was the prospect of checking her head. There was no way I was going to touch Bella in this state. I would not violate her trust in that way. I had done enough damage already. The examination could wait. The most important thing was that she became lucid again. The problem was I had no idea as to how to approach this matter. As an emergency doctor, I have seen the worst of injuries, the worst of what a human body can bear. But I have never been confronted with the psychological damage that can be inflicted upon a person.

Fortunately, Esme came to check on us right at that moment. She was shocked to see Bella's apathy again, but she didn't hesitate for one second as she knelt down at the bed and started to say endless reassurances in soothing tones.

I left the room. Although I didn't think it was the best decision to leave, I know that at this moment it was the right thing to do. She had retreated because she felt threatened, and although I found it hard to admit it, I was that threat. She would probably only come back out again once this threat had left the room. In time she would hopefully learn that there was no need for her to retreat into herself. There was no need to push that.

And now I am here, in my office. Waiting. I can handle the most stressful situations coolly in the hospital, giving out orders to a team of experts in the heat of the battle, but right now, I must confess I am a bit shaken.

It tears at my heart to see this girl's fear. All I want to do is reassure her and put a comforting arm around her, make her feel safe. But reassurances she doesn't believe and touching evokes violent reactions in her. How are we going to make her feel safe, to make her come out of her shell, when she is blocking every possible way in?

Bella must feel so lonely, so desolate. I have the feeling that she thinks she doesn't deserve love. Victims of severe mental and physical abuse such as Bella often are told time and again by their abusers that they are worthless, that what is happening to them is their own fault. Looking at Bella I am afraid that this technique has been used on her and that she has been manipulated into believing that she doesn't deserve kindness. It is going to take a lot of time and trust to help her believe that what has happened to her, was not her fault.

I can only hope she will give us a chance and let us in, in time.

Trying and failing to read a medical journal, I wait to see what will happen now. I hope Esme will be able to pull Bella out of her oblivion again, and I hope that it won't take too long.

I can't concentrate on anything now. Maybe I should go downstairs and have some coffee.

In the kitchen, I meet Alice, who looks up at me and smiles. "Hi dad. I was just making tea. Would you like some?"

I smile back at my youngest _and_ tiniest daughter — barely measuring five feet, she compensates for her limited height with an unbelievable character and a big, loving heart. "I would, thank you."

Watching her filling the kettle and getting mugs from the cabinets, we don't speak for a few moments. I sit myself down at the breakfast bar and wait for the water to start cooking.

Just as I take a breath to ask, "How is school," Alice starts speaking herself.

"How is Bella?" she asks, not looking up from the process of putting tea bags into the mugs. "Did you get to check on her?"

Esme and I have long ago decided that we always wanted to be honest with our children. And I want to be honest with Alice now, too, even if it means admitting my own failure. "I didn't. I accidentally startled her and she…" I realize I'm not sure how to put it into words.

"She closed down her mind?" Alice finishes, looking up at me.

"If you want to call it that, yes."

"She'll come out again," she states with a confidence that surprises me.

I look back up at her and she sees my surprise, thinking it's because of her statement, not because of the way she says it.

"She has done it before," she clarifies. "I think she will come back out when she's ready." She places a steaming hot mug of tea in front of me and smiles reassuringly. "I think it's just her way to cope with stress."

I blink once. Sometimes she has uncanny insight into people's motives, and right now she is giving an excellent demonstration of that. "Why do you think that?"

She shrugs with one shoulder. "It's what I'd do if things became too much. Hide out a little in my head and come back out when all was safe again."

When I look at her, momentarily lost for words, she continues speaking. "I think I'd be grateful for such a trait if I were her."

"What do you mean?" I ask, genuinely curious.

Alice looks at me and cocks her head a little to the side, thinking. "I think it's obvious what she's been through, even though you won't tell us." A beat. A frown. "Tell me, those marks on her neck we saw on Saturday… Somebody tried to strangle her, right?"

I am torn between my desire to be honest and my desire to keep my promise to Bella. I choose a compromise. "What do you think?"

Alice sighs softly, thinking. "I think they were handprints on her neck. And I've talked to Edward about this and he said that it must have been her foster father else she would not have been taken out of his care," she murmurs matter-of-factly.

Of course they would come to this conclusion quickly. Before I can answer however, Alice continues.

"And I think this has not been the first time her foster father did something to her, because one incident doesn't make you scared like that. Please correct me if I'm wrong."

I have to swallow before I speak. "You are not wrong."

"Oh, shit," Alice breathes as she comes to realize what her words actually encompass. "Oh. Oh, shit."

I keep silent for a moment, letting this information sink in, not telling my daughter to mind her language and waiting for her to speak again.

"Is he arrested? Her foster father?"

Again I try to compromise between honesty and honor. "Not yet."

Alice leans back and chews on her lip, thinking. Her eyes are unfocused as she is lost in her thoughts. "Bella knows this?"

I nod, once.

Alice frowns again for a moment and takes a sip from her tea. Then she changes tack. "Why doesn't Bella want us to know what happened to her? It would make a lot of things a lot easier."

"I don't know," I say honestly. "She's very reluctant to communicate."

Alice chuckles once, the corner of her mouth turning up into a humorless smile. "I've noticed. But when I went to sit with her yesterday, it seemed she was eager to listen."

"You sat with her yesterday?"

"I did. I asked her if it was okay and then I told her all kinds of things about us, about school. If she doesn't want to come out to get to know us, I figured we should try to bring it to her."

There is such a simple logic in what she says. "Maybe you should try to do that more often," I offer. "As you say she seemed to like it."

Alice nods and takes another sip. "Drink you tea before it gets cold. I've been wondering, when will she be going to school? _Will_ she be going to school?"

"Well, I'd like her to rest until the concussion is healed, so school will only be considered as of next week. And then I guess it's up to Bella if she wants to go to school or not. She will have to, eventually."

"Did she go to school before she came here?"

"I believe she did, until the incident with her foster father." There is no need any more to try and hide this from my daughter — she has guessed right and I have acknowledged that.

"I just don't get it," Alice whispers, eyes big with worry and filling with unshed tears. "I don't get how someone could do this to another person."

"I guess there are things we will never understand," I say inadequately. Alice smiles a familiar crooked smile at my bland answer — the crooked smile she shares with Edward and which is virtually the only sign that they are actually twins.

We finish our tea, occupied by our own thoughts.

"You think she will ever become herself?"

I look at my daughter, understanding her train of thought immediately. "I hope so."

"Because it's sort of tense for all of us now," she whispers while playing with her empty mug, uncomfortable admitting that the last few days have been hard on all of us.

"I know, and for that, I apologize. I can honestly say that none of us were prepared for this."

"It's not that I don't want her here," Alice says quickly, looking up at me with concern in her eyes. "I'm just worried, I think. But it's like we have to think through our every move if we want her to not get upset, you know?"

Yes, I know. I have experienced it first hand only half an hour ago. "I hope she will become more at ease with us soon. You seem to have found a way with her already?"

She shrugs, uneasy with the compliment. "Like I said, if she can't reach out to get it for whatever reason, we should bring it to her. I don't think it's wise to sit around and wait until she's ready to come out. If you put a blind man on a bridge without a ledge, he'll be very hesitant to start walking. If you reach back and take his hand, he just might follow."

This is so beautifully said, I don't have anything to add. "I think you might be right. But please be careful with her."

Alice snorts. "Of course. Nobody is helped when we chase her away. But I'm not going to sit around and wait to see what will happen. If we don't try to pull her out, she will never feel like one of us. And that's the whole point, isn't it? That she will become part of our family?"

"It's about the highest hope, yes. But that will take some time."

"I get that. I like her already, you know? I think there is a very special girl hidden under all that fear."

I agree with her on that. I smile at my daughter, who, like Edward, sometimes is so much wiser than her age.

Alice smiles back at me for a moment, then starts to put her mug in the dishwasher. "I'm going to work on my English paper with Jasper."

"Alice?"

She stands up straight again, waiting for what I want to say.

"You and Edward have guessed right about Bella's past. Still, Bella has asked us explicitly that you weren't told about this. It's the one thing she has asked for so far and I want to respect her wish. Have you discussed this with Jasper, Rose and Emmett yet?"

Alice shakes her head, a gleam in her eyes. "No. Of course not. Jasper has a hunch, though, but he came up with it himself. He's worried sick about what could have happened to her."

"I want to ask your discretion in this. Bella will tell us about herself when she is ready."

"I will. I'll tell Jasper too. I just think it's weird. It's not like we would treat her differently or anything."

"It's Bella's choice to make," I press.

"I guess so. I'm just confused about why she reacts to things like she does. And curious about the girl behind the fear. Well, I have to go now. Thanks for the talk, dad."

"Thank you too. And thank you for the tea."

She smiles and to my surprise, walks up to me hugs me fiercely. "Love you, dad," she whispers.

Then, as sudden as she started, she is done and gone. I look after her, shaking my head a little and smiling. I am truly blessed with my family indeed.

I make myself a second mug of tea and take it up to my study. Esme is still with Bella in the guest room — Bella's room. I decide to not go and check on them, I don't want to intrude and I have a hunch that Bella will be more at ease around women than men. I'll just have to wait a little more.

To distract myself, I check my email and see I have a message from Renée. Scanning the mail, Renée's questions and worries are obvious. Checking the time, I decide it's not too late to just call her.

"_Dwyer."_

"Hi, Renée, it's Carlisle. How are you? I thought I'd just call you, instead of sending a mail."

"_Carlisle, hi! How are you? How is Bella?"_

I have to think about both her questions. "Okay, I think. I don't know," I finally say, forced into honesty. "I didn't want to break it down to you so early in this conversation, but Bella just had another episode where she retreated into apathy."

"_You mean she shut down?"_

"Yes, if you want to call it that."

"_What happened? Did someone startle her?"_

I swallow. "I did, I'm afraid. I wanted to check her head for her concussion…"

Renée interrupts me. _"Concussion!"_

"Yes, Bella fainted last Sunday and her head hit the floor."

"_Oh, my."_ She sounds shocked, which isn't surprising. _"And now?"_

"She has been in bed for the last days mostly. She will be fine, there's no real damage done, although it was a very unfortunate course of—"

Renée's next questions come so fast I can't even finish my answer. _"How come she fainted? Too much tension, maybe?" _

"We think she fainted from the tension indeed. I wasn't there, but Esme told me it was all quite chaotic. Edward's girlfriend came over unannounced and met Bella alone in the kitchen. We think it unsettled her. Then a chain reaction started. I'll email you the full story, okay?"

"_Sure,"_ she replies, but I can tell she wants to know more. After a moment of silence she continues. _"Is someone with her now? As you say she has shut down?"_

"Esme is with her. She pulled her out of it last time and she's trying again now."

"_Good. It's good that she is not alone. Is Esme talking to her?"_

"She is. Is that so important?"

"_Of course it is. Or did you think Bella didn't register what was happening around her when she is like this?"_

"I have been wondering about it."

"_I think she is vividly aware of her surroundings. She closes her mind, not her senses. Think of it like looking at something from behind glass. Tell Esme she should keep talking. Bella will come out again when she is ready."_

I hum my agreement, lost in thought for a moment. Vividly aware of her surroundings? I need to do some research into this.

"_And how are you, Carlisle?__"_

Renée's question pulls me out of my thoughts again. I think for a long moment, contemplating what I am going to say. "I didn't know it would be like this," I finally confess. I hope she will understand me, and not worry I might regret my decision to take her in.

To my surprise, Renée laughs, but it's a comforting sound. _"Oh, Carlisle, nothing could have prepared you for this. I think you are doing just fine. And you know you can talk to me about it."_

"That's what I'm doing right now," I smile.

"_You are indeed. But tell me, how is she? Generally?"_

"You need to be a bit more specific than that, Renée. I don't know how she should be and I've only known her for a few days now. And she's off, with the aftermath of the concussion."

"_Just tell me what you think."_

"Well, she was very distant when we brought her home on Saturday. But it seemed she only got more and more tense as time passed."

Renée doesn't speak for a long time. _"Go on."_

"I don't know, Renée, I'm not a psychologist. But she seemed almost resigned when we first met her. Now, she's like a wire, ready to snap."

Renée appears to be thinking for a moment. _"What else have you noticed about her character?"_

"I can tell she likes to be left alone, but what strikes me most about her is how incredibly strong she is. She will face everything, and considering what she has been through, it's a lot."

Renée chuckles softly. "_Yes, her strength and will power are unbelievable. What else have you learned?"_

"The panic attacks. She reacts violently with men around her."

"_She does, doesn't she? Has she had a lot of panic attacks?" _

"More than I anticipated, yes."

"_How often?"_

"So far I think not a day has gone by without one."

"_Oh. That is often, indeed. She was calmer when she was with me."_

"Esme did the counting method with her once and it seemed to work," I volunteer.

"_Oh, that's nice to hear. __I'm sorry to hear though that the panic attacks come frequently. They drain her. How are you handling her silence?"_

I chuckle humourlessly at her question. She knows immediately what I am laughing about and chuckles herself when she speaks. _"You didn't think she would really be this quiet?"_

"I didn't."

"_I told you, I never heard her make even one sound. It's a pity __we don't know why she stopped speaking in the first place. I'm thinking though it has something to do with Laurent threatening her to never talk about it." _

I think about this for a moment. "Could that really have such an effect on her?"

A soft rustle of cloth indicates that Renée is shrugging at the other end of the line. "_If the threat was severe enough? Perhaps. The only person who knows exactly what has happened to her, is Bella herself. And she is clearly not ready to tell us her story, so we will just have to be patient." _

Renée is quiet for a while after that. Sensing that she is thinking about something, I keep silent.

"_I've known her for years, Carlisle. She came to me first when she was __just fourteen. It took me almost two years to discover even the gist of the extent of what had happened to her with Laurent. And then it took me too long to discover what exactly she was going through with Stefan and Irina. She is just _that_ good at hiding it. Sure, she was tense and I could tell she was miserable, but what exactly she was going through, I have had to guess. I set the wheels in motion immediately when Irina got committed and things seemed to be turning bad, but I wish I had just taken her into my home earlier and not waited for this to happen. Those seven months must have been an absolute hell for Bella. And she never gave one sign. I should have seen it from the start."_

Her voice breaks at her last words. "That wasn't your fault," I try to soothe her. "Besides, you were prohibited by law to take her into your home and at least now you could still keep an eye on her while you did all you could to take her away."

Renée sighs quietly, probably in an effort to get her emotions under control again.

"You did right, Renée, and I am happy you called us when you needed a family to take Bella in. We are starting to love her already."

"_Yes, she tends to do that to people."_ I hear her smile when she says this. _"Still, Bella could have been dead."_ The remorse is thick in her voice.

"But she isn't. She fought Stefan herself and came to find you. _You_, Renée. And you helped her. You get her away from Stefan. By the way, how are the legal details going?"

"_Och, it's horrible,"_ Renée curses. "_Stefan is being a pain in every possible way. He won't send her papers, he won't send her stuff. Bella needs to press charges, before it's too late."_

Bella never testified against Laurent. He was convicted and put away for other crimes, but never for what he did to Bella. And from what I learned, she doesn't want to press charges against Stefan, either. I hope that one day she will be able to explain to us why she won't, because I have a feeling that this isn't only because of the emotional upheaval a trial would cause. If I were her, I would want that man behind bars for the rest of his life, but it seems that she doesn't want that to happen.

"There is time for her to sue him," I say. "Bella needs to start healing first."

"_Yes, she should. Tell me more. How is she acting around you__ all?"_

I start with the first thing that comes into my mind. "Esme has noticed that Bella seems to be more at ease when she is given direct orders?" My observation turns into a question without me realizing it.

"_Yes, she does. I noticed too that she can become very uneasy when she doesn't know what to do."_

"How is that?" I am really curious about this.

"_Well, Carlisle, from what I've learned from her in the two weeks she was with me, she took care of the entire household when she was with Stefan. She knew what she had to do__, and what Stefan expected of her. If she did what he expected, I think he may have gone easier on her. Tell me, did she do any household chores yet?"_

"Yes, she did, actually." I don't tell Renée about the episode with the shirt and the belt yet. I'll put that in the email I was already going to send her.

"_Tell her not to, or tell her what exactly you expect of her.__ Be specific in what you want her to do. She will be grateful for it."_

"I don't know if I can do that. I should think it would be nice for her to have her freedom, to do what she wants?"

Renée sighs, thinking. _"I don't think she has ever been able to do as she pleases. She doesn't know how to relax and be at leisure. She doesn't allow herself that, it seems. I think she feels very guilty when she is taking it easy. Assign her times to go and enjoy herself."_

"Really?"

"_Really. Carlisle, she's like one of those simulated characters from that computer game. She won't move until you tell her to. Tell her to go and read a__ book, or watch TV. Tell her how long she can take to do that. You'll see that it works."_

I stutter something, lost for words. Are we really supposed to command her around like that?

"_Is it out of your league?"_ Renée asks kindly.

"It's different," I admit.

"_You'll be fine. How __is Esme?"_

"She's good," I smile. "The way she is around Bella is a true miracle. She has gotten her to write things down several times already."

"_Good,"_ Renée answers. _"That's very good. Did I tell you Bella and I used a very simple sign language? Give her two options, and she would choose?"_

"No, not really, you told us that communicating with her would become easier and that we should use her intuition. But, Renée, I tried to give her two options tonight and it seemed she tensed up completely."

The moment of silence is tense before she speaks. _"What options did you give her?"_

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize the grave mistake I made. "I asked her if she wanted to do it in her room or in my office. We stayed in her room, as I figured she might feel safer on her own turf, so to speak."

Renée seems to hear in my tone of voice that I realize myself what I did. Her voice is surprisingly gentle when she speaks again. _"I hear in your voice that you understand already why Bella reacted to you this way."_

"It went really wrong when I reached out to her without thinking."

"_Figures,"_ Renée breathes, but she doesn't sound resentful. _"You upset her. It's easy to forget how she reacts to touching. Still, I would have expected you to remember this, Carlisle."_

I hear the hint of accusation in her voice but I'm guessing she knows I am beating myself up over this too. "I'm sorry."

"_It's not me you should apologize to. Bella is the one who has shut down now thanks to you."_

"I am vividly aware of that. But it doesn't take away the immense difficulty of trying get her to understand I have to examine her and nothing bad will happen."

"_Be direct with her. I know you have the policy of complete honesty with your children. Why don't you use that on Bella?"_

Yes, why don't I?

"_This is going to sound very harsh, Carlisle, but you have to listen to what I am going to say. I get that you want to check Bella's head. You are insecure because you don't want to upset her, and that is perfectly understandable. But if you show Bella your insecurity, this will not do the situation any good. You have to tell her that you _will_ check her head, not that you _want_ to. Don't ask her if that is okay. Questions make her nervous as she is always worried about the consequences of her answers. Don't leave any room for questions or hesitation, just act. Do it calmly and keep telling what you are going to do and you will see she will comply."_

I am stunned after her speech. "What if she panics?"

"_If you are calm and collected and keep talking to her, she won't panic."_Her confidence is fierce.

"But what if she does? Do I leave her alone then?"

"_I'm pretty certain she won't panic, but if she does you can try to count with her. Don't walk away from her. Let her know that you are there, that you won't hurt her and that you won't judge her for her behavior. And then when she's calm, you can continue. I'm pretty sure she won't retreat. If she does, however, and this goes for every time she does this — try to leave her be but stay with her. Try not to move her. She will come out when she is ready again and it's good when there's someone with her then."_

"You know her so well."

"_No, Carlisle, I don't. I don't know her at all. I doubt either of us will ever know who she really is."_

We both keep silent for a while after that. I'm not sure if I can do what Renée asks of me.

"_Can I ask you something else? __How's Charlie?"_

She voices her question carefully, as if she is afraid of the possible answer. "He's good," I soothe her. "He's still the same man, although I believe he is dating a woman from the reservation."

"_He is? Oh, that's about time,"_ she smiles, and I am happy that this knowledge doesn't upset her. After all, she had been married to Charlie quite a few years before she left him to find some sunshine and to fulfil her dream: have her own practice. They never had any children. We remained close friends with both Charlie and Renée separately after their divorce — Charlie and Renée still speak each other at times. They parted on good terms. I see Charlie quite frequently still, and not only work-related. As the Chief of police in this small town of Forks, he is present at almost every accident when the victims are brought into the hospital. Apart from that, he visits our house on a regular basis.

Renée is done talking about her ex however, and changes the topic again._ "Tell me more about Bella?"_

Caught off guard, I am at a loss. "What do you want me to say?"

"_Anything. I just want to know about her. Is she adjusting a little yet?"_

"No, not quite. If anything, I'd say she's getting more tense by the hour. Like she is waiting for something."

"_Yes, you said that. Tell me, has she tried to provoke you yet?"_

I think about how Bella threw the glass at the wall when she discovered we had drugged her without her consent. "She has acted out, if that is what you mean."

"_What happened? Come on, Carlisle, do I have to pry every detail out of you?"_

"She threw the glass with her medication at the wall."

"_Oh. And what caused this? Or was it an impulsive action?"_

"I'm afraid it was our fault. I gave Bella extra painkillers without telling her, because she needed to rest after she got the concussion. She barely slept here until that moment, and she reacted strongly to the medication. When she found out about this, she was very angry."

Renée's reaction is instant. _"Oh my, Carlisle! How could you do that! How do you expect to gain her trust when you drug her to sleep and take away the little control she feels she has over her life?"_

"I'm sorry," I say honestly. "I was acting with her interests in mind. She needed to sleep. I have apologized to Bella, too. She seems all right with it now."

Renée takes a breath to speak, then hesitates and starts again. _"That's a good thing. But Carlisle, if anything, you have to know that she wants to be involved in her own life. She needs to know she is in control."_

"Yes, I will work on that. Bella is very observant, by the way."

"_She is,__ and I'm not surprised that she noticed the med thing. You'd be surprised about what she sees. She's very bright too, and she has a wicked sense of humor, although I think it might take a while for that to show. Let's go back to something you said. How is she waiting?"_

I blink at her change of track and back again, but I try to answer her as well as possible. "It's like she is waiting for something bad to happen. She often starts to hyperventilate then. I feel like she gets those panic attacks when nothing happens and she is kept waiting too long."

"_That's news to me,"_ Renée murmurs, and I'm not sure if her answer was directed at me. _"But I think that it is good news." _

"How can that be good news?" I frown. "Renée, have you seen her in her fear? It's horrible to see her thus and excruciating to know that we cannot even touch her or embrace her to make her feel at ease again."

"_I know, Carlisle, I know. But still, you say she is waiting. She doesn't shut down immediately when someone approaches?"_

"Not that I have seen so far. She's frozen in fear, mainly. She only 'shuts down' when she is startled, I think."

"_And she panics when she seems to be expecting something that's not happening?"_

"Yes, perhaps. On Saturday she was surprised by something and she stood, waiting. Then when nothing happened she huddled to the floor, protecting her head in her arms and starting to hyperventilate. Esme counted her out of it then."

"_Do you know what I think that means, Carlisle?"_

I shake my head, knowing full well that Renée won't be able to see that.

"_She's willing to wait and see what will happen. This is a very welcome development and major progress."_ The excitement in her voice is growing.

"She's willing to… I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you mean."

"_Bella's coping mechanism is to __retreat into her mind and sit it out. She uses this measure preventively — she shuts down before the nightmare can even start. Yet here you tell me she doesn't shut down immediately when she's expecting to get hurt. It means she is prepared to wait for a bit and see if something will actually happen to her. This is wonderful news._ _It means she must have hope."_

I sit back at Renée's explanation, which comes as a revelation to me that makes perfect sense.

"_I told you, this time would be right for her,"_ Renée gushes.

I am still stunned and Renée chuckles when she realizes I don't know what to say.

"_Be careful with her, though. Don't rush her."_

"I wouldn't dare."

Renée and I talk for a little while longer, trying to find a way to speed up the legal aspects of Bella's transition into our home. And we have to see if Bella can get any of her belongings over here. She ran away from Stefan with nothing more than the clothes on her back — all she possesses Renée has bought her in the couple of weeks Bella was there. She needs everything, literally, and although of course money is not a problem, shopping for new things may be. But Bella might become more at ease when she has her own clothes to wear.

Until that time, we will have to work our way around it. Just as I am thinking that Alice might want to help to help Bella shop for clothing online, I hear a knock at my door.

"Come in," I say. I pick up my mug to take a sip of my forgotten tea. It's cold.

Edward appears in my office, shoving his hands in his pockets as he steps inside. "She panicked again?" he asks, with a nod to the other end of the hallway, where Bella's room is situated. He is trying to cover his worry with nonchalance.

"Not quite. She went into apathy, much like she did last Saturday." I don't say "with you." Edward is beating himself up of that event enough as it is.

"Oh. What happened?"

"I startled her."

There seems to be both worry and relief in his eyes as I say this, almost as if he is glad that he's not the only one who has been less than tactful with her.

"And now?"

"She'll be okay, hopefully. Your mother is with her now. How are you, Edward?"

He looks at me, a hand leaving his pocket to tug at his hair. "Okay, I guess," he shrugs. "What do you expect after this?" He makes a vague circular movement with his hand to indicate the context of what he's talking about.

"I expect nothing, Edward. I think you are doing remarkably."

He snorts and looks at the ground, shoving his hand into his pocket again. Something is bothering him, I can tell. But I know my son — he will only start to talk when he's ready.

Some shuffling in the hallway behind him gets his attention and he turns to see what is happening. As I look around Edward I can see how Esme is guiding Bella towards my office.

Edward steps aside to let them both in. He and Bella share a moment of eye contact with each other, which I notice because it surprises me so. Then Edward clears his throat and stalks out of the room without so much as a word.

I shift my gaze to Bella and Esme. Bella looks completely exhausted and I am worried about her wellbeing. Standing up slowly from behind my desk, I try to think of everything Renée has told me tonight. This is going to be a challenge.

"Hi Bella," I start, smiling. "It's good to see you're back with us again. I am so sorry for before."

She looks at me, unmoving. I decide to use the technique Renée has explained to me. "Listen, I am going to check on your head. To do that, I need to touch you. I will not hurt you. Please, sit down on the couch."

To my relief — I can't suppress it — she sits down, never taking her eyes off me. She folds her hands in her lap and I can tell she is wringing them. But for now, she is still with us.

Telling her exactly what I am going to do, I gently place my fingertips on her head. She gasps violently when I touch her, but she stays still and from what I can tell, alert. Esme has knelt before Bella and is looking up at her, providing moral support.

I cannot pinpoint what has happened exactly, and I will not be as arrogant as to say that my new demeanor has brought this to pass. But Bella complies with my every request and she stays uncannily still as I check the lump on her head, the flexibility of her neck, even her balance.

Her breathing is controlled, but heavy. I can tell that it takes her an effort to not panic. I realize that her behavior is much more like the resigned attitude she had when she first entered this house. It's almost eerie and if I didn't know better, I would think that she is either completely unimpressed by what is happening, or just not conscious of what is going on around her at all.

I know that neither is currently the case. She's probably hyperaware of everything that is going on around her and it's taking her everything she has not to run or to retreat into her mind. I am indescribably proud of her.

The swelling is healing well and I tell Bella so. She will feel the after effects of the concussion for a few more days, but she should feel better by the hour from now. The worst is over. Bella does not give any type of reaction at my words, but I know she has heard me. Esme looks relieved.

We are all drained after this trying evening, with the examination as a staggering anticlimax. Fatigue hangs heavily in the room.

Bella is still sitting on the couch. Her hands must hurt by now, she is still wringing them. I have to fight the instinct to place my hand over hers and try to calm her down.

"Thank you, Bella. I am very proud of you. You did wonderfully."

She looks at me like I have grown two heads, but diverts her gaze quickly again. How wonderful would it be if this girl would allow herself to speak her mind.

Esme asks Bella softly if she wants to eat something or if she'd rather go to bed. Bella looks frightened and insecure as always when she hesitantly holds up two fingers — the very easy but convenient sign language she has used before without thinking.

"Then go to bed, honey. We will see you again in the morning. You can lock the door if you want to and if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask, okay?"

Bella nods once and when Esme sits back, Bella starts for the door. Just before she leaves the room, she stops and looks back at me. She nods once, lowering her eyes, as if she is thanking me. Then she scurries off, at a jog almost, judging by the sound of her feet, and locks herself in her room once more.

I am incredibly proud of this broken girl. If Renée thought that her not shutting down was progress, I'd say that what has happened tonight is nothing short of a miracle.

Esme stands up and wraps her arm around my waist. "Good job, doctor," she says, kissing my chin.

"Good job, mother," I answer, returning the embrace. "How did you get her out?"

Esme shrugs and buries her head in the crook of my neck. I never get tired of holding my wife like this. "Talking, I guess. I really think she can hear us when she's out like that."

"Yes, Renée thinks so too."

"You spoke to her?"

"I did. I learned a lot of new things tonight."

"Tell me."

"I will, but to be honest I am exhausted right now."

Esme chuckles in sympathy, her breath warm on my neck. "Let's get downstairs and have a glass of wine, unwind a little. I'm guessing the kids will want to know what happened, too."

Agreeing with her, I let her take me downstairs.

* * *

_So, what did you think of Renée? Of Carlisle? And the tiny bit of Edward? He'll be coming around more often, I promise._

_Okay, as announced, an endnote. Although it's none of your business and maybe you couldn't care less, I want to put this here anyway. I love to write and I love that I can update every week. However, sometimes Real Life gets in the way, as I told some of you in review replies already. Real Life however had something else in store. As such I have spent a day at the ER a couple of days ago because my boyfriend's heart was not working properly. We are not in the clear yet and further research will have to tell how dangerous his problem is. Needless to say, we are scared.  
_

_That said, I hope you will understand that my priorities have somewhat shifted and my creativity has stopped flowing a little. I will not stop writing. I will not abandon this story. I will warn you if and when my next update will be delayed. I just hope you will have patience with me. _

_Please review. You will be pleased to know that chapter 14 is done already and will hopefully be posted this year still :) _

_For now, Merry Christmas and all the best for you and your loved ones!  
_


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N Twilight is not mine.**

_You stunned me to silence with your reviews. I can't thank you enough. Also for the concern for my boy.  
_

_Thanks also to Sherryola, my wonderful beta whom I cannot call beta, but who is my beta nevertheless. She's wonderful and I love her. Thanks also to mummyanimal, who preread this chapter for me. She wrote a nice O/S of Esme's story, but with a slightly alternate take;_ _www fanfiction net/s/6255054/1/A_Spark_Among_The_Ashes._

_Mood music: Beethoven - Moonlight Sonata; Mika - By the time. _

_I think, and hope, this is what you have been waiting for... Enjoy!  
_

* * *

I can't sleep. I'm too wound up after all the commotion. Carlisle reaching out to me — I was so shocked that I was paralyzed with fear at first. I retreated into my mind and waited for first Carlisle and then Esme to leave me, but when I realized that Esme wasn't going anywhere, I had to come back out again.

She spoke to me for a very long time, telling me how Carlisle was a good doctor and that he wouldn't hurt me. And that he just wanted to check my head, and he wouldn't hurt me. He was a loving father, and he wouldn't hurt me. Even if I decided I didn't want the examination, he wouldn't hurt me.

I let her words wash over me, looking at her blankly. I was, and am still, wondering when they will realize I am not a very desirable person to have in the house, and they will send me away.

I mean, if they are not going to use me for household activities or anything else, what use am I here?

Esme kept on talking and finally said something that made me reconsider everything.

"Come on, let's get this over with."

Yes, why not get this over with. I finally followed her to Carlisle's office.

Edward was there. Was he going to be present the whole time? Because I didn't know if I really liked that. But he looked at me for a moment before he cleared his throat and left the room without a word.

I don't get him. He acts like he'd rather stay as far away from me as possible — which I can totally understand — but his eyes seem to tell a different story.

Well, I had more pressing matters to attend to. Carlisle's demeanor had changed while I was out, and now he was in full on doctor mode I think. He was very clear and very firm and together with Esme's proposition, I did exactly that: I got it over with.

It wasn't pleasant, I won't lie. Carlisle worked quickly and I have to admit that he did nothing strange, except for thanking me afterwards and telling me he was proud of me. I still don't understand that. But I was very tense and wanted to leave that room. When Esme asked me afterwards if I wanted to eat or rather go to bed, I chose bed, even though I was desperately hungry.

And now I am here, wound up with a heart that won't calm down, queasy with hunger and shaking with pain in my head and my throat. And my back, because damnation, my entire body is sore.

As much as I dread it, I would dearly love food, and meds, and a walk around because even my legs are stiff. Esme reassured me once again that I really can go and get food in the middle of the night if I want to. The last time I did it wasn't really a success, but there is no way in hell I am going to be able to go to sleep without eating.

What is wrong with me? I used to be able to go without food for days.

Checking my watch I see it's three am. The house has been quiet for hours, so I decide to just try it and go downstairs. After all, this time I am pretty sure that all the Cullens are in bed, so nobody will be coming home in the middle of the night.

Right?

Still, I get dressed in my second pair of clothes and pull my only sweater over my head. I wonder how I am going to solve this problem. I really should have some more clothes.

I make my way downstairs carefully through the twilit house. The sky is clear — for the first time since I've been here I should think — and moonlight fills the house with a bluish glow through the countless windows.

Walking softly on my stockings, I make my way to the kitchen. Only when I round the corner, can I see that there is a small light on.

There is someone in there.

_Fuck!_

I turn immediately to leave again, but a voice stops me.

"Hey, don't go."

My heart is crashing in my throat when I turn slowly and meet Edward's eyes.

"Don't go," he says again. "Don't be scared," he adds in a whisper.

I'm still standing in the same spot, wondering what I should do. Edward rakes a hand through his hair, tugging it a little. It seems he is thinking.

"I can leave," he starts, but I shake my head. It's his kitchen, he shouldn't move for me. Just when I decide it's better to turn and leave, he speaks again.

"I couldn't sleep," he says apologetically, then looks back at me with a small smile. "I guess that makes two of us."

My heart is still beating fast. Unable to stop my hands from fidgeting, I shove them into the pocket of my sweater. The notebook and pencil are still in there from earlier. My body is getting angry with me. I am again tensed up and my sore muscles protest. What do I do?

"Do you want anything to drink? I can make you some tea, or some hot milk maybe?"

Oh, the prospect of hot milk is tempting indeed. But will he expect anything back for that?

Shit. Why is _everything_ in this household so damn difficult?

When I don't react, frozen in insecurity, Edward sighs and looks at the glass of water that's before him on the breakfast bar. "I'm sorry, I don't know how to talk with you."

_Just talk_, I think. _I'm listening_.

"Anyway, thanks for the quilt earlier today."

At this, I almost stagger. _He noticed that? _And… he's not angry about it?

Edward looks up at me and must see my surprise. "You did put the afghan over me, right?"

I nod, forced into honesty. I couldn't lie to save my life.

"Well, thank you for that. I was tired. And now I'm up because I slept through the afternoon, but okay." Again he seems to be talking more to himself than to me, his gaze focused on his glass again.

I should move. I need food and meds. If Edward has a problem with that, he'll let me know.

Going over to the fridge, I get my food. I look at the carton of milk longingly, but I don't want the hassle of heating milk with someone else in the room.

"Would you like some hot milk?" Edward asks again. I start and look around at him. "I can make it for you, if you want."

His face is gentle, his gaze is worried as usual. What is ailing him? "It's really not a big deal," he says, getting up. "I was going to make some myself. Will that make it easier for you?"

I stand back and let him pass, then go stand on the other side of the breakfast bar. I look at him as he gets the milk from the fridge and produces a pan from the drawer underneath the cooking island.

He holds up the milk for me. "Want?"

He's disarming. That's the word. He seems very honest in his awkwardness and there is nothing that indicates a hidden agenda. He doesn't look like he is scheming or planning to get at me.

And I do believe I have developed a radar for that over the course of my life.

I nod. I would like the milk and if he is going to make some for himself too, than I am not asking for too much trouble, am I?

He measures the milk into the pan before he places it on the gas. "Now, let's see how this works," he murmurs to himself, as he looks at the buttons on the stove. When he looks up at me again, his face lights up with a crooked smile. "I can burn water, you know, so this is a risky endeavour for me."

I can't suppress my own smile at that as I see him struggling with the buttons. Finally, he looks up at me, looking… shy? "Do you know how this thing works?"

I nod at him, still amused and amazed by his helplessness. I've never seen anyone admit so easily that he couldn't do something. Usually I was blamed for anything and everything that went wrong.

"Can you help me out?" Edward asks hesitantly. "It's stupid, considering I offered to make you the milk, and I could have just used the microwave, but it tastes better when you heat it on the stove, and…"

As he is babbling, I make my way over to the cooking island slowly. He steps back when I approach, leaving me my space. He's behind me now however, which makes me uncomfortable. I try to watch him from my peripheral vision as I light the gas in a matter of seconds, swirling the milk in the pan. From the top drawer I pick out something to stir with. So easy to be at ease in a kitchen…

"Oh, you're supposed to _press _them?" Edward asks, utterly surprised. "God, I feel like an imbecile."

I look up at him, shaking me head before I can stop myself. Of course he's not an imbecile. It's very degrading of him to think that of himself.

"I can take over, maybe?" he offers hesitantly. "_I_ offered to make _you_ some, after all."

I think of all the Cullens in this house, Edward confuses me the most.

"Here, let me do this. You need to eat, I think?" he adds, nodding at the package that is still on the counter.

Yeah, but I'd rather not eat with him around. I can eat later. I don't even know how I am supposed to drink this milk if he insists in staying around. Then again, I have done it before several times already. Maybe…

Indicating that he should keep on stirring slowly, I step back from the stove. He takes over, not moving his eyes from the pan. It's almost as if he is willing the milk to heat by his gaze.

But as he is not looking away, I can maybe try to eat indeed. Opening the package, Edward doesn't look up at the sound. Nice!

The drinking goes slowly because it's horrible. I can keep saying it because the awfulness of this goo amazes me every single time again. Edward stays focused on the pan but he doesn't seem to notice that the milk is starting to boil. He obviously has never done this before else he would know that at the first signs of boiling, you have to think fast.

He still doesn't react and I shoot forward, reaching between his body and the cooking island to shut down the gas. The milk, that had reached the brim of the pan, settles down again. I step back immediately, looking down, apologizing for approaching him so closely. I hope he understands that it would have become a real mess if that milk had boiled over. I was only trying to help.

When I look up through my lashes, prepared for him to lash out at me, I see that he is looking at me, dazed. "Thanks."

I only then realize I have been holding my breath. My head is throbbing in time with my heart and I try to calm myself down.

Oh, my. _Nothing happened. He's not angry. It's okay._

_I'm okay._

Filling the mugs, he puts them both on the breakfast bar. "Honey?"

_What?_

My head whips up at his words and he chuckles. "In the milk, silly."

Oh, of course.

My breath escapes in a mixture of a laugh and a gasp. Oh fuck, why am I blushing? I look away, hoping it will not be noticed in the dim light in the kitchen. My hands are fidgeting frantically, nervously, betraying my unease.

A light scraping sound makes me look up from my mortification and I see how Edward is moving one of the stools to the other side of the bar. He gestures for me to sit down and walks around again, taking his own place.

When I don't react, he looks up at me. "You know, I get it that you are scared, but I really won't do anything to you. Why don't you try it and see that I'm right?"

His words catch me off guard. Still, I don't want to sit so close to him.

I walk over to the bar and lean against the counter out of arm's reach. Edward looks at me with a look in his eyes I can't discern, and he keeps looking at me over the rim of his mug as he takes a sip of his milk.

Picking up my milk too, I let the mug warm my hands. I seem to be cold always lately, and ever since I got to Forks it has become significantly worse.

"So, do you like it here so far?"

Is he seriously asking this? How am I supposed to answer that? I don't know anything yet about this family. I don't know what my life will look like here. I don't think I can have an opinion about this yet. Plus, what will happen if I say either yes or no?

"See, that's what I mean," he says so softly I can barely hear him. "Why don't you answer questions?" It sounds like a pledge.

I frown a little and sigh, although I am not sure whether he was addressing me or not. Obviously I can't answer 'why'-questions without writing something down, and I can't tell Edward how I don't know what the consequences of my answers will be.

It's like when you are arrested: Everything you say can and will be used against you.

We stay quiet for a moment and I get the feeling that although Edward is very awkward around me, he doesn't mind to sit in silence. I wonder how talkative he is himself, usually.

"So, how is your head?" he suddenly asks. "Is it getting better?"

I nod in affirmation, wondering where he wants to go with this. Conversations with people always put me on edge.

I shouldn't have come down here.

"Good," he says. "You took quite the fall. You were completely out."

Yeah, I don't really remember anything about that.

"When are you planning to go to school with us? _Are_ you planning to go to school with us?"

Taking a sip of my milk, I think for a moment. I don't know really. Esme told me that I'd have to get better first. I haven't been to school in weeks and although I do like it, I'm not looking forward to going to a new school with hundreds of new faces, questions, suspicions. I guess in time though that I will have to go.

To answer Edward's question, I shake my head and shrug a little. I hope he understands that I don't know.

"Yeah, I guess you have to get better first," he says, again more to himself than to me. He finishes his milk, putting the mug back on the breakfast bar with a thud. "I have to try and get some sleep, maybe," he says apologetically. "My alarm goes off in less than three hours." He rubs his face with both hands, then lets them travel to his hair again as he looks back at me. "But I guess that's not really your concern." He gives me a small smile, almost tentatively. "Are you coming to bed, too? Or will you be okay here?"

I indicate I want to stay downstairs, hoping he will not mind. Edward nods and bids me goodnight, then leaves the kitchen.

The silence, when he is gone, feels empty.

**~O~**

I still can't sleep. I've given up hope about an hour ago and now I walk around the room slowly, trying to get the stiffness out of my body. My back is very sore and it's bothering me, and both are new sensations to me. I have not moved around enough. I have not been outside this house even since I ran on Saturday, which is a pretty disturbing thought, actually.

Slowly moving my shoulders and swinging my arms, I try to get the blood to flow a little again. Renée's quilt, which I have wrapped around me, flutters slowly with my movements.

The scent is gone.

I knew it would evaporate, but I never thought it would leave so soon. Had I known this, I might have tried to memorize the scent.

I was too late.

Wrapping the blanket around me like a cloak, I walk around. I sit on the bed, then walk a little. I sit on the chair, then walk a little.

I try not to think.

I don't succeed. In the early morning, the skin on my wrist is burning from the many times I have snapped the rubber band against it.

Finally, when it's really no use to go to sleep anymore, I give in to the temptation and boot the laptop that has been waiting patiently on the desk.

It's not a user interface I am familiar with, but it takes my mind off things wonderfully as I try to figure out how it all works. It's very intuitive, I discover, and it doesn't take me very long to find how to browse the web for some news and to check my email.

I have unread messages from Renée, but I don't read them yet. I don't want to know what they say. I don't want her to ask if I like it here.

I don't want her to ask if I am okay.

Because I don't think I am. Not really.

I sigh. I don't know.

The fact that I am still not sleeping because I am wound too tight with anxiety might be a sign.

The warm milk didn't help. The conversation with Edward didn't either.

Somehow I can't help but think back to Alice's words yesterday: 'No panic attack?'

What does this mean? It feels like a bad thing to let my guard down. Then again, nothing happened. Edward really was kind to me. He made me the milk — at least, he tried to. He didn't say nasty things. He could have easily gotten his way with me if he had wanted to. We were alone in the kitchen and I could not fight him if I wanted to, or even if I tried. I think he is much stronger than he looks. He carried me with ease last Sunday. I remember that now.

Anxiety explodes in me when I think back on that.

No, I promised myself I was not going to think.

I listen as the family wakes up, concentrating on the sounds. Very faintly, I can hear different alarms go off throughout the house. Then the familiar sounds of a family getting up start and I stand and listen.

When I have seen the Cullen kids leave, two expensive looking cars disappearing down the endless driveway, I open the door resolutely and go downstairs.

As expected, the breakfast remains are still on the table. With renewed determination and — finally — a sense of purpose, I clean it all up. By the time Esme finds me in the kitchen, impeccably dressed and stunningly beautiful, she looks aghast.

"You did this?"

Yes.

"You know you don't have to do this, Bella," Esme continues. It's not a question. It's a statement.

But I _want_ to. Maybe I should tell her.

Yes. I nod once, more to myself than anything else, and I pull out the notepad from the pocket of my sweater. From the corner of my eye, I see a small smile appearing on Esme's face.

_I want to do this._

Esme reads the note and looks back up at me. "Why?" A beat. "You don't have to make yourself useful. You don't have to worry about that here," she adds in a softer voice. "We want you to relax here." She stops and thinks. "Bella, we invited you to come and live with us unconditionally. You don't have to do anything to pay for your stay, or to make up for being with us. You are welcome here. We _expect _you to take it easy and we certainly expect you to _not_ do household activities here. You don't have to be afraid that we will send you away "

Huh.

But what should I _do_ then?

Seeing my confusion, Esme clarifies. "I don't know if this will work, but from now on, you are not allowed to do household activities. Is that clear?"

Holy shit! What does she mean by this? Does Carlisle agree? What do I do?

"Is that clear, Bella?"

Meeting her determined gaze, I nod once, wide-eyed.

"Good. Thank you very much for clearing the table, that was very kind of you. But don't do it again. You are making _me_ feel useless," she says with a wink, and she possibly confuses me further.

I stand at the breakfast bar still, holding it with one hand for support.

"How is the dizziness? Is it better?"

It is, and very much so. I do wish however that the stiffness in my muscles would go away. I nod at Esme to answer her question, and she smiles back at me.

"That's good to hear. We have things to do today. But first, have you seen Edward down here?"

I haven't. I easily come to the conclusion that he overslept. He will be late for school and it will be my fault. I kept him up in the kitchen last night.

Shit.

Wait — things to do today?

Esme, in the meantime, has reached the stairs. "Edward!" she calls up, making me flinch. "Get down here or you'll be even later!"

Oh, no. Will he be in trouble for this?

Turning back to me, Esme asks kindly if I have eaten yet. "Would you like some porridge?"

Oh. Oh, yes, please. But will she become angry with me when she finds out that I am the one at fault for Edward's oversleeping? I mean, he already was in the kitchen when I got down there, but still…

Apparently seeing the longing in my gaze, Esme smiles again and turns to prepare the meal. She starts talking as she is concentrating on her work, leaving me to listen to her and take my meds.

Or, so I thought.

"We will only do this if you agree to come with, so remember that you do have a say in this. But I want to take you to the hospital today, to get your neck and throat checked. It will be the last time," she finishes, looking up at me for a moment.

I stand frozen, the glass with my meds still in mid air.

"I understand you don't like the prospect of this, but your health is very important, Bella. Don't you want to know if your voice is healing?"

Is she serious? What do I care about my voice?

Seeing my face, she chuckles softly. "Maybe not yet," she murmurs, looking back at the pan in which she is heating the milk. It's the same pan Edward used last night. I cleaned it before I went to bed.

Soft shuffling sounds behind me tell me that Edward is stepping into the kitchen.

His hair is a complete mess and he looks altogether rumpled. And moody. He is wearing the sweater I borrowed on Saturday.

Could he be moody because I kept him up last night?

I look at him tensely, closely following his every moment to see any signs of impending danger.

"Morning," Esme greets him, but Edward doesn't even look up. He gets a mug from the cabinet and picks up the coffee pot in one smooth, practiced movement.

Esme is not angry, it seems. She's not happy, but she's not angry.

"Do I smell oatmeal?" Edward asks as he leans back against the counter, blowing the steam off his coffee before he takes a sip. He is standing in the exact same place I was last night. And he doesn't seem to be angry with me. I would have known that by now, wouldn't I?

"You do," Esme answers as she places a bowl before me on the breakfast bar. She looks at me, then points at the oatmeal. "Sit. Eat. You can do it."

What has happened that she is suddenly so very clear with me? It's liberating.

And a bit scary.

And confusing.

Not that I can eat, but still.

"Can I have some?"

"You have to go to school, Edward. Your brothers and sisters already left and you will miss too many classes if you leave any later."

Rubbing his face, he sighs. "I'm sorry. I slept horribly."

Esme turns from the stove and looks up at her son. "How come?"

Edward shrugs, one hand tugging at his hair as he takes another sip from his coffee.

"You know you can talk to me," Esme points out.

"I know. I just don't want to talk about it," Edward replies. "So can I have the oatmeal?"

"No. I did not heat enough milk and you have to go to school. Now."

"Yeah. Going." Looking over at me, he smiles gently, then leaves the kitchen. "Bye!"

When he is gone, Esme looks back at me. "You look tired, too. How did _you_ sleep?"

Not at all, actually, and I'm starting to feel it. I shrug, not being able to lie but not wanting to tell the truth either. I stir the oatmeal slowly, waiting for my chance to eat.

Esme sighs softly, thinking for a moment. "We have to be at the hospital at two, if you agree to come. It will be a female doctor. If it gets too much for you, you can let me know and it will stop. But your progress has to be monitored, so I… _want_ you to come with me."

My head whips up at her words.

Esme looks at me closely. "But it's all up to you Bella. You are the one in control here."

I. Am. _So._ Confused.

The sound of a slamming door distracts me and scares me shitless at the same time. Cringing, I look warily into the direction where the sound came from. Slamming doors are never a good sign. Ever.

Edward stomps back into the kitchen and where I only just thought he looked moody, now he is positively livid.

I tense up, closely watching his every movement and trying desperately to keep my breathing under control.

I don't like angry people. Do I make a run for it?

Esme looks at him, not in the least put out by his angry appearance, and waits for him to speak.

"Car won't start," Edward spits out.

"Oh, that's not good. Do you know what's wrong with it?"

"It's something Rosalie needs to fix. _Fuck_," he mutters as an afterthought, pacing through the kitchen.

"Language."

Edward stops and looks at his mother. "Can I take your car then?"

Esme starts, looking up at him. "No, I need it myself. I guess I will have to drop you off." She turns to me. "What do we do? Do you want to come along?" She hesitates. "You haven't even had breakfast yet. This is a dilemma. Are you okay being alone here for about an hour?"

Are you kidding me? _Yes_ I am okay with this!

I nod, carefully trying to hide my excitement.

Esme frowns a little and for a moment I'm expecting her to leave me with a list of chores to do while she is away. Stefan used to do that all the time, and often it was a list I would never be able to finish before he got back. When Esme starts to speak however, it's not what I expected. "I'm not comfortable with this." She looks a little distressed.

"Mom, I think Bella is perfectly capable of handling an hour by herself. If anything, I think she might enjoy it."

I look at Edward, stunned. What a mood swing! And then he winks at me.

I look away quickly, not knowing what to do. Did he seriously just _wink_ at me?

Esme looks at Edward, then at me. She is clearly lost. She has not seen the wink. "Are you sure?"

I nod.

"I don't like this at all," Esme mutters, lost in thought. "But then again…" She looks at me, the worry clear in her eyes. "Do you have your phone with you?"

I point to the ceiling. It's upstairs.

"If you need me, just call, okay? I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Yes, mom," Edward answers for me behind Esme in a playful tone. He lightens up the atmosphere a bit and Esme sighs a laugh. "I just don't want you to feel left alone here."

I shake my head. I don't mind to be alone. I really don't.

"Okay. Well, we have to go now or you'll miss second period even," she says to Edward. Then she looks back at me again. "Are you sure you don't want to come? Then you could see the school."

I shake my head again. Please leave me here. Please.

"Mom, let's go," Edward interrupts.

"Yes," Esme sighs. "I'll be back within the hour," she reassures me. The look on her face is pained when she turns to leave.

And then finally, finally, they are gone and I am alone in the house.

I stand for a moment in the kitchen, listening to the vague sounds of the house and of a car leaving the driveway. When I can't hear them anymore, I attack my — now lukewarm — oatmeal.

Eating when entirely alone is such a treat for me, I can't believe this is really happening.

Laurent used to play games with me. He would take my food away after mere minutes, or he would deprive me of food for days. He would press my face into it until I thought I would pass out for lack of air. He would put Tabasco on my dinner and make me eat it.

He used to keep me on my toes always.

Not that I didn't deserve it. But it was stressful.

Now I really rather eat when I am alone. When I know I won't be interrupted.

The one thing he never disturbed me with, was cooking. Stefan always left me alone while I was cooking as well. I still wonder why, but I think it was just because they couldn't even get water to boil by themselves. They needed me to get a meal on the table.

And as I am Pavlov's dog personified, I can now cook easily, but not eat in company.

Done eating, I stand up, stretching my sore muscles. What's with the stiffness all of a sudden? Clearing away my bowl, I decide to use the opportunity of being alone by getting to know the house.

I walk around slowly, listening to the sounds and really taking in my surroundings for the first time.

The Cullens have a truly beautiful home. Everything is decorated in easy, earthly colors and although I know that the furniture must be expensive, it doesn't look ostentatious. Even in the vast living room there is unmistakable homey feeling.

I walk past the baby grand that would be Edward's. I have not heard him play and I wonder if he is any good. It would be a shame of such an expensive piano if its owner could only play 'Mary had a little lamb'.

Then again, that's more than I'll ever be able to, so who am I to judge?

Wandering further through the house, I come across the library again. They have told me on my first day here I was welcome to go here any time and read. Would they keep that promise? I consider trying to read something now, but reconsider swiftly. When I was working on the laptop this morning I learned that concentrating on tiny letters is not something my head agrees with as yet. It will have to wait.

Back into the living room, I sit down on the couch for the first time. It's a very comfortable couch. No wonder Edward fell asleep in it. I cuddle up in the corner and finally feel how the stressed muscles in my back relax a little.

I think back on all Esme has said this morning. And on what Carlisle has said yesterday after I agreed to let him check me. Their demeanor has changed, it seems. I do not yet know what to think of this.

What stuns me most is the complete lack of hostility in this house. The other children, when they do something wrong, are told so, but they are not punished. Esme was not overly mad at Edward for oversleeping.

Edward did not blame me either. Not yet, at least.

Esme said something that rattled me. She said that I am the one in control here. What does she mean by that?

An unknown emotion bubbles up in my stomach and I frown, not knowing what to do with this. All the words they have said, all the things they have done… Everything is focused on assuring me that I will not be hurt here.

Could this _not_ be a trick?

I sigh deeply, willing the weird feeling in my stomach away and forbidding myself to be so careless.

It's been four days only. They'll probably just wait until I won't be going anywhere again and then strike full force.

I need to distract myself, lest I go mad.

Outside, it's raining as usual, a greyish green glow flowing through the house. I can see the water running down the windows. Esme must have a hard time here to keep the windows clean.

Oh, maybe I should help her with…

No, I can't. She has forbidden me explicitly to do any household activities. I wonder why — it didn't sound like she thought I wasn't any good at it, but could she have meant that?

Shit.

What if I am not good enough?

I curse myself. What a stupid question.

Of course I am not good enough. I am never good enough. Stefan has told me more times than I care to remember that I am, nor ever will be, good enough. That it didn't matter what he did to me, because I was a lost cause.

Tired of fighting and uselessly trying to sting the memories away with the rubber band, I let them wash over me and cry.

**~O~**

I must have fallen asleep because I'm startled awake by the sound of the front door opening. I sit up quickly, an almighty head rush almost causing me to fall forward off the couch.

My eyes burn with fatigue and from crying and my entire body is stiff again. I'm paying the price for missing a night's sleep.

Esme walks into the living room and I stand up quickly, ready to face her.

"Oh," she gasps as she looks at my face, which is probably red and puffy still, "have you been crying? I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have left you alone."

How do I tell her that she is wrong? I shake my head, already dreading having to use the notepad.

"Sit with me," she says as she takes her place on the other end of the couch, patting the seat beside her in an inviting gesture.

Hesitantly, I sit back down in the corner where I slept. It's still warm.

"Weere you scared just now, while you were alone?"

Ah, no. Not at all, even.

"But you have been upset. I can see you have been crying." It's more a statement than anything else.

Please, I don't want to talk about this. I'm too tired to keep my guard up.

Esme smiles reassuringly as she sees my hesitation. "I guess sometimes we just need to cry. As long as you were not uncomfortable being alone here. Did everything go well?"

I nod.

"You fell asleep, didn't you?" Her voice is genuinely kind when she asks this. There is not a hint of accusation in her question.

I sit quietly, not really knowing what to do. Besides, I don't answer obvious questions.

"Bella, if you ever want to talk about something, or want a hug or a smile or just be around, I'm here for you."

I cock my head. Let's not think about those words.

"Anyway, we have plans. You need clothes."

Inwardly, I am amazed by her change of topic, but I try not to let it show. I am relieved that she doesn't want to talk about me. And, I do need clothes.

"As shopping is not possible as yet, with your concussion, I have asked Rosalie to lay out some of her clothes you could borrow. And I will lend you some of mine, too, so we have a workaround until you have your own clothes. How's that?"

Well, I guess I do need them. And I guess it makes me feel slightly better to know that I am borrowing things. That means that the Cullens won't have to spend any extra money on me.

Money I would never be able to pay back.

"Okay, come on," Esme says and she stands up, leading the way upstairs to the master bedroom.

It's grand and beautiful and I really don't have any words to describe this little haven. Esme sees me looking around and chuckles.

"I decorated this. I decorated the entire house. It's a hobby of mine. I don't have time to work with seven children under my wings."

Again, she refers to all the other people in this house as her children, and again she includes me in her reference.

That weird feeling in my stomach is bubbling up again. What is wrong with me today?

Esme holds up clothes of all kinds to me, from pants to skirts to sweaters to lighter tops. "Try it on and keep what fits. Then, when you are better, we can try to buy some things for you later this week. What size are you?"

I shrug, because I don't know anymore. I have lost so much weight that all my old clothes must be too big now, too.

Esme looks at me searchingly, and I wonder what she is looking for. Then she scoops up all the clothes and leads the way to the guest room. I follow her, cautiously but curiously. What has happened here? Why this change of attitude?

In the guestroom, she puts the clothes on the bed and turns to look at me. I hover in the doorway, waiting to see what will happen.

"I want you to select the clothes that fit, and I want you to unpack your suitcase. It's about time," Esme smiles at me. "We are not going to send you away. I hope you will want to stay with us, too."

Esme looks down at the clothes, then back at me. "I take it you will want to try this by yourself?"

I nod.

"Then please, do. Take your time and come find me when you are done, okay?"

With a last reassuring smile, she leaves me in my room. I flop down on the bed and think back to Esme's words.

'_I hope you will want to stay with us.'_

I let her words sink in and it feels as if they hit me in slow motion. That weird feeling in my stomach comes back full force as I realize this is what _I_ want.

I want to stay, too.

* * *

_The twitterati knew what was going on when I posted this. Thanks for helping me lovelies._

_I hope you liked Edward in this chapter. He's trying so hard, he really is. And I think Bella is making steady progress_! _As ever, would I love to know what you think._

_Next update - probably not next weekend, but you know I try to give you more as fast as I can. My real life struggles are far from over..._


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N I don't own Twilight. I wish.**

_Thank you all for your wonderful reviews. I never thought I would get to the point where I'd get so many I don't have time to answer them all. I cherish each and every one of them. Thank you so much, you make my endeavor worth wile!_

_Special thanks to Sherryola for ascertaining me that this chapter was right. Special shout out to mmwa. I'd like to propose a Best Reviewer Award and nominate her. Girl, you rock my socks!_

_Mood music: Linkin Park - Somewhere I belong. Enjoy!_

_

* * *

_I sort through the clothes and pick out what I want to try, leaving the skirts and tight fitting tops on the side from the start. I keep a couple of tank tops, figuring I can put them on underneath Esme's pyjamas or under my sweater.

All the clothes are too big. They are either Rosalie's or Esme's. Rosalie of course is about ten feet taller than I am, and Esme is apparently bigger in girth. For the first time, I really wonder how much weight I must have lost. As I don't like to look at my body, either directly or via a mirror, I can only tell I have lost weight by the way my own clothes hang around me where they once fit.

I shrug. It's not important.

When I am done, I have a small pile of clothes I could consider to wear, and a big pile of clothes I want to give back to Esme. Deciding it's a bit unnecessary to bring them downstairs, I leave them on my bed and I bring the clothes I want to keep with my suitcase to the walk-in closet in the room. I'm in the Cullen's debt so much already. I force myself not to think of this too much.

I am so tired. My heart is pounding heavily, and to me that's a tell tale sign of my fatigue. Falling asleep on the couch in the middle of a living room could be interpreted as a sign as well. I wish I could go to sleep, but I'm not sure if Esme will be okay with this. So far she has never told me off for sleeping at the most ungodly hours, but surely her patience must come to an end soon?

And, as so far things have been going pretty okay, I would dearly like to stay in Esme's good graces. So I collect myself, rub my face to get rid of the drowsiness a little, and go downstairs to meet the woman I should probably call my foster mother.

She is bustling around in the kitchen, emptying the dishwasher. She stands up and greets me with a smile as she notices me.

"Boy, you really are quiet," she says. "Did you sort through the clothes?"

I nod, a bit apprehensive still.

"Was there anything to your liking? I know they are borrowed clothes, but I hope you know this is only a temporary solution."

Her words confuse me, so I do nothing. The only thing I am worried about is that I feel guilty to be wearing others' clothes. Getting new ones would be worse, though. I don't have any money to pay the Cullens back.

Esme then gestures towards the kitchen table, which has a newspaper on it. "We're old-fashioned," she says almost apologetically, "and we like to read the _paper_ paper still. Renée told us you like to keep track of the news, so…"

I look from the table to Esme. Again I am stunned by the ways in which they try to accommodate me.

"Coffee?"

I nod, too surprised to be wary.

Wait. _Renée_ told them…?

What else did Renée say about me? Have they spoken to her after they collected me at the airport?

Distracted by the questions that bombard my mind, I see how Esme sets the coffee down on the kitchen table. "I need to go to the laundry room. Will you be okay here? Why don't you sit and read for a while, and drink some coffee?"

My eyes must be wide. I can't remember the last time I blinked at this point in time. Something has happened yesterday. While I was out, maybe. Esme is completely different with me. It's liberating, confusing, alarming and relaxing all at the same time.

"Sit. Come find me if you need me, but maybe you could just try to relax a little? The anxiety must wear you out."

It does, actually. But it's not like I can turn it off.

"I'll leave you here now. Will you be okay?"

I nod again. I think the questions wear me out even more than the anxiety does, come to think of it.

"Good. Enjoy," Esme smiles, and then she leaves the kitchen.

I hear her footsteps trail away and I am left behind stunned. My thoughts are tumbling in my head and it takes me an effort to finish even the one coherent sentence. Esme has left me here to read the paper, something I do really enjoy. I am alone, but she didn't leave with an angry word or show me any sign of annoyance or irritation.

Sitting down at the kitchen table gingerly, I scan the headlines of the paper. The realization hits me that I am actually in a different state right now. The local current affairs are foreign to me. I don't recognize the names, the faces.

I am so far away from what has been my home for almost four years, and although I will not miss the house I shared with Stefan, I already miss the blazing Phoenix sun. I miss the heat, the colors, the drought.

I will probably never set foot there again.

And I will probably never see Renée again.

All of a sudden, I feel desperately lonely.

A tear slips from my eye before I can stop myself and then another follows, and another. And another. I can't control the sobs that escape me, either.

I am alone. Who will I turn to if this goes bad? I have no Renée here to help me. The desperation I felt when I first set foot in this house washes over me again. I wouldn't even be able to make it to the main road if I ever wanted to flee this place.

For once, my rationale speaks up, albeit timidly. _So far, everything has been okay_. _Maybe you won't need to run_.

And then again, however bad it will get here, I will be eighteen in eleven months, and then I can leave. As long as they won't kill me, I can bear it.

I can do this. I will have to.

Still… I can't seem to stop crying, but be it for fear or fatigue I can no longer tell. It's all so new here, and so confusing. Maybe I will miss Phoenix because when I was there, at least I knew what to expect. I knew the rules of the game. I knew what to do.

Here, I don't know. I have tried to help out and have been told not to. I have provoked and got no anger in return. I have shown them what I think is right and apparently insulted. I have stood my ground and they accepted. I have waited every night, but no one has come. I ran, and was welcomed back.

No beatings. No insults. No nightly visits. No mind games. Except if the last five days have been a façade, but somehow even my evil mind finds that hard to believe.

The only conclusion I can come to now is that they obviously have not realized as yet who and what I am. When they do, the winds will change, I am certain.

I have to keep my guard up. I don't want to be disappointed. It's better to prepare for the worst, because the worst will always happen eventually.

It always has, so far.

The coffee is long gone when I hear Esme's footsteps approaching in the quiet house. I wipe my face quickly, but of course she notices immediately I have been crying when she steps into the kitchen. Her gentle smile changes to a worried look in an instant.

"What's wrong?" she asks softly as she sits down opposite of me.

With a sharp pang I realize again this woman knows _everything_ about me. She has read my file. She knows it all. I cannot meet her gaze.

"Bella? What's wrong? Did anything happen?" More pressing now.

I shake my head, looking down at the empty coffee mug I am holding with both hands. It's just all too much. And Esme's genuine concern only seems to add to my despair. Roughly, I wipe my face with my sleeve. I cannot break down now. I have learned to control my tears. Holding my breath for a moment, I will my eyes to dry again.

"Honey, if you need to cry, just let it all out," Esme says softly. "I will not blame you for it, in fact nobody will."

Finally, I look up at her. I try not to blink, or my tears will spill over again.

I must look a mess. Not that I care.

"Will you tell me what worries you?"

I shake my head. Even if I wanted to talk about it, I don't think I would be able to put my thoughts into words.

"Can I tell you what I think it is?"

I shrug a little. She won't ever guess right, anyway.

"Are your memories bothering you?"

I shake my head softly. See? She won't ever guess.

"I think then maybe you feel a bit overwhelmed by it all?"

I cannot hide my surprise at her statement, which is formed into a question, which is exactly dead on right.

"That's okay, you know. You've been through a lot and I think you are handling it all fabulously. You are such a strong person, Bella. You have no idea."

I don't believe her.

"It's okay if you feel a little intimidated. We don't expect you to be at home here after such a short while. It will take time. I know you are used to live with few people around you, and we are a big family. If you ever feel overwhelmed, please know that we don't mind if you want to seek some quiet for yourself."

I look back down at my mug again, not knowing what Esme expects me to do right now.

"Bella."

Her earnest voice makes me look back up at her again. "We won't hurt you. We really won't. You are welcome here."

How often is she going to say that to me?

"And I will keep repeating this until you believe me."

A half-smile escapes me. She better prepare for disappointment. I don't easily believe people.

"More coffee?"

I nod at this. I am very tired and coffee at least keeps me thinking straight.

God, what a day. What five days. I expected a lot when I came here. But not this. Never this.

Esme refills my mug and I automatically lean away from her to create some space between us.

When she sits back down again, she picks up her own cup and blows the steam away. "Bella, can I ask you something?"

Isn't that all she does?

"When was the last time you received a hug?"

I almost drop my own mug in surprise at her question. Looking at Esme, I can see my surprise has not gone unnoticed and she looks worried. Do I answer this question? Then again, I have nothing to lose from it, do I?

So I shake my head and shrug. I don't know. I can't remember. Laurent's traps do not count in my definition of a hug. I honestly don't remember if my mother ever hugged me. It's all so long ago and a lot of my memories have blurred together into one painful haze. Whatever.

But, why is Esme asking me this question?

My expression must prompt her of my unspoken question, because she explains herself. "I was just curious. You are so unfamiliar with kindness, it seems."

Mentally, I shrug again. I am. Because I obviously don't deserve it. Do we really need to go down this road again? Looking back at my coffee, I trace the edge of my mug with my fingertips. How long do I have to keep sitting here until I can leave?

"Edward told me that he saw you in the kitchen last night."

I look up at her in alarm, but Esme is smiling kindly. "He said that you didn't panic, which he was pleased about. And he said that you had hot milk together?"

I nod carefully, still wide eyed. What else did Edward say? Did he tell on me being out of bed in the middle of the night again?

"I must confess I am happy to hear that you went out to help yourself," Esme says and her gentle smile is transforming in a downright beam. "And I am happy that the panic attacks seem to be lessening."

Okay, so she's not angry, it would seem. That could be a good sign, right?

"Bella, did you sleep at all last night?"

Gah. This woman and her questions. Do I really look that tired? I know I _feel_ that way, but does it show that clearly?

"You can go and take a nap now, if you want to. We have a few hours before we need to go to the hospital."

I shake my head. No, I don't want to sleep. I don't want to test her patience. I don't want to be unconscious and unaware of what happens around me.

I don't want to give up control.

Esme looks at me searchingly, then bows her head and concedes. "Well enough. Is there anything else you want to do? You can do anything you want."

I look down at my coffee, biting my lip. I don't know. Her questions make me anxious and I am weary of the communication.

"Do you want me to sit with you?"

I shake my head, still not looking up.

"Okay," Esme finally says. "I'll go about my business then. I hope you will feel free enough to make yourself at home here, Bella."

Finally, mercifully, she gets up and leaves me alone in the kitchen. As soon as she has left the room, I can exhale and let some of the pent up tension evaporate with my breath.

Oh, my God. How am I ever going to make it here?

**~O~**

I stay in the kitchen, doing nothing and enjoying the silence, until Esme comes back and convinces me to have lunch. After, I help to clean up the dishes in spite of her protests. Then she produces a thick winter coat, which she holds up for me.

I take it from her, gingerly, and put it on. It's nice and warm and not overly big on me. And it's a very beautiful coat. Burberry, if I'm not mistaken.

Looking down at the coat and looking back up at Esme, I smile at her in thanks. Esme beams back at me, her eyes twinkling in delight.

"It suits you well," she says. "Now, are you ready to come to the hospital with me?"

Ah, I have been preparing myself for this. Knowing and expecting they will probably not get off my back about this until I give in, I also know that the best way to deal with this is just to get it over with. It won't get any easier and Carlisle and Esme both seem to feel very strongly about me going to the hospital.

They tell me it's my decision, but I just _know_ that when I refuse to go, they will talk and talk and talk until I give in. If they are kind enough to leave it with talking, although the thought that they would hurt me to get me to the hospital strikes even me as being particularly ridiculous.

Let's save us both that struggle.

So I nod, and Esme doesn't hesitate when she invites me to follow her to the garage.

I haven't been here before, I realize, and I look around the garage that could easily hold up to six cars. At this moment, I can only see a silver car, a Volvo I think, and a black Ford. In the corner stands a motorcycle that looks like it came directly out of a movie.

Mentally, I add this with what I already know - two cars left this house this morning and I know that Carlisle has a Mercedes. I look up at Esme, surprised.

She chuckles at my amazement and opens the passenger door of the Ford for me. "We're old money, Bella. Didn't Renée tell you that? Besides, we need means of transportation so far out here."

No, Renée didn't tell me exactly how rich these people were. But I guess I could have known this - a man alone, even if he is a doctor, would have a hard time providing for a family of seven on his own.

We get into the car and the seats are so comfortable I can finally relax my lower back a little. The release of the tension hurts so much I automatically tense up again. My body is weary. I'm really starting to feel the lack of sleep.

I look out of the car windows and all I can see is _green_. Esme talks to me on the road, telling me about how the children got their cars (and the one bike, which is Jasper's) for their sixteenth birthdays. Alice had wanted a Porsche or nothing, so she got nothing, or at least not a car. Alice knew this and was fine with it.

Esme hastens to tell me that the kids are not spoiled, but what's the use of having big money when you don't enjoy it?

And then the focus of the conversation shifts to me, just as I feared. "Do you drive?"

No.

"Oh! Then you should learn! Would you like to learn to drive?"

I shrug. What's the use? Besides, there are so many complications with only the prospect of me learning to drive… I can't even begin to formulate that.

"Maybe in time," Esme smiles at me, then turns her attention back to the road.

She points out various things to me as we drive through the town. The school, the postal office, the police station. She tells me that the nearest place for real shopping is Port Angeles, and that she'll take me there someday.

Everything is tiny here. Even the hospital is smaller than I imagined it, and I was already thinking in playmobil sizes. Ah, well.

Esme guides me towards the entrance and before we go in, she stops and looks at me. "Remember, if it gets too much, let me know and we'll stop. This is about you and your well being."

I nod at Esme and I can tell she is worried, but about what, I can't tell. My mind is preparing herself and scuttles backwards, ready to shut down if needs be. The best way to prevent anxiety is just to accept what will come to pass. It will happen anyway.

Following Esme, I barely register the words she directs at me as we walk to the right floor. Something about a female doctor and no need to be scared.

In the waiting room, Esme points me to a chair while she goes to the reception to say we have arrived. Very faintly, I can hear the receptionist say, "Oh, Mrs. Cullen, did we not call you? Dr. Peterson called in sick, Dr. Brown is replacing her today."

Before I can process those words, the doctor's office opens and a grumpy looking man comes out. "Swan?"

I look up at the man. He's tall, he looks intimidating. He looks like he is in a foul mood.

Men in foul moods often do not have patience to spare.

I look at Esme, who has seen me, thank God, and comes to me. "Do you want to go through with this?" she asks earnestly. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Come on, I don't have all day," I hear to my right. Yes, he sounds impatient enough.

What do I do? I look at the doctor, who holds out his arm to invite us into his office. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this, but the look of authority on his face closes the deal for me. I get up and follow the man into his office.

"I'm Dr. Brown and I stand in for Dr. Peterson today." He shakes Esme's hand first and then holds out his hand for me, but when I don't comply he looks almost scandalized.

We sit at his desk. You can cut a knife through the tension in this room.

"What I can do for you." It's not even a real question.

From the corner of my eye, I see Esme raise an eyebrow. "Doctor, have you not read her file?" she asks carefully.

"I don't have time for such nonsense." He shifts his gaze to me. "Why are you here?"

I look at Esme and hope she will help me. It was a bad decision to come into this office. Is her offer to stop at any moment still standing?

"She is here for a check up. Someone has tried to strangle her a little over two weeks ago."

She says 'someone.' She gives as little information as possible. Why? Is she ashamed to tell more?

"Ah," the doctor says, but there is little sympathy in his voice. Not that I deserve it, or want it, but even I know that it's a big thing that has happened to me and his complete lack of reaction is unexpected. "Vocal chords damaged, I presume?"

I nod to answer his question. Then he looks at Esme again. "Fill me in, please?"

Esme sighs in frustration. "It's all in her file, sir. I would feel better if you would look it up."

"Like I said," Dr. Brown says in his bored tone, "I don't have time for that. This day is a chaos as it is."

"We just want to know if she is healing well. I believe this should be the last check."

The man nods and gestures for me to go and sit on the examination table. "Remove the scarf, please."

I do as I'm told, my mind at the ready to retreat if the anxiety becomes too much. How the hell did I end up here?

"Lie back," the doctor says as he comes towards me.

No. No way in hell.

I shake my head slowly. I don't want to. Please don't make me. Please.

"And take off that sweater."

Now I am truly alarmed. I don't want this! On my previous check ups I didn't have to do any of this, at all.

"Doctor," Esme speaks from behind him, "I don't think Bella is comfortable with that. Could you try to do you examination with her sitting up?"

"Children and their whims," the man mutters. "Have you been playing the faint game?" he asks me softly, grimly, without Esme hearing, and then realization dawns. He hasn't read my file — can this man be thinking I played that awful game where teenagers cut off the air supply of their friends to make them faint and invoke a sense of high?

I don't have time to ponder over this question as the doctor brings his hands to my throat without warning whatsoever. I flinch violently and move away from him.

"What's this nonsense?" he asks, surprised.

I am panting now, a sense of total alarm putting my entire body on high alert. Behind the doctor, Esme gets up.

"I believe this examination is over," she says coldly.

Oh, no! What did I do? Did I do anything wrong? I couldn't help it that I was surprised by this man!

"I'm not done yet," the doctor says. This time he moves his hands slower, but as soon as he touches me I am so scared I almost wet myself. The feeling of hands on my skin there is utterly wrong and the memories of that last night with Stefan come crashing back down on me.

A tear escapes my eye before I can help myself and what's worse, is that somehow I can't find the retreat of my mind.

The doctor moves his hands over my neck and as I can't shut down, I finally just close my eyes. I'm wringing my hands so hard it's starting to hurt and my heart is crashing out of my chest. I'm starting to get dizzy.

When his hands leave me, I can finally exhale again and I slump forward, no longer able to keep my back straight. I have to fight the very strong urge to wrap my arms around my head and keep my hands locked together, wringing them so hard the tendons stand out.

"Now, open up."

My eyes snap open at his request.

_No._

The doctor sighs, exasperated. "I don't have patience for you teenagers trying to block me every step of the way," he says sternly. "Open up."

"No," Esme says behind me. She is livid. So she _can_ be angry. Is she angry with me? "You don't have to, Bella." Then she turns to the doctor. "I said, I believe this examination is over. You have no regards whatsoever for her feelings and I doubt you have even one ounce of compassion in you. Of course her injuries are not the result of some silly game," Esme hisses. "If you had read her file, you would have known her history and _hopefully_, you would not have treated her like you did. She is severely traumatized, doctor, and I am afraid that by your doing, you have added to that trauma. You can expect me to file a complaint against you. Bella, please come with me. You don't have to do this."

I am stunned by her speech. Looking carefully from her to the doctor, I see he isn't really bothered by her words. He still looks annoyed and shrugs. "Have it your way, then."

Esme holds out her arm to me and I snatch up my scarf and coat as I follow her out of the doctor's office. I have to hurry to keep up with her as she walks to the general reception desk at the front of the hospital.

Meanwhile, I have all the time in the world to worry myself into a frenzy. Is she angry with me? What will she do? What do I do? Then again, what did she say? _'She is severely traumatized, doctor.'_ What does that _mean_?

"Page Dr. Cullen for me, please," Esme tells the guy at the reception desk curtly, interrupting my thoughts.

Oh, shit! Why is she calling Carlisle? Is she going to leave it to him to deal with me?

"He's in a meeting, ma'am. I'm sorry, I can't disturb him."

"Of course you can. Just page him. Tell him his wife is here."

"I'm sorry, but I can't."

"Nonsense," Esme hisses.

I cringe. I don't like it when people are angry. They usually act it out on me. And I was just starting to hope that it would be different here. Shit. I wrap my arms around myself and prepare for the worst, while I try to keep my breathing under control. It's no use to try to run. I know that.

"Listen," she looks at the receptionist's nametag, "Matt, page Dr. Cullen and tell him his wife and Bella are waiting for him in his office."

This alarms me even more, probably. The receptionist eyes me, then looks back at Esme. What he sees in her eyes I don't know, but he picks up the phone and starts making the call.

Esme turns to me. "Come, Bella," she says with a friendly smile.

I narrow my eyes at her. Am I supposed to buy this?

"I'm not angry with you, I am angry with that incompetent doctor you just saw. I am so sorry I let it go on for so long. Will you please go with me to see Carlisle so we can find a solution?"

I'm too tired to fight and suppressing my panic attack has left me with a tightness in my chest that doesn't seem to go away. Besides, there is nowhere I can run and even if we were to go home right now, I would have to face Carlisle sooner or later.

So I follow Esme and we walk to Carlisle's office. The door is unlocked and she leads me inside, leaving the door ajar. The room looks remarkably like Carlisle's study in the house. Dark, mahogany furniture, bookcases lining the walls, big desk in the middle of the room. And here too is a couch, on which Esme sits down. She pats the seat beside her as per usual, but I decline. I'd rather stand to see what's coming my way.

Esme keeps explaining to me that she's not angry with me, but when she realizes I am barely listening, she stops talking.

I listen to the hushed sounds I can hear from the rest of the hospital. Footsteps, the squeak of a rolling bed, the faint constant noise that always seems to be present in big buildings. The hum of speaking voices.

Within minutes, I hear clear footsteps approaching and Carlisle steps into his office, looking worried. He greets me with a smile, then turns to Esme. As he sits down at his desk, she relays the story.

I am not listening. But I do hear how she seems to say that the doctor was wrong and I was doing well, according to her. Still, she's angry with the fact that she didn't got a notice the regular doctor was sick and with the sheer disinterest Dr. Brown seemed to handle it all. He had no regards whatsoever for my situation.

I let her words sink in and file them away to chew on later. Severely traumatized, no regards for my situation… What does Esme mean by all this?

Carlisle listens, his fingers pointed together under his chin, right ankle resting on left knee. "This is unfortunate indeed," he says finally. "How are you now, Bella? Are you okay?"

No, of course not.

"Listen, I have a proposition for you. I think I can arrange a female doctor for you, who can finish the examination. I know this day has been very stressful for you so far, but then again, you are already here and honestly, it can't get any worse than this." He chuckles after that, and I tiny smile escapes me as well. I think he is right.

Nodding my acquiescence, he picks up the phone and starts calling.

"I am proud of you," Esme says softly and I turn to her at the sound of her voice. "You are such a fighter. Thank you for trying."

He words confuse me and at the same time seem to do funny things with my guts. I'm starting to believe she really isn't angry with me. Combined with the things she has said earlier, both feelings multiply.

"Dr. Sue Clearwater will come to this office shortly," Carlisle informs us after he has hung up the phone. Then he turns to Esme alone. "Are you sure you want to file a complaint against Dr. Brown?"

"I do, Carlisle. I asked the man repeatedly to read Bella's file and he said he didn't want to. When I told him about her injuries, he thought they were probably the result of a silly teenage game."

Without really realizing, I nod to agree with Esme's last words.

"I will look into it. I believe he comes from an external agency. You'll have to fill out the form."

Esme nods. "The man has no regards for the feelings of his patients," she mutters. "I don't expect him to hold their hands, but a little more consideration would have been nice."

And then we wait for the new doctor to arrive. Esme leaves shortly to get us all something to drink and I listen to them both talking about various subjects. I am not really paying attention. I feel almost high with my lack of sleep right now. Everything is a buzz.

After about twenty minutes, a soft knock on the door alerts us that Dr. Clearwater is here. I am wide awake once more, and prepare myself for the worst. Again.

She is a tiny woman with kind eyes, russet skin and yet black hair. Her teeth are unbelievably white when she smiles in greeting. "Good day, Carlise, Esme. And nice to meet you, Bella."

I nod, on guard.

"I'm Dr. Clearwater, but everybody calls me Sue. Carlisle asked me to have a look at you. Is that okay with you?"

No, nothing is okay anymore. But, to go with Carlisle's words — it can't really get any worse than what has already happened, right?

"I understand you're apprehensive. And it's a bit crowded in here. Why don't all the men leave the room?" she asks without looking away from me.

"That would be my cue," Carlisle says softly, and with a greeting, he is gone.

"That's better," Sue smiles. "Why don't you sit down?" She gestures to one of the chairs and I comply. What else can I do? Besides, I think I like this woman a lot more so far than Dr. Brown.

Sue kneels before me, so she is looking up at me. "I _did_ look at your file Bella, and I can completely understand why you don't like to be touched. It's your good right, too. However, if we want to know if your injuries are healing well, I will have to touch you. Since you don't speak, I have brought this." She brings out a stress ball from her pocket. "You can squeeze it if you want to, but more importantly, you can drop it if it gets too much. Then I will stop immediately. How's that?"

I'm stunned. I take the ball from her and meet her eyes. I can only see reassurance there.

Yes, I think I can do this now.

Sue keeps talking to me the whole time. Her touch is gentle and she never surprises me. The one thing that is hardest for me is telling what hurts. I'm so used to the pain and I'm even more used to hiding it, and it's hard for me to admit that something is sore.

She checks my throat too, after some convincing from her part to actually open my mouth. It just feels so… vulnerable. Ugh.

The poor stress ball is getting squeezed the life out of it, but I realize it feels better to molest the ball than to wring my own hands.

And I never once drop it, not even when Sue checks my eyes for the tell tale red spots that indicate strangulation. These will take months to heal, but I know they are hidden by my eyelids mostly.

Afterwards, Esme is beaming and I feel incredibly relieved.

_I did it._

I just wish that tightness in my chest would go away.

Sue thanks me for working with her and tells me I can take my meds if I need them. I can also try some soft solid food again if I want to, as she guesses right that I have been losing weight lately. My voice will come back, although I should be hoarse for a while, "should you decide to speak."

Then she winks at me, and leaves the office.

I am still holding the ball.

I can't believe what just happened.

With a shaky sigh, I let the pent up tension escape.

**~O~**

We pick up Edward on the way home from the hospital. We have been in the hospital longer than anticipated, so Esme doesn't have the time to drop me off at the house before she goes to pick up Edward again. He has gotten detention for missing first period this morning, and his siblings apparently weren't going to wait for him.

As Esme stops the car at the school parking lot, I step out of the car to vacant the front seat. I stay outside for a moment, shielded by the car, trying to take in some fresh air.

The thing is I can't really breathe under water.

Esme gets out of the car as well and smiles at me. "I only just realized you haven't really been outside in the last couple of days. Now that you have a coat, it should be easier for you to get out and get some fresh air. You can, you know."

I'm just very nervous to be moving around freely yet. And I can't, and am afraid to, ask for clarity.

I try to remember how long it took for me to fall into a rhythm when I was with Stefan. It was so much easier there but then again, they had the house rules displayed on the fridge. And they told me, to the letter, what I should do and when. And when I should be done.

"Ah, there he is," Esme says and she looks into the direction of the school. The ridiculously tiny school, which is deserted but for the one person walking towards the car. Edward.

Esme and Edward talk on the way home, but I find it's getting hard to concentrate on their words. When Edward asks how it went today in the hospital, Esme grumbles something that sounds remarkably like "some people are jerks," but I'm not sure.

"So, you're not angry anymore?" Edward asks his mother then and then I realize that Esme _did_ tell Edward off for oversleeping — she just did it when I wasn't around.

"I'm not angry. It's your own responsibility, Edward."

"Yeah, I know."

I close my eyes and let myself be lulled by the movements of the car.

"How was school today?"

"Okay, I guess. Tons of homework as usual."

"You still on top of things?"

A beat. "Yes, why?"

"You seem off, lately."

Another silence, and the rustle of cloth. I wager he's either shrugging or looking over his shoulder to see if I am sleeping. I keep my eyes closed. I'm just too tired to open them. Or at least, that's what I am telling myself right now.

"Isn't it obvious, mom? I think we all have been a little off, lately."

"Apart from that, Edward. Of course Bella's arrival takes time to get used to. But I think there is more."

Silence.

"How are things with Jessica? She must have been shaken after last Sunday."

"Oh, well, I broke up with Jessica."

"You did? How come? And when?"

Another silence. It seems I am not the only one in this household who is reluctant to talk.

"I did it yesterday. I didn't like to do it, but… I don't think that Jessica is right for me."

Esme, wisely, refrains from judgment. I believe I do know what she thinks of the annoying blonde I ran into last Sunday. "That must have been a tough decision. How did she take it?"

"Not very well. I think I really hurt her."

"But it wouldn't have been fair of you either if you had stayed with her when your feelings weren't sincere. I think you did the right thing, Edward."

"I hope so. She just turned really vile on me. I hope she gets over it soon."

I tune out the rest of the conversation because my brain is fried and I really don't want to go through the effort of discerning words anymore.

We reach the house not long after and Esme pulls into the garage.

"Bella? Are you awake?"

I open my eyes immediately and she chuckles.

"I guess you are. Come, we're home."

Home.

I must say I like the sound of that.

Home.

_Home. _

I wish…

* * *

_As ever, share your thoughts with me! (Oh and yay, Edward broke up with Jess. Finally!)_


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N I don't own Twilight, but this plot is mine.**

_As ever, your reviews blow me away. Thank you so much. Thanks also to Sherriola, my wonderful friend and beta, who assured me about 10 times that this chapter was just right. _

_Mood music: Evanescense - Hello_

_Enjoy :)_

* * *

I walk into an Alice-shaped ambush as soon as we set foot in the house. Edward is off immediately to take a nap before dinner and I almost wish I could follow his example, yet do not dare to ask for the same thing.

Jasper needs Esme for something the moment we step inside and I am left with Alice in the hallway. As I remove my coat, she looks at me with sparkling eyes.

Oh, help me.

"Hi Bella!"

Wary, weary, whatever, I appraise her and wait to see what she wants. My entire body hurts with lack of sleep.

"So, I brought your school books home today for you, so you can have a look at them in advance. I don't know if or when you are coming to school with us, but dad told us you like to study, so…" she trails off, waiting to see my reaction.

I am actually quite pleased with this. I love to study, it helps me to take my mind off things. And it will help me to catch up again. I haven't been to school in weeks.

I did go to school, until that night with Stefan. My teachers knew I just wouldn't talk and they left me alone, apart from the occasional nosey question. As I rarely missed a class and always got straight A's, they left me alone a lot. My fellow students avoided me like the plague and I was perfectly fine with that as well. I used to make my homework in the library after school. My retreat. My sanctuary.

As Alice leads the way to her room where she has stacked the books, her words finally sink in. _'Dad told us you like to study, so…' _I'm surprised Carlisle knows this about me, and even more surprised that he would tell this to his children. Nevertheless, access to study books means a wonderful distraction to me.

Pleased indeed, I look at the pile of books on her desk.

"Go on and take them," Alice smiles. "We can maybe even study together. You'll share a lot of your classes with us, but that's not really a surprise in a school with a student body of three hundred."

Ew, Alice. There really was no need to remind me of this. Everybody knows each other by name, probably. Gah. It will be impossible to stay anonymous in that school.

"I can tell you where we are with the subjects, if you want to."

Yes, please.

But Alice apparently isn't going to do that right now. She sits down on her bed, which is adorned with a beautiful purple bedspread, and looks up at me expectantly. "So, are you starting to get a bit used to it all here?"

Without intending to, I exhale the breath I have been holding with a gasp that's almost a sigh. I run a hand through my hair to give myself some time to think and while I do this, Alice has produced a notepad and a pencil, which she holds out to me.

"Will you talk to me?"

Looking from the notepad to her hopeful eyes, I decide to have a go. My world is upside down already, I might as well go along with it. The sooner the bubble bursts, the better.

Right?

But, holding the notepad and pencil in my hands, the words are lost on me once more.

"Why don't you sit down?" Alice asks softly. "You know you can, right?"

Carefully, I do what she asks and sit myself down at her desk.

"It all seems to be so hard for you." Her voice is no more than a whisper now. "Don't get me wrong here, but I never thought you would be so… scared. There really is no need to be."

That's easy for her to say.

The wicked thing is though that I want to believe her. She's so at ease, so light and bright. She doesn't walk, she _dances_. She doesn't look afraid. And she's looking at me with such hope in her eyes, waiting for me to talk to her. Maybe, maybe I could ask her some questions. Would she mind?

Maybe I should ask her that first.

But when I try to start writing, again nothing comes.

Alice makes a sound I can only classify as compassionate. "It's really hard for you to communicate, isn't it?"

I nod, seeing no harm in my answer.

"How come? Can you try to tell me that?"

Bitterness washes over me. Yes, I can answer this question for her. I write down two words. Should be enough.

_Not important_.

"Of course it's important!" Alice scoffs. "Please tell me why it's so hard for you? Then maybe we can help you to make it better."

She misinterprets me, although her interpretation makes much sense to me as well. But I don't want her help. It's not necessary. I need to clarify, apparently.

I scribble quickly, three words to precede my previous message.

_What I say. Not important._

Alice, who has leaned in to read the notepad, sits back on the bed with wide, shocked eyes. "Of course it's important!" she repeats. "We're dying to get to know you, Bella, we _want_ to get to know you. Is that really how you feel?" she adds in a much softer voice. "Do you feel… unimportant?"

I shrug and look away, frowning a little. Like I said — it's not important. No use to dig into this.

Alice disagrees, however, and her reaction is so fierce I flinch away from her, even though we are over six feet apart.

"Sorry," she mumbles, her eyes lowered. Is she blushing? "I didn't mean to scare you. But that's kind of what I mean, too, you know? Why are you so scared? And how can you think you are not important?"

I shrug again and when I meet her eyes I am surprised to see pain there.

"I don't really know what you've been through, Bella, but it's obviously horrible. And I don't know what happened to make you scared like this, but I just want to stress that there really is no need to be scared here. Really."

I look at her for a long time, wanting to believe her. But my evil mind whispers that someone as sweet as Alice would of course have no reason to be afraid. I wonder if she ever even did something wrong and upset her parents. At all.

"Hey, why don't you tell me about your hobbies? I want to get to know you," she smiles, all energy again. "And I can tell you about mine, too. As you know I like to design clothes—oh!" she interrupts herself. "We should go shopping some time!"

Noooo. Please, no.

Looking at me with a slight frown between her brows, she backpedals. "Okay, maybe not. Not yet. Do you want me to help you to shop for clothes online? Because, obviously, that's a hobby of mine, too."

She giggles, and the sound is so adorable I can feel a smile tug at the corner of my mouth, too. It lifts the tension in the room a little.

"So, tell me one of yours. A hobby."

Oh, we're playing the trade game now? But I don't want to tell her what I like. It's a weapon to them if they know what I like. Then they can take it away. I have to play this safe. I place my hand on the stack of books on Alice's desk.

She chuckles, shaking her head. "Nu-huh. Tell me something _new_."

Ah, drat, she's not buying it.

I look about her room, and finally point at her bookcase. I love to read.

"I knew that, too," Alice smirks, "but I'll let it go. Any other hobbies?"

As I have none, she switches subject and she asks me innocent questions, each time providing some personal information of her own before wants my answer. She wants to know my favorite color (blue; hers, at this moment, is purple), my favorite movie (anything without romance; she lists about fifteen titles I cannot remember for the life of me), my favorite book (again, anything without romance; again, she lists so many titles I can't remember even one).

She hates Trig, but loves History. She sometimes wishes her hair would grow longer but 'it gets hopeless when it's even an inch longer than it is now.' She does like the color though, and it's all hers even if nobody believes it. She hates that Edward's hair is longer than hers but she wishes he would at least try to tame it.

She looks at me expectantly when she says this, but I don't know what she wants from me. I'm not going to volunteer an opinion, even if I had one. Alice grins when I remain stoic and continues her one-sided conversation. I don't know how she does this — doing all the talking and still making me feel I am really a part of this conversation.

We sit quietly for a moment, Alice looking content with that secret smile on her face I have seen her wearing before.

That funny feeling in the pit of my stomach battles with my anxiety again. Or maybe I am just too tired to care and keep my guard up. I don't know. It's not like I am too scared to be with a person in a room. At least not with a person like Alice.

But I _am_ tired. I haven't slept at all last night and the events in the hospital today have taken their toll on me. And I have to be very careful here. As much as I like Alice's bubbly character, I am not oblivious to the fact the amount of energy she emanates can become dangerous if she gets upset or if she decides to use it to be mean. And I still am pretty sure she can become vicious if she ever finds out who I really am.

Yet I can't bring myself to tell her the truth. I touch the scarf around my neck absentmindedly, trying not to think back to that horrible night. I still don't know what was worse; what he said or what he did.

I fought. I hurt him. I never hurt a human being in my entire life. I never fought back. But I fought Stefan.

No, don't think of that now. See, this is what happens when I get tired. I can't fight the memories anymore and my internal monologue isn't doing anything to placate my fear. Alice interrupts me before I can drown in my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. As soon as her words register however, I wish she had kept quiet.

"Does it hurt?"

I look at her and blink, suddenly vividly aware again of my surroundings.

"Your neck. Does it hurt?"

Touching the scarf again, I shake my head slowly. Esme asked me this too, last Saturday. I was still sore then. But it doesn't really hurt anymore. At least, I can still feel it of course, but it no longer really registers as 'pain' in my book.

Alice looks worried and takes a breath to speak, but then decides against it and looks away from me.

Wait a minute. What is she hiding? What is she not telling me?

I want to ask her, but I don't really dare. And as I sit and wait, unsure what to do, I notice that for once, Alice seems to be lost for words, too. When she looks back at me, there is so much sadness in her eyes I feel the need to comfort her. Until she speaks again.

"I am so sad for you," she whispers. "I wish I knew how to reach you. But then again you've not been here for a week. I guess it will take time."

Her shoulders slump in obvious disappointment, which confuses me. What did she choose not to tell me, and why do I get the impression she is disappointed because I am reluctant to communicate? The thought that she would want to know me baffles me. Yet, it really seems this is what she means.

Fuck. I have to end this before it can really hurt me. But somehow I can't seem to bring myself to tell her who I truly am. I'm too ashamed. And even though I know I don't deserve it, it's so unbelievably nice to talk to someone my age, to actually experience something I've so far only seen happening in movies or around me at school. I would almost wish I had something fun to tell.

I sigh and look at my hands, which I am wringing again. What am I doing here still? Alice is quiet — she is probably waiting for me to get the message and leave. Yeah, best to get up now and take what I was given and enjoy that. Never ask for more.

I get up and start to pick up the study books. I have to figure out what chapters they are currently at at the school, so I can try to catch up before I go to school here. Maybe I can ask Alice, as she did promise me. Although I dread the prospect of being around so many strangers, I'm pretty sure I can keep my own and I am looking forward to the refuge of school and studying.

"Where are you going?" Alice asks, genuinely surprised. "Did I upset you?" Her eyes are wide in concern and I hastily shake my head, no. She didn't upset me. I am just leaving before it gets painfully awkward, is all.

"You don't have to leave, you know," she says. "We can watch some TV together if you are tired of talking? Maybe something tacky like Oprah is on?"

Before I can protest, she has turned on the TV and is flipping through the channels so fast she cannot possibly know what is on. Then she stops finally and sure enough, Oprah Winfrey appears to the applause of her loving audience.

"Sit down, silly," Alice says sideways at me, but she is smiling, almost chuckling. She doesn't mean harm with that word, it seems. Come to think of it, didn't Edward use the same term with me with the milk last night? I didn't even notice it back then. I've never been called silly in what I think is a playful manner.

It's very new to me. Then again, almost everything that has happened in this house is new to me. And like I said, it's not that I don't know it exists, I just feel like I don't deserve it directed at me.

Oh, how I wish I could escape that thought spiral, if only for five minutes.

As I go to sit down, not really wanting to watch the talk show, Alice looks back at me.

"Hey, weren't you at the hospital today?"

Oh, shit. Yes. Why?

"How did it go?"

I really don't want to talk about this. I screwed up, again, and Carlisle and Esme had to go through the hassle of finding me a new doctor that didn't make me panic. And the panic, really, was my fault, wasn't it?

That doctor Carlisle had examining me, Sue, really was nice, though. She put me at ease and she helped me through it. She didn't act like she was surprised at all that I was anxious and the stress ball really helped.

I file these thoughts away to chew on later. For now, I have to find a way to dodge Alice's question, so I shrug.

"Are you healing well?" she asks softly and for the first time I notice true insecurity in her voice.

I cock my head at her new tone, wondering where her sudden shyness is coming from. It's almost the same hesitation she showed just now when she asked about my neck.

What does she know about this?

But I nod, to answer her question, a quick, reluctant jerk of my head.

Can't she see that communication, to me, is exhausting? Maybe I should tell her that. But then I want to tell her too that I don't mind listening to her. I do realize however that it wouldn't be fair to ask her to do all the talking. In a conversation it's natural that the speaking and listening goes both ways.

That's why I don't do conversations. Often, what people have to tell is not even remotely interesting — except for all I have heard in this house until now, that is — and questions make me nervous. And don't get me started on what I could ever have to say that somebody would want to hear.

Unaware of my inner monologue, Alice speaks again. "So, will you be able to eat normal food again?"

Yes. I smile a half smile at the prospect and she grins in return.

"You must be looking forward to that," she smiles. "I can't really imagine that fluid stuff tastes any good. Seriously, _chocolate_ and _orange_? Who thought of _that_ combination?"

My smile widens at her mock scandalous outrage. I look down, realizing I am shy about my reaction. But I completely agree with her, because she is right. In fact, I have thought this exact same thing myself on more than one occasion.

Alice shows me her radiant, full smile when she sees mine and she claps her hands, leaving me in amazement. "Ha, I _knew_ you could smile," she grins. "You have a lovely laugh, do you know that?"

Not knowing what I should do with this piece of information, I look away. To my utter mortification, I find I am blushing and I try to let my hair fall before my face to hide it.

Alice leans forward a bit and her eyes are big and sincere when she tries to catch my gaze. As I look up to meet her eyes from under my lashes, she smiles the kindest smile I have seen so far.

"Nobody ever told you this, huh?" she asks gently, but there is more to her question.

She knows. She knows I never get compliments.

She looks one last time at me, then turns her attention back to the television.

I look at my hands, which are once again gripping the other in my lap. _A lovely laugh?_ I know people pay each other compliments some time to be nice, and that they don't actually have to mean it. Still it is beyond me why someone would actually want to go through the effort of make-believe like this for me. And I want to believe that Alice is not messing with me, because the sincerity is radiating off her.

Esme interrupts my reverie by calling the family to dinner.

I jump up again. Gah. There really is no need to react so violently to a mother calling her children to dinner. I'm startled by my own reaction, no less.

Alice sees my face and a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Do you want to eat in your room again? Or do you want to join us for dinner?"

I hold up one finger.

Alice's eyes go wide for some reason, but she doesn't elaborate. Then she precedes me into the hallway. "I'll bring you some food, okay?"

**~O~**

Having eaten some solid stuff for the first time in weeks, I am now very drowsy with the amount of energy it takes for my belly to process it all. Add this to my lack of sleep and my general discomfort — although God knows where that is coming from, because I am pretty sure this is not only from exhaustion — and I really wish I could go to sleep.

Still, I feel I have to bring my dishes downstairs first.

Ah, well, let's get this over with. The sooner I finish this, the sooner I can go to sleep. At least, if they will let me and by God I hope they will.

When I arrive downstairs, I can see that the family is seated at the kitchen table. My step halting, I see six pairs of eyes looking up at me, the conversation falling silent.

Oh, excellent. No, this isn't painful. Not at all.

Esme is in the kitchen and her face lights up when she sees me. "Hi Bella! Did you like your dinner?"

I did, so I nod. Behind me, Emmett breaks the eerie silence by asking Jasper something.

"Hey, we were going to play Trivial Pursuit, do you want to join us?" Alice asks at the same time in her chiming voice.

I look over my shoulder at her. Then I look at the others, and again they're all watching me. I don't like that. I don't like that at all. I don't mind being in one room with a person like Alice, but with the entire family… No, I would feel like I was intruding them and gauging the looks on some faces I'd not be very wrong with that assessment. Besides, my body is begging me for sleep.

And my mind is tired. Gah.

"Do you want to go to bed?" Esme asks softly from behind me when I hesitate and I look back at her again. I do. I so, so do.

"Go to bed then," she says. "You must be exhausted. Come." She guides the way upstairs and I follow her, too tired to be worried. She precedes me into my bedroom and looks around.

"When you feel better, we can go out sometime to get you some things to make this room your own," she says gently while she pulls the curtains. "I'll take those clothes you don't want with me. We'll get you your own things, of course," she continues. "I can imagine it's not very comfortable to walk around in borrowed clothes. Maybe Stefan will send you your things soon."

She looks up at me carefully as I narrow my eyes at her. What does she know about this? Has she spoken to Stefan?

Oh God, has she?

Esme notices my reaction and sits down on the chair by the bed. "Sit down, please, Bella," she says. Warily, I do as she asks. My heartbeat is picking up again. My faithful companion in times of distress.

God I am so tired. And everything hurts. Still.

Esme stakes a slow breath, obviously thinking about what she is going to say. Maybe this is it. If she has indeed spoken to Stefan, he will not have gone gently on me. She's probably sorry she had me come here, after all.

"Take a deep breath, Bella, There is no need to be so tense."

Doing as she says, I notice that I cannot quite catch my breath. But when I exhale, my heart seems to calm down a tiny bit and some anxiety evaporates. Huh.

"Let me just start by saying again that I think you are doing wonderfully. We don't expect you to fit in within days. Maybe you just have to get used to us trying to involve you in our family life. Can I ask you something?"

Meh. This usually means something tricky is coming.

"Did you talk often with Stefan?"

I shake my head slowly. Apart from his barked orders, he never really talked to me. He had other ways of making his intentions abundantly clear. Wincing, I try to focus back on the here and now again.

Esme looks down at her hands, which are folded in her lap. When she looks up again, she smiles apologetically. "I don't know what to say anymore. I can voice my hopes, I can tell you again and again that there is no need to be scared. There is no place for violence here. Our kindness is not a mind game. We will not hurt you. We want you to be at ease and happy here. I wish you would tell us what you are afraid of, so we can try to take away your fear. I wish you would allow us to get to know _you_."

Her words shake me. Badly. But I am not worth getting to know. Doesn't she know that? If she has spoken with Stefan, she must surely realize I am not worth knowing. There is nothing to me.

Sighing, I shrug and frown. I'm weary and tired. I really don't want to have this conversation right now. Or ever, for that matter.

Esme looks up at me again and waits until I meet her gaze before she speaks. "Do you remember what I told you this morning? You are the one in control here. We want to give you a peaceful and comfortable home, but you will have to accept our help. I'll just keep saying it and who knows? Maybe one day you'll start to believe it."

I look at her, unmoving.

"I'm not your therapist, Bella. I don't want to be, either. I want to become a mother for you, if you will let me. I can never replace anyone and it would never be my intention to do so. But I do want you to know that if there ever is anything that has you worried, anything you would want to talk about, you can come to me. If you have questions, or insecurities, or fears, or when things aren't going the way you want them to, please let me know. Talk to me. I think a lot of your anxiety can be eased if you would ask for security."

My breath escapes in a gust. Once again I hadn't realized I was holding it. She has a point, of course. Then again I have asked quite literally for retribution and they told me they didn't do that. How am I supposed to believe those words?

_Words_. My evil mind spits them out like bile. What good are words? Laurent used to tell me all the time all would be well. Yet every time I thought that this time he meant it, this time it would be all right, his mood would turn and he would become so mean it was downright frightening.

My breath is hitching once more as memories are starting to flood me and I fight to stay still, to not show Esme my distress. I am beyond relieved to see her getting up and starting to leave.

She stops at the door to my room. "You know you are welcome to come and join us downstairs." It's not a question. "It is by no means our intention to make you feel shut out. If you decide to come down later, please feel more than welcome to do so. You are a part of our family now, Bella," Esme continues. "I sure hope you will soon realize this yourself."

Her words hit me right there where it hurts the most. When I don't react, she nods once with a sad smile, and leaves the room.

Oh God, Esme, you're killing me with your speeches. You really are. What am I supposed to do with your words? Are you really that kind? Because frankly, I have a hard time believing it. I really do. I _want_ to, though. I really do, too.

Later, I'm sitting on the floor, next to the door which I have opened a crack. Bursts of laughter erupt from downstairs and the sound finds its way up to where I am. I listen to their banter.

The Cullen family. They are easy around each other. I have not yet seen them fight. Carlisle and Esme correct their kids, but do it in a way I never thought possible. And the children listen. With one word they correct their behavior, and that word is never a threat.

I haven't seen any threats yet. Nor have I seen any violence.

I let my mind wander to the events of the day. Last night with Edward. Nothing alarming happened and there were no signs of danger. I honestly think that last night at least, he wasn't playing with me. When he said he didn't know how to talk to me, it really sounded like he was talking more to himself than to me. He wasn't accusing me of being impossible to be around. I had the feeling that he thought the awkwardness of the situation was his fault.

I think it was his frustration that hit me. Because somehow I think he wasn't frustrated with _me_. I think I have sixth sense for knowing when people are annoyed with me, and last night, this wasn't the case. I am pretty sure about that and it amazes me for more than one reason. I used to annoy Stefan and Laurent to no end, just by stepping into the room. The fact that Edward asked me to stay… I don't think I even have words for that. He _wanted_ me to be around? Could that have been mere politeness? And this morning, when he was angry, he didn't act it out on me. In fact, he helped me when Esme didn't know if she could leave me alone or not. Could he have guessed I would like the idea of being alone for a little while?

And then Esme. What did she say to that doctor in the hospital? That I was very traumatized? What did she mean by that? Aren't traumatized people usually victims? But I am not a victim. Certainly not?

My breath escapes in a gush as I remember something else she did. She stood up for me in that hospital. She saw I panicked and although I really think I was the one at fault here, she told the doctor that the exam was over. She stopped him and thus eased my panic.

How come I did not notice this at the moment she did it? I was only worried that I had upset her in some way, when in fact she was upset with the doctor.

Huh.

That's twice in one day that somebody stood up for me. I can feel myself frowning at this realization. This is a very peculiar notion, indeed.

And Alice, earlier today. Was she actually paying me a compliment? And apart from all that, why would she ever bother to try and have a conversation with me? It's not the first time she has done this, either. And then she went through the effort of getting my books…

I think I have a ton to think about. I wish I wasn't so tired. This is a lot to process and then I'm not even looking back yet to how the days have been here so far. It's so different from what I know.

Wait, why do I have a lump in my throat?

Another burst of laughter floats towards my room. I listen to the voices talking, but can't discern the words. Then I freeze as apart from the banter, I hear soft footsteps coming up the stairs. Shit. Who's approaching?

Just as I want to get up to close the door, I hear someone calling.

"Edward, where are you going?"

"Just going to charge my phone, I'll be right down." His voice comes closer as he's reaching the top step.

God, his footsteps are quiet. I never noticed that. I should remember this.

"Ooh, in case your mistress calls?" Emmett asks, singing the 'ooh' almost like a catcall.

Edward laughs, heartily.

_Mistress_? What the fuck?

"Keep quiet, Edward, in case Bella is sleeping," Esme's much softer voice drifts up.

Bella is not sleeping. Bella is contemplating whether she should get up and lock the door or not.

If I do it now, Edward will hear it. And as he is supposed to go up to his room, he might not even notice that my door is open.

I'll just have to keep quiet.

He goes up the second flight of stairs indeed, and in my room, out of sight, I listen to the family laughing down the stairs and to Edward moving around above me.

His room is directly above mine, it seems. I never really noticed that.

He comes down again much sooner than I anticipated and I haven't gotten the chance to get up and close the door. Again, if I do it now, he will notice and I don't want to attract attention. I hold my breath and listen to what he will do. To my utter alarm, he doesn't go down to the ground floor. His footsteps halt — and turn towards my room.

Holy fuck shit fuck shit fuck!

He arrives before I can do anything and he stops at my door, pushing it open slightly, carefully. I can see his frame, his face as he looks inside the room. He hasn't looked down yet.

"Bella?" he asks softly.

Oh my God what do I do?

Then he looks down and I gasp. I feel so tiny with him towering above me.

"Oh," he says, stepping back. "I am so sorry. Did I scare you? It's just, I saw your door was open and the light was out so I thought that maybe you had fallen asleep, and…" he trails off, still looking down at me.

I think my mouth is hanging open still as I look at him with wide eyes. I can't even move now. I'm in much too vulnerable a position to try and get away. My breath is speeding up and my heart is thundering out of my chest.

Don't panic don't panic don't panic don't panic.

Edward looks at me for a moment, a hand trailing up to his hair. He tugs it a little, leaving it in a bigger disarray even than it already was.

"I'm sorry," he repeats.

We look at each other and again I find myself drawn to the intensity in his eyes. And then he does something that amazes the shit out of me. He steps back and flops down to the floor, crossing his legs Indian style.

The fuck?

He's sitting outside my room now, and I am in, leaning against the wall still, frozen. The doorframe is between is like an invisible border of security. I have to look sharply to my left to see him properly.

"I feel like I keep upsetting you," he says after a moment of thinking. "I am so sorry for that because I really don't want to."

He looks at me searchingly, but I don't know what he is looking for.

"But the milk last night was nice, right?"

I nod, still stunned by his sudden action and fighting to keep my breathing at least somewhat under control. What is up with everybody here trying to talk with me?

"This will sound really weird and maybe very egoistical to you," he continues, looking down at his lap where his hands are fidgeting, "but I'm kind of upset that you seem to be so scared of me."

He looks back up at me when he finishes and I look back, confused to say the least. What am I supposed to do now, tell him that it's not his fault that I am afraid?

Is he really asking me for reassurance here?

"There really is no need to. You don't have to be scared at all here, you know?"

No, I don't know.

"Edward, are you coming? It's your turn!" somebody calls up. I think it's Jasper. His voice is amazingly deep, not what you would expect when you see him for the first time.

Edward looks over his shoulder and calls down the hall that he will come down. When he looks back at me he smiles that crooked smile that Alice wears sometimes, too.

"I guess I have to go. You sure you don't want to join us? It's fun."

Oh, I bet it is. For them.

But no. I need to go to sleep, seriously.

"Okay then. Good night, Bella." He gets up and I lean back a little. He steps away and turns slowly, his tall frame disappearing down the stairs.

Exhaling shakily, I look straight ahead, seeing nothing. I don't even have words for the relief that flows through me. He didn't come in. Nothing happened.

Nothing. Happened. I'm okay.

No panic attack.

I remain in my position on the floor, although I have pushed the door a bit more closed again. Slowly, my heartbeat finds back its usual rhythm.

He asked me to join them. But I am not a part of the family downstairs. Surely, I share their home, or better, they share their home with me, but I have no reason to expect ever being a full member of this family. I'm only here temporarily, anyway. I have to keep that clear in my mind.

Leaning my head back against the wall, I listen some more to the Cullens laughing and having fun. With a sharp pang I realize that I _do _want to be a part of this.

And it hurts deep down inside when I realize too that it will never happen.

Tears assemble and spill over, betraying my distress at a steady pace.

Shit.

* * *

_As ever, let me know what you think? _

_Up next is Alice's story. I know not all of you are fond of changing pov's but although this is Bella's story, sometimes a different perspective is needed to get a better understanding of things. _


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N I don't own Twilight. I do own a dark and complicated mind.**

_Your reviews humble me to silence. I wish I could reply more and sooner. Shout out to Alice Vampire who gave me my 500th review for this fic. As ever massive thanks to Sherryola, my eyes and ears, my heart, my soul. She bore with me through this chapter. _

_Enjoy, I love you all! :)_

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* * *

****ALICE**

When mom and dad asked us if we would object to a new girl coming to live in our house, I think I was the only one who didn't protest. Having a new sister, one who could not possibly be as distant as Rosalie, sounded like good news to me. Maybe she would be someone I could go shopping with, whom I could gossip with, watch movies with and do all the other things with that Rosalie generally doesn't care about.

But then they started explaining that this wouldn't be a normal girl. Bella Swan was traumatized, damaged, and didn't speak. It would not be easy to have her in the house but our parents felt very strongly that they could, and should, give this girl a home.

To be honest, I kind of stopped listening just about after 'traumatized, damaged and didn't speak.' I didn't want to know what had happened to this girl. Not because it didn't bother me, because believe me it did. No, I just decided there and then that I wanted to know the girl, not what had happened to her. I didn't want to walk around her problems to reach her. And if I didn't know what exactly had happened, it wouldn't become a barrier.

This I decided of course before I learned that mom and dad were not going to disclose her past on us. There were three things we needed to know: she was traumatized and scared, she didn't speak and she didn't like to be touched.

It would be two weeks or thereabouts before she would arrive, so we went on about our business and talked a lot about this girl. I discussed the possibilities with my lovely Jasper, who was mainly worried about how _she_ must feel, and I talked a lot with Edward who is my twin and whom I share a part of my soul with. Or sometimes so it feels.

Edward was worrying in general, as per usual. He always gets nervous when he can't know for sure how things will turn out. As such he was nervous about this girl coming to live with us. I knew he was scared that our lives would be set upside down but truly, he didn't show much respect to our parents in that way.

Surely they would not invite this girl to live with us if they thought our lives would change too drastically because of it.

When she arrived, I knew I had to change tactics. She was too traumatized — there was no way I could navigate around it. Within days — what? Hours — I learned that she would get panic attacks easily and I felt mostly sorry for her because if you get scared so easily then you're obviously fucked up, apart from the fact that those thingies tend to wear you out.

I felt for her. I truly did. I could see how tired she was and still she was steady on her feet. I only had to think about how _I_ would feel if I was planted with a strange family to live and I would damn near have a panic attack.

Considering this, I could only admire her strength. True, she was afraid, and skittish, and not very willing to communicate, but she walked into our home with her head held high.

She did that herself. There were no tears or scenes or tantrums — although I don't think she's the kind of girl to throw a tantrum — she just straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.

Now _that_ takes courage.

So you see, I knew almost immediately how strong Bella is, however fragile she appears. I gave her a quick tour of the house — no need to draw it out as she would become acquainted fast enough — and told her a lot of everything, trying to get her to relax a little.

She didn't relax, though. She seemed to tense up more and more and that strong girl that stepped inside seemed to disappear. When Jasper came to meet her, she panicked and bolted and ran out into the rain, without a coat, and disappeared into the forest.

When she didn't come back we decided I should go and find her, since I would maybe be less threatening to her. Sure enough, I was able to get her home. Her lips were blue with the cold, poor thing.

I'm done chewing on that afternoon now, but it's been nagging me. She must have felt so lonely out there in the forest. She must be so lonely still. I mean, imagine losing all you know, however horrible it's been, and then being thrown in a house with a bunch of strangers, knowing you have to live with them until you are at least eighteen?

So that's why I'm trying to reach out at her, you know? Talk to her, make her feel welcome, involve her into our lives. On Saturday we learned that questions make her nervous, but I'm not sure if it's the questions that eat her or being the center of attention in general.

And then she got another panic attack and we saw her neck. Those bruises… My own throat contracts when I think of what has happened to her. I'm not stupid. Somebody has tried to strangle her and when I talked about this with Edward we came to the conclusion it must have been her foster father.

But then there's so much more to that story, isn't there? Because how did she come to live with a foster family in the first place? Where are her real parents? Why isn't she with them? Could she be an orphan? Whatever happened, it means she's lost everything she knew more than once.

I get nauseous when I think of this. I would go out of my mind if I were to lose everything I knew.

Then again, Edward and I both think that this strangulation didn't come out of the blue, and her entire being shows her life cannot possibly have been pleasant up till that point. So maybe she isn't all that unhappy about losing all she knows. It couldn't have been very pleasant.

She doesn't seem to own anything, either. As far as I know, she didn't bring any stuff with her and I've only seen her wear the same two sets of clothes over and over. I know it's my own vanity speaking here but I'd go absolutely insane if those were the only clothes I had. It's a pity she's taller than I am, because I'd happily let her shop in my wardrobe. Surely, with a decent wardrobe she should feel better in an instant.

Oh, who am I kidding.

She's miserable to the core and although she does a good job hiding it, it shows. I don't blame her for it, but I do wonder why she is trying to hide it all so desperately. I would be sobbing all day long and hiding in my bed if I were her. But she seems adamant to show she can function. I've heard mom tell her not to bother with the household activities numerous times. I don't really get this, as we all help out, so why would she be forbidden to help? Then again I know that mom and dad have a lot of contact with Bella's old therapist so maybe it's something to do with that.

Saturday night my hero of a twin scared her so badly she just locked herself up in her mind. I think this is a very clever way to deal with stressful situations, but at the same time it bugs me that you must have known some stress indeed to be able to do this.

Then on Sunday she fainted and got a concussion. Again — poor girl. She's even paler now than when she arrived with us and she looks a mess. She looks so tired, weary almost. And the fear is radiating off her in waves. It must be exhausting for her. I know it's exhausting for all of us.

I think that when luck was being handed out, Bella must have been the last in line.

In the meantime, we have to go on with our lives. We have to go to school again after this bizarre weekend and on Monday when we walk into our first class, I can't help but wonder if Bella will ever be able to go to school with us.

It will be hard if she is so afraid inside a home already. How will she react to hundreds of people around her? Plus the fact that she doesn't talk, at all, isn't going to be helpful.

I must admit at first I really couldn't believe she wouldn't speak. I thought that maybe she was quiet by nature, much like my Jasper is. I thought that maybe she would use some words to let us know what she wants. But she doesn't. In fact, I have a feeling she wants to be as silent as possible in general.

I try to reach out to her. I talk to her and tell her about school, about Jess, Mike, Angela. She looks like she could care less about the people I tell her about, but at the same time she does seem to be enjoying my chatter.

I do think that it will help if we try to reach out, but it seems I'm the only one. Emmett is at a loss as he's sure his presence alone scares her. Jasper thinks he should give Bella some time before he's going to try and get to know her better. Rosalie… I just hope she won't get mean, but I'll make sure that doesn't happen. And Edward? Edward has come to find me again on Tuesday night.

I'm fussing over my Trig homework when he knocks on my door. Jasper is downstairs playing video games with Emmett and I have the feeling that Edward has waited until he could get me alone.

He's stressing. I can tell because is hair is in complete disarray. He always tugs his hair when he is worrying. And he tends to worry. A lot. I fight the urge to comb his hair into order with my fingers. He'd have to comply with that — I can barely reach his head when he is standing straight.

"Hi," he says, leaning in the doorway.

"Hi," I smile back. "What you chewing on?"

He smiles, that crooked smile which is the only sign that we are actually twins, and looks down at his shoes, conceding that he didn't come by without a reason.

When he doesn't speak, I invite him in and gesture he can sit anywhere. I crawl onto my bed and lean against the headboard, he takes a seat on my couch.

"So?"

He shrugs, tugging his hair again before he speaks. "How are you?"

Okay, so he's stalling for a bit. "Good. Doing Trig."

"Getting any done?"

"It's hard," I sigh, shrugging. This is no news. "And I fail to see the use of this subject."

He grins. "I can help you?"

"Nah, I'm getting it done all right. Just takes ages to finish."

We're quiet for a moment and Edward picks up a photo of me and Jazz from the side table that is next to the couch.

"What's up?" If I don't drag it out of him, he won't start talking.

Taking a deep breath, he sets down the picture again before he looks at me. "Bella, I think."

"Of course," I say. "What about her?"

He hesitates. "She's so _quiet_."

My breath escapes in a laugh. "She is."

"I mean, it's not only that she doesn't speak, is it? It's like she is afraid to make any sound at all."

I've noticed this, too, and I tell him as much.

"Ever wonder what happened to her to make her like this? I mean, I know we talked about her foster father and all, but..." He stops, unable to continue, to form the words. Saying them out loud makes them true, and we both feel we can't handle this. Not now. Not yet.

I help him out by taking my turn to speak. "Ever? Often," I correct him. "But maybe I don't want to know. _She_ doesn't want us to know."

"Yeah, I still think that's weird." Edward leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He doesn't look at me when he speaks again. "You have a way with her."

"A way?" I half-laugh, incredulous. "I'm just trying, Edward. God knows how annoyed she might be with my rambling. I'm just thinking, she isn't going to reach out at us, so maybe we need to try to reach her, you know? I know it's what I'd like if I was placed with a bunch of people I didn't know from scratch."

"Yeah, but how do you _do_ that?" He looks up at me, his green eyes bright with fatigue. Only now do I notice how tired he really looks.

"I don't know," I smile. I honestly don't. "I just try to chat with her, you know? Ask her some easy questions, tell her about us. She can't ask us things, so I'm volunteering information. The sooner she feels like she knows us, the sooner she'll start feeling at home."

He half-nods, acknowledging that he sees logic in my approach. But he's still too pensive. I've not answered his question, because this wasn't really what he wanted to know.

"What's really bothering you, Edward?" I ask softly. Hell, he's one half of me. If I don't know him, nobody does.

He's quiet now, which means I was right. He sits back again, still not looking at me.

"Spit it out," I say. "You can do it."

He chuckles, that crooked smile appearing on his face, but when he speaks it's so far from what I expected he'd say that it takes me a moment to take in what he actually said.

"I broke up with Jess."

This is a diversion, I'm sure. This is wonderful news however, and for fear I'll start cheering, I choose to remain silent.

"You're not going to say anything about that?"

"What do you want me to say, Edward? I can say I'm sorry, but you broke up with her for a reason. How do you feel about it?"

"Well, doc," he says teasingly, "I feel relieved, actually. She was really getting annoying."

I press my lips into a thin line to prevent a snicker. Oh, I am so evil for wanting to laugh when he says she's annoying. But I can't help myself. Edward looks at my face, then back at his hands again.

"You're not overly sorry."

"I'm not going to answer to that," I say, hoping that he'll get the message and leave it at that. "How did she take it?"

He snickers, a sound without humor that tells me more than words will ever do. He's tired, tired of her. She didn't take it well.

"Not well."

See?

"Oh, dear. How did you handle her?" I want to say 'it' to refer to the situation, but at this moment, both 'it' and 'her' sound wrong.

He looks up at me again, assessing my face. "I told her that I didn't love her as much as she loved me, and that she didn't deserve that." He got my question wrong, but this is good to know, too. "It's the truth. Plus, I don't think she can give me what I need, just like I can't give her what she needs. We were incompatible. Not that I told her that. I can be an ass, but I'm not _that_ much of an idiot."

I chuckle; my brother is so entirely lovable when he is like this. But I think he's right, too. Jessica wasn't the girl for him. He needs someone who will challenge him, who has a mind of her own. Someone smart, who thinks about the world around her and whose first and foremost objective is _not_ to get him into bed with her. He needs someone who wants him for _him_, not for his looks, his money, or the fact that he is frighteningly brilliant when it comes to playing the piano.

"But how did Jess take it? You said she didn't handle it well?"

A hand flies up to his head, rubbing his scalp and messing up his already messed-up hair. "She cried. And then shouted. And then slapped me. And then called me a lot of things."

"And then?"

"And then she went around the school telling everybody that I cheated on her."

"Oh, shit," I groan. "Bitch."

He looks up at me, surprised at my crude words. "Yeah," he frowns, looking down again. "Nasty shit."

"It will pass," I try to reassure him, but honestly, what can I say? Jessica is a popular and powerful girl in the school. She can bring him down easily like this. And it's not that being popular is important to him, but in a small school like ours, his life could easily get miserable. "You know, they'll realize soon enough you're really not seeing someone else. This is Jess's way to make believe she wasn't the one disappointing here."

"I hope so. I knew it would upset her when I broke up with her, but I never really thought she could do anything like this. I'm pretty pissed with her, actually."

"You should be," I huff. "At least you know you've made the right decision."

He nods in agreement. Then he snorts. "I wonder who my new girl is. Maybe I should ask Jess, as she seems to know."

I laugh with him, but we both sound hollow. So much else has happened in the last week, I need time to wrap my head around it and I know Edward does, too.

"I haven't heard you play lately?" I ask, trying not-so-subtly to change the topic.

He shrugs. "Haven't been in the mood. Besides, Bella has a concussion. Loud noises won't do her good."

"I wouldn't call your playing 'loud noises,' Edward."

"Let it go, Alice."

"Are you nervous about her hearing you play?"

"I said, let it go, Alice." His tone leaves no room for negotiation.

I dive in a different pool. "You've been avoiding her."

He scowls at me, and his reaction shows me I am right. "Edward?" I ask carefully, prompting him to speak.

"It bugs me she is so terrified of me."

That's an understatement. He's not _bugged_. He's haunted.

I try to reassure, but I'm on unknown territory here. "She's afraid of everyone in this house. Even mom freaked her out on Sunday."

"It's just…" He breaks off, a hand trailing to his hair again and combing through it, tugging the ends when he reaches them. "How do we let her know there's no need to?" His voice his soft. "You should have seen her Saturday," he continues, rubbing his face. "I scared the life out of her."

"I know."

"You don't," he says roughly, finally looking up at me. "You weren't there."

"I was, Edward." I try to stay calm. This is not about who has seen Bella in her worst state so far. "I was there when she came to, remember? I saw her when she was shut down, too."

He frowns, and his face looks pained. I wonder how he has slept over the last days. If he even slept.

"You never triggered a panic attack."

"Look," I try, not wanting to fight, "you apologized and she acknowledged it, didn't she? It's really all you can do and I truly think she knows you didn't mean any harm. I also think that deep down, she knows she's safe here. You know, I just tell her time and time again that she doesn't have to be afraid, and mom does the same. I think dad even does."

"But isn't it obvious that there is nothing to be scared about in this house?"

"To her it's not, I think," I say softly.

"You know I'm afraid to approach her now? I'd really like to talk to her, get to know her. Make her feel at home here. But I don't want to upset her again. Besides, she probably won't want to talk to me."

"Why would you think that? I think you _should_ talk to her when she is around," I say. "It's what mom does all the time, it's what I'm trying to do. Just make small talk, invite her into our lives. Tell her there is no need to be scared. _Show_ her, by just being there, that there is no danger."

"I don't know if I can do that," Edward says. "I upset her once already and when she looks at me, it's like she's afraid I will jump on her. Maybe it's better to stay away."

"But by avoiding her, Edward, what message do you think you give her? I don't think she's ever felt welcome somewhere before. And, I don't think she'll react to you again like she did when you first saw her. Plus, like I said, you apologized. If you are still beating yourself up so much over this, you should tell her that. It can't do harm if she knows you're still upset over Saturday. But to be honest, I think she might have forgotten it already. She has too much on her mind right now and I do believe she has one hell of a headache still."

Edward's phone starts ringing during my speech. Looking at the screen, he refuses the call and puts his phone back in his pocket.

"Jess?" I ask carefully.

"Yes."

We sit in silence for a moment. I don't really want to change the topic back to Jessica again, but I have to remember to tell him I think it's strong of him to not take her calls. God knows how many times she's tried it tonight. Knowing her, we're talking double digits here.

Something else occurs to me. "Didn't she come by here last Sunday? When Bella fainted?"

"Yes. I was planning to go to her later that day, but she came over by surprise. She didn't handle Bella very well."

"You mean you didn't tell her about Bella?" I guess. We hadn't really talked about Bella in school before she arrived, to prevent rumors to start. Dad had asked us this.

"Ah, no."

Whoa, I was right? "Why?" I ask, bewildered.

Edward thinks for a moment, frowning. "I was toying with the thought of breaking up with her before Bella came here and Jess is just… too _eager_, you know? She'd be here every day, making herself important to Bella. And then after Saturday night… I already knew by then I wanted to end it with Jess — I didn't want to add Bella to that equation."

It makes sense. Jess would be all over Bella, wanting to become her best friend and confidante. I can understand Edward's motives in this.

"Bella is something else," I say gently. "I'd love to get to know her."

"Yeah, me too," he says and with that, Jessica is done, gone and forgotten. "I just don't know how. I don't know if she wants to know _me_."

"You have to reach out," I repeat my words from earlier. "And be honest with her. I think she's been lied to a lot."

"So, what, you're saying I have to tell her I don't know what to do around her?"

Blinking, I look up at him. That's not what I said. "Have you seen the way she studies the faces when people talk to her?" I start, "I think she can see if people are sincere or not. Show her your honesty. Maybe that works? I don't know, Edward. You have to read her body language very carefully, too, just as she reads yours. She can't tell you what she thinks or feels."

"I just don't want to upset her again."

"If you stay calm around her, I don't think you will. Just keep talking, vocalize that you won't hurt her, even though to us, it's obvious." I pause, to take a breath and give myself time to think.

Edward speaks. "I knew it was going to be awkward, but I didn't know it would be this fucked up. It's not like I blame her or anything, but damn."

I agree. "I just can't imagine what it must be like for her, you know? I mean, what has happened to her to make her like this? To be so violently afraid of men? To not want to be touched? She won't even accept a hug."

We look at each other and I know we are thinking the same thing. I look away first, shuddering, and hoping to God that my suspicions are wrong.

**~O~**

The situation explodes again. Or implodes, rather, when dad goes into her room, trying to figure out a way to check on her head. I do believe she fell down pretty hard last Sunday.

I don't know what happened exactly when dad was in but Bella has disappeared into her mind again and now mom is with her, trying to pull her back out.

My head is full, full of Bella, of my conversation with Edward, of my Trig homework that really isn't going to happen today anymore. I'm downstairs to make me some tea when dad walks into the kitchen. I make him tea too and we talk for a while about Bella. I tell him my vision on the way Bella handles stress and I think he agrees with me.

But I want to talk to him about the things I just discussed with Edward. We already came to the conclusion that it must have been her foster father that hurt her and when I tell my dad our theory, he says we're right.

Well, shit.

I don't ask any further when I learn that her foster father has not been arrested and that Bella is aware of this. I wouldn't even know where to start.

After the tea I drag myself back to my homework. Jasper comes to see me before he goes to bed. We sleep together sometimes, but we may only do so in the weekends. We're okay with that rule, we are beyond happy that our parents agree with this all.

It was weird, at first, of course. I mean, we did grow up together. Rose and Emmett found each other first and they tried to hide it for some time, but after a while mom and dad asked them to sit down for a talk. They were scared all right, but our parents were supportive. Then when the spark ignited between Jasper and I, there were baffled, but we got the same speech.

They were happy for us, and they wanted us to be happy. They did have one condition — if we wanted to be in a relationship like adults, we were going to have to behave as adults. That also meant that if it ever got wrong, they would not tolerate fighting, black mailing, or any other childish behavior.

But, like they said, you can't help who you love, and it's no use to try and fight it. But if it ends badly, don't try to fight that either.

It made sense. And Jasper and I are very happy, indeed.

I do wonder what Bella makes of this.

Jasper is relaxed, laid back. He's not the talkative kind. Sometimes I'm worried that I tire him with my energy and endless babbling, but he always reassures me he loves to listen to me. He's the sweetest guy I've ever known and I am deeply in love with him.

I'm already in bed when he knocks on my door, and when I invite him in I see he is in his pajama pants already. His chest is muscular and I love to run my hands over his abs. Although I do not really approve that he practices kickboxing, the results are showing and you won't hear me complaining about that.

Without speaking, I lift my blanket and he crawls in next to me, his body warm as he curls himself around me. He wraps his strong arms around my waist and kisses my temple before I shift and fold further into his embrace.

We lie in silence for a while, just holding each other. I'm pretty certain he is thinking the same thing; Bella has probably never known this type of love, has probably never been embraced like this. Maybe won't ever be embraced like this. I have seen her recoiling — she really hates to be touched.

"I love you," Jasper breathes.

"Love you more," I whisper back, as always.

"Not possible," his usual reply comes.

"Try me," I smile, and his response is to hold me tighter, kiss my forehead, my eyelids, my nose and finally, my lips.

"Not possible," he repeats.

I could easily stay forever like this. Just like this. As per usual.

But he has to go to his own bed and the alarm goes off too early the next day, as per usual. When we are ready to go to school, Edward isn't up yet. I go to knock on his door, but he grumbles something and when I knock again a little later, he shouts at me to go away already.

Okay, fine. Have it your way. I tell mom on my way down that Edward isn't up yet and that we have to go. We take our own cars — usually Jasper and I go with Edward as we are off at the same time, but now we'll have to go by ourselves. What a waste of resources.

I wonder why he overslept, though. He's not really of the oversleeping kind.

On our way to school, I fill Jasper in about Edward's break with Jessica.

"About time," he murmurs.

I try to suppress my chuckle but he looks at me from the corner of my eye and I'm busted. "She's spreading some nasty rumors though," I continue. "Apparently she's saying Edward cheated on her."

Jasper laughs at this, throwing his head back. "Edward cheating? He's like, the most loyal person you could ever meet!"

He's right, of course. I just hope Jess won't make it too hard for him. Else I will have a chat with her, and maybe I will bring Rose along. Just for good measure.

We see Jessica in the hallways of the school all right, puffy-eyed with her gang around her — Lauren and Mike. Annoying girl. Gah. Now Edward is no longer seeing her at least I won't have to hide my opinion of her. The fact that she is spreading lies doesn't help her case, either.

I ignore her and drag through my classes. In Trig I ask the teacher for some assistance on my homework but it's not helping — I still don't get it. Maybe I do have to ask Edward, but I'd rather not bother him as he has a lot on his mind right now. Jasper doesn't take Trig, so I can't ask him.

In lunch I finally see my twin and he looks horrible. There are dark shadows under his eyes and his hair is, well, hopeless. I wonder if this is solely the result of his oversleeping.

"What happened?" I ask.

He motions for me to follow him to the lunch line and begins to talk. "I met Bella in the kitchen last night," he starts. "I was already there as I couldn't sleep, and she was startled when she saw me, but I did what you said, I asked her to stay and to not be afraid."

Oh! This is good news, I think. "And then?"

"She stayed. I made some hot milk. Or, better, she got it started and then prevented it from boiling over."

"Oh, Edward, that's wonderful!"

He looks at me with narrowed eyes. "I _know_ I can't cook, Alice. No need to rub it in."

I look back at him, only to see a definite gleam in his eyes. "That's not what I meant and you know it," I smile. "But I do think it's good news that she stayed, and helped. Did you chat for a bit?"

"We did. She didn't panic."

Good. It's a start, isn't it? "See? You just have to be honest with her. I think that's what she really wants. Honesty."

We pay for our food and when we walk back to the table where Em, Rose and Jazz are already sitting, he suddenly speaks again. "I convinced mom this morning to leave her alone in the house when she had to drop me off here at school. I think she liked that."

I look up at him and see how some tension has finally left his face. I punch his arm playfully and he looks down at me from the corner of his eye, a smirk dancing on his face. He has won his fear of fearing her.

Way to go, brother.

Then I think of something. "Wait, mom drove you to school?"

"Yeah, my car won't start," Edward says as we arrive at the table. He's answering me, but he's addressing Rosalie when he speaks. "Rose, I think you could fix it."

Rose doesn't really look at him, but I know she's listening when he explains what's wrong with his car. To me it's all abracadabra, but Rose's interest is piqued. Edward finishes, "will you look at it tonight?"

"Are you kidding me?" she snaps, finally facing him. "You don't think I have a _life_ or something?"

Oh God, here we go. I go to sit down next to Jasper, who brushes his hand against my leg in greeting. I smile at him in return and we both settle in to watch it unfold. Emmett, sitting next to Rose, is grinning.

"I'm just asking, jeez," Edward answers. "It's just, you're the best."

"Nice try, bro," Rosalie says, sipping from her soda. "I'll have a look at it this weekend. _If_ I have time."

"Please?" Edward asks.

Rosalie looks away, but it's working, we all can tell.

"You see, I _really_ don't want to have to go to the rez to get it fixed."

Ah, this works. Rose whips her gaze back to him, her eyes slightly wide at the prospect of Edward bringing his car to the reservation. We know a guy there who works miracles on cars. Not that Rose would ever admit it.

"I'll do your Math homework for the entire week?"

Rosalie huffs. He's almost there.

"If you fix it before the weekend, I'll set the table in your place, too, until Sunday."

She looks at him, her face blank. She's thinking, thinking if she can get any more out of this. But she knows Edward, too. This is really how far he is willing to go.

Finally, she nods, and they shake hands.

Have I mentioned my family is kind of weird?

**~O~**

Jessica is hovering at the other end of the lunchroom with the people we usually share a table with; Mike, Ben, Lauren, Angela. Angela looks apologetic when I catch her eye.

Edward looks over at the table where Jess is sitting, shooting him daggers. Then he looks around the rest of the lunchroom and when I follow his gaze I can see that other students are looking at us, too. I can imagine them whispering about my brother. Then Edward turns back to us.

"I hope it dies down soon," he sighs. "It's beyond ridiculous."

"It will, bro," Emmett says confidently. "In any other school you would have been a hero, but here you'll just have to sit it out. They'll notice soon enough you're not seeing another girl. Who on earth should you be dating?"

"That's what she said," Edward nods at me. "Besides, I broke up with her for an other reason."

"And that reason wasn't another girl?" Jasper says lightly, joking.

"No, it wasn't," he says, looking up and smiling his crooked smile at my boyfriend. "It just wasn't working. We both want different things."

As Emmett opens his mouth to say something witty I'm sure, Rose slaps his arm and his breath escapes in an "ow!" Hmm, Edward isn't the only one acting out of character today, it seems.

As lunch ends and we prepare to get up and go to our final couple of classes for the day, Jessica and Lauren come by our table. Jessica looks very pointedly at Edward, as if she is willing him to say something, but he ignores her.

I don't think this is the best thing to do, but I don't know how he could handle this any better. He has nothing to apologize for. If anything, _she_'s the one that should be apologizing.

When she keeps standing in front of him, her face tight with tension, he finally looks up, slowly turning his head into her direction.

He says three words. "Stop spreading lies." His voice is hard, he's dead serious.

Jessica says nothing, but her face goes red as she tries to hold back her tears. Finally, she turns around abruptly and walks away. Lauren, who follows in her wake, sneers at Edward before she turns away as well, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she goes.

I wonder how long it will take for this to die down. If it weren't so sad, I would be crying with laughter at the thought of _Edward_ cheating. Mother Therese has nothing on him when it comes to loyalty.

God, the thought alone. Ridiculous.

After school I get the luminous idea, if I may say so myself, that Bella might like to have access to her study books. Dad did tell us she loves to study, after all, and maybe she would like some distraction. I'm not sure if she ever will come to school with us, but even if he will be home schooled, she will need those books anyway.

I was right, her face lights up when I tell her I have her books and she even follows me to my room. There I get her to sit down and try to chat for a bit with her. I ask her about her throat and if it still hurts, but she says it doesn't. Then when we talk some more, I learn something that rattles me. She thinks she's not important. Or rather, that what she says is not important. And that's why she won't speak.

I cannot wrap my mind around this. How could she ever think that we don't want to know what she has to say? Of course it's important. _She_ is important.

Trying to make small talk with her, I hope to convey that even the tiniest thing she wants to share is of vital interest to me. I want to know her. And I discover that when you ask her innocent questions, she will answer them. As such I learn some of her hobbies, her favorite color, her favorite movie.

The conversation is nice and I finally feel like she is letting me in. But then when the conversation falls silent for a while, she immediately gets up to leave and it takes some convincing on my part to get her to sit down again.

Only then do I finally remember that she has been in the hospital for a checkup on her throat and I ask how it went. I realize for the second time in this conversation it's hard for me to ask this, now I know what has happened to her. I wish I could just tell her that I know, so I can ask and reassure, but I bite my tongue and try to stay neutral.

We talk some more. I even get to make her laugh and once her face relaxes into a smile she truly is stunningly beautiful. But she hides her face and when I compliment her on the beauty of her smile, she looks away. I don't think she's used to getting compliments.

I just don't know what to make of the calculating air she has around her. I don't think she even realizes she often narrows her eyes when somebody says something to her, like she is trying to decide whether that person is honest or not. For the umpteenth time I wonder what she must have been through to act like she does. It's not an act. She's truly insecure as hell and it's like she's waiting all the time, but for what?

When mom calls us to dinner, I ask her if she wants to stay in her room or come down, and she holds up one finger.

Hey, is that a way to communicate on a somewhat more elaborate level with her? I have to try that more often. It would be a nice change for her too if she could communicate more easily, although I'm afraid she doesn't really like to interact at all. No, that's not it. When I talk to her, she listens with genuine interest. She just doesn't seem to like answering questions.

I can rack my brain over the reason why, but I think I will never know until she tells us. It is obvious, however, that she is not ready to share that part of herself.

But, like I said, she's doing wonderfully. She's holding her own with us, and functioning as well as she can considering the situation. I think she's a very strong person. And I hope that she'll realize this herself one day, too.

**~O~**

We play Trivial Pursuit after dinner, which is hilarity guaranteed. I think we all need a little family time, some lightness after the tension of the last days. Bella has declined to play with us. I don't know why she would not want to be around for this, but I let it go as we pick colors and start to play.

The game is fun and we howl with laughter until my stomach hurts and I have trouble to remain sitting in my chair. I can't remember a time when I laughed so hard. Emmett doesn't know politics at all and dad is hopelessly lost when it comes to showbiz questions. In the end even Rosalie is wiping the tears of laughter off her face.

Yes. We needed this.

I go to bed early, kissing Jasper good night in the hallway. He's a bit worried about me, but I reassure him I am fine. I am just a little tired after my long conversation with Bella today. And I'm worried about Edward.

Too bad I can't sleep. When I finally shuffle out of bed to go to the bathroom, I think I hear Bella coughing in her room. This surprises me because she rarely makes any sound at all. Plus, coughing never means good news, generally. Ah, well, at least she's not crying. I wouldn't know what to do if I would hear her cry.

Crawling back into bed sleep finally claims me and I drift off into sleep. The weirdest dreams haunt me. I see Edward and Bella in a meadow, sitting opposite each other and looking in each other's eyes. They are both relaxed, and smiling. The sun is out, it's a wonderful day.

My alarm rips me from the dream and I laugh to myself. Must have been the conversations I have had with them both. Edward and Bella a big part of my thoughts right now, apparently.

Once at school, I notice again that people are whispering when Edward walks by. He keeps his face impassive and I think he's handling himself well. If he denies the rumors, they will get stronger. It's best to sit it out for a bit.

Jessica has been pestering him, calling and texting and sending him notes in class, begging him to take her back. He's not even considering this, I know, but I can see he's disappointed that she is taking this so badly. At least her begging him makes her lie about him cheating less believable.

Emmett presses his fist against Edward's shoulder in slow motion when he walks up from behind him in the hallway, thus providing the best kind of brotherly support. Edward meets his gaze when Emmett looks back, a twinkle in his eye and the corner of his mouth pulling up in a smirk.

Yeah, he will get through this.

After school I go to Port Angeles with Jazzy and we eat there, too. When we get home later that night, after dinner, the house is quiet, relaxed. I find mom in the kitchen and help her to finish up cleaning the counter.

"How was Port Angeles?" she asks.

"It was good," I smile, "it didn't rain much and we walked along the harbor for a bit."

Mom beams back at me. Sometimes I feel like seeing us happy is her sole purpose in life.

"I'd like to go to Seattle some time soon," I continue. "I want to buy some fabric to start a new project."

"That's nice," she says enthusiastically. "We can go together if you want?"

"I like that idea." It's been a while since I had a day alone with mom.

"Good. We'll plan a day soon, once Bella has settled in a bit. Want to tell me about your new project?"

"A dress," I say confidently. "A green dress. Maybe for prom, to put a purpose to it."

Mom hums in approval. "I'm sure it will be wonderful. Show me your sketches when you have them?"

"I will," I say, and I look around the kitchen. "Is there anything else I can do?"

She thinks for a moment. "Ah, yes, you can bring your laundry to the laundry room and tell your siblings to do the same."

Turning around to do as I'm told, I see Bella approaching the kitchen with her tray with empty dishes. She's immaculate about this I've noticed. Anxious to tidy up after herself.

"Hello, Bella," mom greets her.

Bella looks pale. She has a light complexion of herself, but right now she looks ashen. Her hair, which is usually thick, hangs flat around her face. Her eyes look off, like they are full of tears threatening to brim over. Is she well?

As mom makes small talk with her, I go to my room. If Bella is bothered by something, maybe it's easier for her to talk with my mom when she's alone with her. They have spent so much time together already, I hope Bella will get more comfortable around her.

Up in my room it takes me a while to gather all my things. I am not a very tidy person by nature and I have to sort through various items of clothes that are scattered across the floor to see what needs to be washed and what not. As I am busy, I hear Bella coming up the stairs at well, and she goes into her room.

When I come out to the hallway, I see her disappearing behind her door and closing it quietly. She hasn't seen me. The moment her door is closed, I hear her exploding in a violent coughing fit.

Oh, my, this doesn't sound good. She sounds like a seal. A hoarse seal. It's really weird to make her hear any sound, but this sounds very wrong.

I go downstairs again and find mom in the laundry room. She thanks me for the laundry and I start to fold a stack of clean things on the table.

"Have you heard Bella coughing?" I ask, trying to sound off-handedly.

"No," mom says, but it sounds like a question.

"It sounds really bad. I heard her last night, too, but it's getting worse."

"I thought she was looking pale," mom says pensively. "I hope she's not getting sick."

Bella knocks on the doorframe tentatively, letting us know she is here. She heard us talk. She's so shy as she is standing in the doorway, carrying her tiny stack of laundry. She's breathing through her mouth and from where I stand it looks like her breathing is labored. Her shoulders are hunched and she's swaying on her feet. Dark shadows are under her eyes and she looks more than tired. She looks… empty. It's like she has given up on something and now is left bereft and desolate.

Or maybe I'm just over thinking and seeing things that aren't there.

Let's just say she's not well.

Mom looks up at her and greets her with her usual warm smile. "Thank you, honey. Is that all? We really should buy you some more clothes. We can look into it tomorrow?"

Bella, eyes wide, nods slowly, but it's like she's not really hearing what is being said.

"You can put your laundry there," mom points out gently, and Bella goes to do immediately as she is told. We both notice how she grips the countertop for support when she puts down her clothes in the designated spot.

"Bella? Are you unwell?" mom asks softly.

Bella looks to her right, to us, and the alarm in her eyes is obvious. She's not okay. But she doesn't want us to know.

Mom looks at her closely and walks up to her. Bella straightens up to face her, fear once more radiating off her in waves.

I want to hug her, or to shout out that she doesn't have to worry, but I do nothing. Instead, I watch as mom stops before Bella and looks again at her, her head cocked to the side.

"Let me feel your temperature." She brings her hand up, slowly but steady, and places it on Bella's forehead.

Bella flinches violently, staggering under mom's touch, hissing in her breath as she braces herself for… for what? She presses her lips into a thin line and keeps herself standing, looking intently at my mother.

"You're burning up!" mom exclaims. "How long have you had this fever?" She removes her hand and Bella relaxes visibly. "Bella? Please answer my question."

My eyebrow rises involuntarily at my mother's tone. I have never heard her speaking like this. There's a note of authority in her voice I don't know.

But it seems to work, as Bella holds up one finger, hesitantly.

"One day?"

Bella nods, slowly.

"Oh goodness," mom says. "Why didn't you say anything? You're sick, you don't have to go on like nothing is wrong. You must be miserable! Go to bed. Please. I will come to help you in a moment."

Bella hesitates.

"Now, Bella. You are ill and should not be moving around."

Whoa, what's with the commanding all of a sudden? But Bella seems to listen to this. She makes to move, hesitates a beat, then leaves the room. Don't think I don't notice how she grabs the doorframe for support.

"She's burning up. I'll be damned if she's any lower than 102 degrees."

What? Shit, that's high!

"Can I do anything?" I ask, alarmed.

"Get some Tylenol, maybe. I'll go and see her to bed. How on earth could she think she's not allowed to show us she's sick?" my mom mutters as she walks away, probably not talking to me anymore.

But, I agree with her. How, indeed? And, maybe more important, _why_?

Friday morning arrives, and we're all quiet when we move through the house. Bella is very ill, we can hear her rattling cough when we walk down the hallway upstairs. I can tell we are all worried. Even Rosalie, in her way, is feeling sorry for Bella.

"So far, everything has gone wrong for her, hasn't it?" Emmett asks at breakfast. "It's like, she comes from a home where she obviously wasn't happy, then she gets here and gets a concussion on the second day, and now this?"

"I'm very worried," mom says. "Her fever hasn't come down yet and I don't know for sure how long she has been walking around with it."

Dad walks into the kitchen, putting his suitcase by the door. "I want to go check on her before I go to work. Esme?"

As they both go upstairs, we leave for the last school day of the week.

I guess that I won't be going shopping with Bella this weekend. God, the girl is one stroke of bad luck. If she turns out to be clumsy too, I think I will cry for her.

School drags on, as per usual. People are still whispering about Edward but during lunch he asks Jessica to go outside with him. When they come back, she looks pale and he looks determined. It's easy to conclude he has informed her of his opinion. Hopefully, she'll get off his back now.

Emmett assures Edward that this is bound to die down over the weekend and Edward shrugs and smirks. "I know that."

He's gotten his groove back, it seems.

When we drive home, the three of us talk about Bella a bit. We're worried about her because it's obvious that dad is worried, and when dad, as a doctor, is worried, it's bad news.

Back home, the atmosphere is still a bit subdued. We are all hoping for Bella to get better but when I ask mom how she is, she tells us the fever as risen. If it gets any higher, she will have to be taken to the hospital and they'd really rather not let that happen.

All we can do is wait and see what happens.

I go to check on her after asking mom if that's okay and if she's awake. When I knock on her door and open it a moment later, I don't really know what I expect to see. Maybe that's why I am so shocked to see this shadow of a girl in a bed that's too big for her. She's drowning in the sheets, which are tucked up to her chin. Her hair is clammy with sweat and tangled around her head. Her eyes are wild as she looks at me and I hasten to reassure her as I walk into the room.

I kneel by the bed, wanting to be at eye level with her, and her eyes follow me. Her lower lip is quivering and my own eyes tear up when I see the effort it takes her not to cry.

"You look miserable," I state the obvious. "How are you?"

She sighs, frustrated, and frowns. I think back to what mom muttered when she walked out of the laundry room yesterday.

"You shouldn't blame yourself for being sick," I try. "You can't help it. Just sit it out and allow yourself to get better."

To my horror, she tries to sit up, but the effort is too much. She slumps back into the pillows again, her breathing labored and rattling. It sounds awful.

"Don't get up," I say, worried. "Do you need something? Can I get you anything?"

She shakes her head slowly. She looks at me, pleading, and I think she's trying to apologize with her eyes.

"Don't feel bad because you are sick," I repeat. "Honestly, we don't blame you for it."

She keeps looking at me, eyes wide, on her guard. Maybe it's best to leave her alone and let her sleep it out.

"Oh, I forgot," I say, reaching in my pocket. "I bought you a chapstick?" Why my words form into a question, I don't know. I hold up the stick to her and place it on her night stand. She follows my movement with her eyes, then looks back at me again.

Poor thing. Seriously, if you'd read this chain of events in a story you wouldn't believe it.

I tell her I should go and get up to leave her. The moment I close her door behind me and walk away, I hear her break out in another coughing fit. I get the nagging feeling that she tries to hold them back when others are around, but I push that thought away. That would be ridiculous, suppressing your coughs. If you even _can_ suppress them. Isn't coughing like an impulsive reaction of your body?

As I set the table for dinner, I ask mom if I should set a place for Bella again, too.

"Of course," she replies.

For the seventh time, we eat at a table set for eight.

After dinner, Jasper and I go to watch a movie in his room. Some light, romantic stuff and I curl up next to him to watch and to try and distract myself for a bit. Mom goes in and out of Bella's room during the evening, and although I am focusing on the movie, I can hear these sounds as clearly as if I were standing right outside her door.

We opt for a second movie after the first is over. It's settled that I will sleep in his room tonight and I am way too comfortable to move. Jasper is stroking my back lazily as we settle in to watch. Around us, our family gets ready to go to bed. Sleep washing over us, we doze off as well.

A blood-curdling scream startles us awake. We've fallen asleep on Jasper's couch and now we look at each other in the dim light of the room, alarmed.

"Bella," Jasper mouths, and we struggle to untangle ourselves from the blanket and get off the couch.

When we open the door, mom and dad just step out of their room as well.

"Did you hear that?" I ask, alarmed. I can't hide the panic in my voice.

Our parents don't answer and mom hurries towards Bella's door. It's locked.

"Carlisle, the spare key." Her voice is strained and she doesn't look around when she speaks. She taps on the door. "Bella? Bella, are you okay? Bella? We're coming, honey, we're coming."

Above us, I can hear movement. Everybody is awake and Edward comes hurrying down the stairs first, hair in massive disarray, t-shirt and pyjama pants. Rosalie and Emmett hover behind him on the steps.

"Oh Lord, was that Bella?" Rosalie breathes.

Jasper nods grimly and steps back quickly as dad comes back with the spare key to Bella's room.

"Out," he says sternly to all of us, in his doctor's voice. "No crowds."

Rose and Em get back upstairs hesitantly and Jasper steps back into his room, pulling me with him gently. I stay in the doorway. Edward goes to stand on the bottom step of the second stairs, out of sight, not willing to go either.

I look around the doorframe of Jasper's room and he stands behind me, his arms comfortingly around my waist. Mom and dad have opened the door and step into Bella's room. I can see her at the far end, huddled on the floor, fisting her hair and rocking back and forth. Her despair is etched on her face.

My heart breaks and before I can blink, my tears spill over. I cry.

* * *

_Oh... _

_Please, press review :)  
_


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N I don't own Twilight. **

_Your reviews are precious. Thank you so much. Sorry for the cliffy in the last chapter. I honestly didn't even realize. This chapter starts a bit before the scream, just to make that clear :)  
_

_Thanks to my amazing friend and beta Sherryola. I would not be writing this story without her support. Special thanks to rutzdeb (mmwa), who has helped me to improve this chapter and who has become a very dear friend to me. Sherry and Deb have the uncanny ability to make me like my own work (gah). Thank you, ladies.  
_

_**Warning**: This chapter contains content (flashbacks) that may upset you. Please bear this in mind when you read. _

_I cried when I wrote this chapter. A tissue warning is in place. _

_Mood music: UNKLE - I need something stronger._

**

* * *

Bella**

Fuck my life.

I think I'm sick. My body agrees. My limbs weigh about a ton and my entire body just aches. My lungs hurt and I am a bit short of breath, which is alarming. I have a cough, which I hate, because it means I have to make _sound_ when I can no longer suppress the torturing itch in my throat. I try to only give in when no one is around, although in the back of my mind I know this is futile.

Still, being sick is showing weakness, and I cannot fail now, I can't. I have been holding my own for so long already. I don't want things to change. I never wanted that. But maybe, as long as I can stay strong, keep up my vigil, things will stay like they are now. I just have to work harder to not show my discomfort. If I show I am not well, they might see I'm not that strong. This, I cannot allow to happen.

But God, I am miserable.

Everything that touches my skin, hurts. It's an exhausting feeling. It's like my hair hurts — I never felt this before and it makes me desperate.

My head hurts, my throat burns and I am dizzy.

I woke up with a fever this morning. Although I can't remember the last time I have been sick, I do realize I have a fever. And it's not a mild one.

Well fuckity fuck.

This is just my luck.

I lay low during the day, hiding my discomfort and suppressing my body's plea to _please_ go to bed. _Please._

As yesterday, Esme invites me to read the paper in the kitchen in the morning and she leaves me to do things around the house. After lunch, I retreat to my room when Esme tells me I can go if I want to. She looks at me, concerned, but doesn't ask.

I almost cry when I see the bed and after locking the door, I collapse on it, welcoming the coolness of the sheets on my heated body through my clothes.

Gah.

Gaaaaaah.

I sleep.

Waking up in time for dinner, I hope Esme won't notice I have napped again during the day. Then again, by now I know two things. One; I have reason to believe the chances of a beating are relatively small when it comes to this woman, as she has had chances enough to teach me the rules by now. I've done worse things that could have easily triggered it. Plus, Carlisle refused to use the belt on me when he had a chance. Two; I'm just too dazed to mind anything but being able to sleep. I don't know what's wrong with me. Surely, I've had to face worse than this?

I eat in my room again, some solid food that settles in my stomach like a brick. It's out again before my body can start to process it. No, food isn't going down well. When I go to bring my tray down after dinner, I meet Esme and Alice in the kitchen. They are having a nice convo together and I feel like I am intruding.

I don't know where the others are. At this moment, I don't think I care, either. They are not near the kitchen, at least, which suits me fine.

Esme asks me kindly to gather my laundry for her and finally _finally_, I have a sense of purpose in this house. I go to get it immediately. Going up the stairs is utterly exhausting and triggers a coughing itch and as soon as I have closed the door behind me, I have to give in to it.

It doesn't only hurt like hell, it sounds like it comes out of hell, too. Jesus, a dog would be scared of me.

As I reach the laundry room to leave my clothes there, I hear Alice and Esme talking about me.

"It sounds really bad. I heard her last night, too, but it's getting worse." That's Alice. So she heard me. I wish I could have prevented that.

"I thought she was looking pale," Esme replies, "I hope she's not getting sick."

Ah, too little, too late. I think I am already sick, but I don't want them to know this. Anxiety settles in my sore muscles as Esme's words register. Would she be very angry with me if she found out I am too sick to be useful around this place? So far, I've done nothing and they have had to do everything. Me being sick now means it will be longer still before I can contribute.

Too tired to spiral down the usual train of thoughts, I knock on the doorframe to alert them of my presence. From the look on their faces it seems they know I must have heard them talking. Holding my breath, I wait for the scolding.

"Thank you honey," Esme says. "Is that all? We really should buy you some more clothes. We can look into it tomorrow?"

No warning. No threat. No reference at all to my sickness. Is this the calm before the storm? I nod, slowly, but through the haze of my fever her voice sounds far away. I'm struggling to process her words and her voice resonates in my head. It's getting worse. I can barely keep myself standing at this point and I am still short of breath.

I just want to go back to bed, but my mind resists harshly. _No_. _You'll be preyed on mercilessly when you give in. _

But I cannot fight anymore. My resistance evaporates a little more with every breath and I really, _really_ just want to lie down and keep as still as possible. I can barely remember how I ever could think my concussion was making me miserable. It was nothing compared to this.

I give up. Just let me get out of here. It doesn't matter what happens - if I can just _sleep_ after it all, it's okay.

Esme tells me where I can put my laundry and I grip the counter top for support. Shitty dizziness, it was just fading after that wretched concussion.

I'm just one stroke of bad luck, aren't I?

"Bella, are you unwell?"

I am. I look to my right, to Alice and Esme. I can't decide whether they look worried or disappointed, but hell, I'd be disappointed in me too. To my utter alarm, Esme walks up to me. I straighten up to face her. My mind is numb — I'll just see what comes and deal with it when it happens.

"Let me feel your temperature." Her hand travels to my forehead and I flinch fiercely at the movement.

_Please don't hit me._

I brace myself and force myself to keep facing Esme. Her fingers, when they touch my head gently, are cool on my skin. Sucking in a harsh breath, I keep rigid and fight the urge to run. Running has never helped me. I will not show my fear. I will not give in.

Esme asks me something, but her words barely register. All I can feel are her fingers on my skin. When she finally removes her hand, I can relax again.

"Bella? Please answer my question."

Her voice is not hard, nor unkind, but leaves no room for negotiation. Struggling to think back on what she asked me just now, her words gather meaning in my head. She wants to know how long I have had a fever and I hold up one finger. No use to lie about this. She knows I'm sick now.

"One day?"

Yeah.

"Oh goodness. Why didn't you say anything? You're sick, you don't have to go on like nothing is wrong. You must be miserable! Go to bed. Please. I will come to help you in a moment."

Fuck, no. Don't send me to bed. Please. I can help, I just have to try a little harder.

"Now, Bella. You are ill and should not be moving around."

Once again, her tone leaves no room for negotiation and I'm not one to ignore a direct order. I hesitate for a split second, contemplating to try and explain there really is no need to put me in bed and render me useless — _and vulnerable_, my evil mind whispers — but I look at Esme and decide it really is better to do as she says for the moment.

She doesn't look angry. At least I'm relatively sure of that. And the way she says 'please' is different from the way I've heard it said so many times before.

My evil mind still presses the red alert button however and starts screaming how dangerous it is to be sent to bed, but as I have to grab the doorframe for support when I leave the room, I force her to shut the fuck up.

My head feels like it's stuffed with cotton balls and after yet another coughing fit my chest feels like it has been ripped from the inside out. My mind is a chaos — I can't seem to finish coherent thought.

I go to sit on the edge of my bed and wait for Esme to come and find me. No, I'm not swaying to keep my balance. The world around me is just not keeping still.

My legs hurt and my arms are heavy. When I hear Esme coming up the stairs I don't even have the energy to worry.

Meh.

She comes into my room and puts a glass of water on the nightstand with some pills still in their strip. Next to them she puts down an aural thermometer. Then she kneels in front of me. My head is too heavy to lift so I look up at her with just my eyes, waiting.

"I brought you some Tylenol. Would you mind taking your temperature? No consequences," she smiles.

I frown. I have a fever, isn't that all she needs to know?

"Please?" She hands me the thing and turns it on. Within two seconds we learn I am a toasty 103 degrees.

Esme frowns, but it's not in disapproval. It's… worry? She looks back at me. "Get in your pj's and sleep, honey. I think you may have caught something when you ran to the forest last Saturday."

Oh, fuck! She's right, of course. Oh great, of _course_ I have brought this onto myself. This is excellent. Fucking _outstanding_.

"No, don't go berating yourself," Esme interrupts my thoughts. "You're sick. It's not an uncommon reaction after the enormous stress you've been through. Your body needs time to process it all."

Ha! My body? What about my mind? It's not like it has been at all confusing ever since I got here.

"Just you rest," Esme continues and there is a kindness in her voice I didn't expect. "I don't blame you for getting sick and Carlisle doesn't either. We are just worried about you."

Sure, sure.

Esme looks at me for a minute, thinking. "Remember the contract?"

I blink at her. I had completely forgotten it, to be honest.

"We mean what it states. No violence. No punishment for showing what you may feel is weakness. No pain. This is your body, Bella, telling you that it has been enough. Please."

It seems she's not finishing the reason for her 'please,' but I think I know what she means.

"I'll leave you now. Call me if you need anything, okay? Just let the phone ring once and I'll come to see you."

I look at her as she leaves the room. I can't fight anymore. I take two Tylenol and crawl under the sheets, not bothering to take off my clothes.

I sleep.

**~O~**

Sometimes it's easier to act like you are asleep. Especially when you know that the person by your bed wants something. If they really need it, they'll wake you nevertheless, but there's always this very slight chance that they'll leave you when you are sleeping.

But when I hear the bedroom door open after the unanswered knocking my eyes still fly open to see who is entering. I turn my head towards the door and see Carlisle and Esme coming in.

Alarmed, my body goes rigid. _What do they want?_

"We just came to see how you were," Esme says softly. "How did you sleep?"

I don't reply to this, but I think she's not really expecting anything.

"I brought you some more Tylenol," she continues, and Carlisle takes over from her.

"How are you? Still having a fever? Would you mind taking your temperature again?"

Whatever. I try to move my hand and only then do I realize how much my entire body hurts. Every muscle aches and it's a struggle to move my arm at all. I cannot prevent my wince when I try to lift my arm from under the sheets.

"Everything hurts?" Carlisle asks gently, trying to understand my grimace. There is no malice in his voice. Even through my haze, I can hear that.

Esme hands me the thermometer and I give in again to taking my temperature. It's still 100.5, the fever is not over yet.

But hell, I could have told them this without using a device for it.

Carlisle nods when he sees the screen of the thermometer. "Let us know when it goes up again, okay?" he asks. He's in doctor mode. "How is the coughing?"

I don't want this. With a half-hearted shrug I try to communicate that it's not important. I don't want them to know how bad it is and they shouldn't bother.

"I understand," he says softly. "I'll leave you now," he announces then, and indeed he gets up and walks out of the room after a greeting.

I turn back to Esme. I am so sorry to be like this. Useless, taking up space. I am so sorry for being weak.

"Try to sleep some more. I'll come to bring you some food later. Are you hungry?"

No.

"Just try to put on some pajamas, okay?"

Oh, right, I never changed.

Esme leaves.

I sleep.

**~O~**

I wake again sometime after noon and decide it has been just about enough by now. By the feel of it, the fever has come down a little and I have to be up again. I can't be lying in bed here useless — it feels like that's all I have done so far in this household.

When I come down however, Esme is resolute. "Bed."

But…

"Bed."

Just let me…

"Please, go to bed. I'll bring you some soup later. Up you go."

Fuck my life. Fuck. My. Life.

**~O~**

I lie awake through the afternoon, drifting. I can't find the courage or the energy to take a shower but I finally manage to get into my pajamas and crawl back into bed. My body is grateful for it.

Slowly but surely, the fever rises.

Beads of sweat roll off my forehead, along my temples into my hair, but all the time I am shivering with cold. I pull the covers up to my chin and pray to whatever higher deity that they will leave me in piece to get better.

I am too sick to worry. Every cell in my body aches and not so long ago my legs have started to cramp up. The pain is crawling upwards slowly and by the time Alice visits me in the late afternoon, it has reached my lower back.

It hurts.

Alice kneels by my bed and the muscles in my neck protest as I turn my head to keep looking at her.

"You look miserable," she states.

Well, I _feel_ miserable.

"How are you?"

Frustration washes over me. I don't want to be sick. I don't want to be weak. What use am I to the Cullens when I am lying in bed? Then again I don't dare to go out for fear of displeasing Esme and apart from that, my body really is refusing to do as I would right now.

"You shouldn't blame yourself for being sick," Alice starts. "You can't help it."

No, I _can_ help it. It's my own fault that I ran into the woods and apparently caught something. Shit. I try to sit up, but it's a fruitless attempt. My body refuses.

Where has my will power gone?

Alice asks me if I need anything, but I shake my head. Under the blankets, my body is heating up. I can feel my pajamas dampen but no way in hell that I will push the heavy comforter off me.

A coughing itch teases my throat with every breath. It's terribly distracting and I just keep looking at Alice, hoping that she will go and not say nasty things to Carlisle or Esme. Or any of her siblings.

"Oh I forgot," she then says. "I bought you a chapstick?" She holds it up to me and then places it on the nightstand.

The tiny gesture is nice, I think, but I won't be able to pay her back for this. I can't worry about that too long however as Alice finally gets up and leaves. The moment she closes the door behind her, I have to give in and break out into a violent coughing fit.

Ugh.

My throat, that had healing very well, is raw once more.

I lie back and try not to move as much. My hair hurts — there really is no other way to put it.

The fever rises.

I'm hot, then cold, then hot again.

I stay hot this time, body heat rising and clouding my mind. I'm tangled in the clammy sheets but I don't want to push them off me. Finally I yank up my pajama top and roll over to press my bare stomach against a cool part of the mattress.

Oh, that feels good.

Flipping over my pillow to reach a dry and cool side, I press my heated cheek against the soft fabric and exhale, exhausted.

My lower back burns, my legs are cramped up and now my arms have started, too. It's getting worse.

The fever rises.

I can only hope no one will come for me now. But I don't really care any more. I just want to lie here, as still as possible, and for this pain to go away.

**~O~**

He's here.

My eyes fly open and scan the twilit room without moving, without blinking. I can't see him on this side but he's here.

He holds his breath when I hold my breath, and I can't hear him, but he's here. I know he is.

Very slowly, I turn in my bed and look around the room.

My heart skips a beat and my breath hitches as I make out his silhouette to my left.

"Isabella," his voice drawls, "why are you lying in bed?"

"I'm sick," I whisper. My voice is hoarse and my throat hurts when I speak.

"Are you, now?" He stalks forward slowly, his dreadlocks dancing around his face as he moves.

I nod, forced into honesty, eyes getting wide as he approaches the bed. He towers over me, the tension is palpable in the room.

"How did you get sick?" he asks, his voice dripping with fake sympathy.

"I went out without a coat," I croak. My voice is shaking and I curse myself for showing this weakness. It's my own fault, after all.

His face changes, hardens. The white of his eyes is fierce against his dark skin and his mouth turns into a hard line. "So you brought this onto yourself," he says flatly. He shakes his head. "What am I going to do with you? It's your own fault, Isabella. When will you ever learn?" Sighing, he steps back.

"Get up. You have no right to be in bed. Do your chores. I expect you to be waiting for me tonight. "

My breath escapes me as pure fear takes hold of my body. Oh no.

Walking to the door, he stops to look over his shoulder. "Oh, and don't tell your mother. You wouldn't want to upset her, now would you? Besides, you remember what I have told you, no?"

"Yes," I whisper.

"Remind me," Laurent purrs.

"If I ever tell her, she will hate me forever."

"Good. What else?"

"If I ever tell her, you will hurt her, instead of me."

"And?"

"And she will leave me."

"Good girl. Remember, it's all your doing. You have brought this onto yourself."

When I blink, he has left the room.

Struggling to obey his command, I untangle myself from the damp blankets. I am shaking badly when I make my way to the door.

Have to get up.

Have to get about.

Cannot give in and show weakness.

This is my fault.

_My_ fault.

And the consequences are waiting for me.

"Close the door, Bella."

Spinning around so quickly I almost lose my balance, I have to fight to prevent my knees from buckling immediately after when I see Stefan on the other end of the room.

Wait… what?

My breath escapes in a gust and my heart almost crashes out of my chest. He is holding something, tapping and turning it over and over in his hand.

His belt.

No. No, please, no.

"I said, close the door."

With badly trembling fingers, I push the lock closed. Turning back, I find that I am in his bedroom. The carpet smells like his cigarettes and the scent of stale beer hangs heavily in the air.

Without speaking, Stefan snaps his fingers and points to the wall.

I tear up and my vision blurs when I shakily make my way over to the other end of the room. I brace myself against the wall and wait. Every fiber of my being tenses up in anticipation and I grit my teeth to get through this. If I'm lucky, he'll tell me what I've done to deserve it.

I hear the faint whistle of the belt, but the blow never comes. Instead, I hear the sound of his zipper. Alarmed, I look over my shoulder.

He's not there.

I am no longer in Stefan's room. I don't know where I am.

I'm lost. I sink to my knees and hug myself.

What is going on here?

Closing my eyes, sounds invade my senses immediately. The sounds of someone bustling around in the kitchen. Of a blazing hearth next to me. Of a door closing, indicating that someone is leaving.

I am seven again.

When I open my eyes, my mother is standing before me. Her hands are on her hips. She's angry.

What did I do?

"Say it again," she hisses.

What did I say? The words escape my lips before I can think them out in my head first.

"Laurent comes to my room at night. It hurts, mommy."

Her faces hardens further, her eyes are glowing like flints. "Don't you _ever_ talk about that!" she screams. The hot poker glows in the dark and comes flying at me with a speed and accuracy that startles me. Holding out my hand to prevent it from hitting my face, the fire makes contact with my skin. The pain is immediate and all consuming. I cannot prevent to let out my agony and scream.

My mother leaves me. She takes off the day after she hits me with the poker. I stand in the doorway, watching as she throws clothes into her suitcase. She doesn't look at me.

I don't dare to speak.

My hand hurts.

Tears slide down my face constantly and my head gets bumped into the wall as my mother pushes past me roughly with her luggage.

I try to grab her arm but she yanks herself away from me. Not looking back, she walks out of the house without a word. I run into her bedroom to look out the window and see how she gets into a car on the right side. I don't know who drives it.

The car is red and it leaves. I follow it with my eyes until it turns the corner and I can no longer see it.

A hand, in the nape of my neck.

"See, what you have done?"

The blow comes from behind and I am unprepared. I lose my balance and fall to the side, against the wall. The second blow I can't see coming either.

By the third blow, I have closed my eyes.

By the seventh, I stop counting.

I don't cry out when he kicks me.

I don't make a sound. I think it's safer to remain quiet from now on.

There's nothing I can do. I've brought this on to myself. I have learned my lesson now. It's all my fault.

My fault.

I curl up on the ground, fist my hands in my hair and wait for this to pass.

**~O~**

"Bella? Please, open you eyes. Bella? It's okay, honey, it's okay. Please come back to us. There is no danger here. Bella? Please?" It's Esme's voice and it's frantic and breaks at the last word.

I keep rocking back and forth, my hands twisted in my hair in a deadlock grip. I look around to room frantically, out of breath, trying to see if _they_ are still here. Then I close my eyes again, too scared to really see what's around me.

"Bella? Listen to me carefully. I know you can hear me. Laurent is not here. Stefan is not here. They will not find you here and we will not send you back to them. Do you hear me?" Her voice changes, becomes stronger, more determined.

"I think you were hallucinating. You are with us now."

I can't get my breathing under control. Everything hurts and my breath is rattling with all the ick that is stuck in my throat.

"Try to count with her," a male voice says softly. Carlisle.

"Yes. Bella? Will you count with me? One, you're okay…"

Ah, no. I am not okay. I am, most definitely, not okay.

Shaking my head vigorously, I clamp my arms shut tighter around my face and pull my legs closer to me.

Just leave me alone.

For God's sake, leave me alone.

"Bella." Her voice breaks and I can hear she's crying.

She puts her hand on my arm and I tense up, waiting for what is going to come. "Please let us be there for you."

Her hands close around my wrists and my breathing stops altogether, leaving the echo of my racing heartbeat in my ears. Softly, Esme tugs at my arms, trying to pry them away from my face.

This has never happened before and it's altogether alarming. My body is too tired to fully prepare or to fight so I let go and let Esme touch me, move me.

It doesn't matter what comes now. I've been right from the beginning. Just let it start now. At least the waiting will be over then.

"Look at me," she breathes.

I do as she asks and see that her face is wet with tears. Inhaling shakily, I look at her, waiting.

"Let us be here for you," she repeats softly. "There is nothing to be afraid of here."

Her obvious distress triggers mine too and tears finally spill over.

I give up.

All the pain, all the humiliation, all the insults… I am so tired. I don't want to bear it anymore. I feel so empty inside.

I slump forward, no longer caring what will happen, and cry. Let them beat me for my tears. I don't have the energy to hold them back anymore.

When I feel Esme's arm around my shoulders, I jerk away, but she persists.

"Please," she whispers.

And, although I'd rather die than ever admit it, her arm feels warm and comforting around me.

She's hugging me. She's actually _hugging me._

Oh…

I have craved this for so long and at this moment, I want it so much that I can't make myself push her away. The fear of getting hurt no longer can win it from the intensity with which I want this.

Let them take it away from me later. If I can have it now, if only for a moment, I will take it. I'll pay for it. It's worth any price. Just let me have this.

Breathing heavily, I finally give in completely and sobs tear through my body as I let go.

"Ssh," Esme whispers as she scoots closer to me and keeps her arm around my back. Her other arm wraps around my front and although I am momentarily alarmed, my body refuses to fight as the wonderful, wonderful feeling of this embrace washes over me.

I'm still crying as without volition my own hands grip Esme's arm and I hold her tight.

Please, please don't let this go bad.

I have dreamed of this for so long.

Please, don't turn on me now.

Please.

"Ssh," Esme says gently again. "You're here now. You're safe. You're with us. You're home."

Please.

Please…

* * *

_Please..._


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N Twilight is not mine. This plot is.**

_As ever, your reviews bring tears to my eyes. As Bella had a breakthrough in the last chapter, I had a breakdown. This is why I have done so few review replies. I am sorry. My lovelies Sherryola and Rutzdeb pulled me through and pulled me off the edge. Thank you ladies, thank you for that. Thank you too for prereading and betaing this story. And thank you for being there for me, whenever I need to vent about this fic or scary things such as real life.  
_

_On to the chapter. Will Bella ever be able to catch a break...?  
_

_

* * *

_Day and night turn into eternal twilight as I lie and wait until the fever goes down again. I sleep at times, but many hours are spent awake, looking into nothingness, too tired to worry, too tired to be scared.

All the time in the world to remember Esme's warm arms around me.

I try not to linger on that memory. I think the chances of that happening again are slim and I would never dare to ask for it.

But oh, it felt so good to be held like that. How I've longed for arms around me that were reassuring, not restraining. I gave in, pushed away my fear and took the risk. It's the best gift I could ever receive.

I feel very awkward when I see Esme the first time 'after,' but she doesn't seem to notice it, nor does she seem to be uncomfortable around me. She doesn't bring it up, and I am grateful for that. It means she also won't laugh at me for wanting to be held, to be hugged.

Esme is in and out of my room to care for me, although I flat out refuse her help. She doesn't force me to do anything either and every time she leaves the room, I exhale in relief. Every time she leaves me and nothing has happened, a tiny bit of anxiety evaporates.

I'm still tense as a wire, though.

Esme tells me about eleventy billion times that I shouldn't feel worried about being sick and that she wants me to relax so that I can get better. She also tells me that nobody would come to my room and that she would appreciate it if I could leave my door unlocked so she can bring me food and stuff without me having to go up to open the door.

Gah. I don't like that thought, but I know now that they have a key anyway so it doesn't really matter if I lock the door or not.

They can get in if they want to.

Yet they have never done this, but for Friday night.

I think I must have screamed or something to get their attention like that. The thought alone is horrifying. Esme told me I must have been hallucinating. I don't really remember anything, but there is a nagging pain in my right hand — almost a phantom pain of that time I got hit with the poker.

Sighing, I turn to my side. It's a big leap, from a hug to that poker. It's confusing, too.

Meh. I don't have the energy to really worry and besides, my head feels like it's stuffed. Being too sick to think things through can be a gift, I come to realize. I huddle deeper under the blankets and drift off again.

No, sleep is not good. I have recurring nightmares and when I wake up my sheets are once more damp with sweat. Looking at my watch I can see it's three. Would it be Saturday or Sunday? Monday maybe? Nah. I have completely lost track of time.

But, I do feel a bit better. I still bark like a dog in violent coughing fits but my head is clearer. I wish I had an extra pair of pyjamas though. These feel soaked.

Esme announces her presence with a knock on the door and comes in when I clap my hands. Gah. I won't ever get used to it.

"You were sleeping earlier," she smiles as she steps in. She's carrying a steaming mug — presumably some broth. I've been living on that over the last days. I flat out refuse the fluid food. It comes out quicker than I get it in. I won't eat it anymore.

"I brought you something to drink. How are you?"

I nod carefully — I'm better now. I still feel awkward and shy under her gaze. Have done since she put her arms around me. It's hard to admit how wonderful it felt.

It's harder to admit I want it again.

"You look a bit better. Hey, what do you think of maybe a shower and changing into clean things? I can clean the sheets on your bed in the meantime?"

Sounds good but for the fact I don't want her in the bedroom when I am in the shower.

Seeing my hesitation, she reconsiders. "You can shower later. Let me get you some things. Drink your broth, you're getting dangerously thin," she adds as an afterthought, and then she is out of the room.

It's getting easier, it seems.

Freshly showered, freshly clad in clean pyjamas and crawling in between fresh sheets, I feel better instantly. I have put my shawl back on, as I feel better with my neck covered. Maybe I can go out of bed later. My back is no longer hurting from the fever but now it is stiff because I have been lying down for so long.

Esme is back however with the thermometer and asks me kindly but steadily if I would like to assist her again.

The device beeps — one longer one to indicate the start of the measurement, and then, after two seconds of silence, three shorter ones.

I still have a fever.

Shit.

Esme leaves me, telling me to stay in bed, and I sit back against the headboard with a sigh, which sets off a coughing fit. Grrr.

I could read, but I don't feel like it. I should answer Renée's emails, but I can't be bothered to get up. I am still not very well. I just have a hard time realizing it. I have been used to suppressing my discomfort for so long, I don't know how to recognize it anymore.

And I feel incredibly weak for being in bed like this. Useless. A waste of space.

I think I've been sick before. I just never stayed in bed. Never gave in to it.

Beatings hurt more though, when you have a fever and every hair follicle sends a pain signal to your brain. I can't bring myself to snap the rubber band at my wrist when a memory of Laurent crashes down on me.

I've not been beaten yet here. I have been unguarded and they have done nothing. Still I wonder when it will start. They're playing a damn evil game if this should all turn out to be a farce.

My rationale whispers faintly in protest. This can't be a game.

Crossing my arms, I sit back with a scowl. I daren't disobey direct orders, but hot fucking damn it's hard to stay in bed like this.

The phone they gave me beeps on the nightstand. My heart skips a beat at the sound and tentatively, I reach out to pick it up. A text message. What, seriously? I press the button to read it.

_How are you? Xo Alice_

I look at the screen for a long time, completely lost. Should I reply to this? But what do I say? Finally, I type something.

_I'm okay._

I press 'send.' I don't really know why my heart is hammering in my chest right now. I keep holding the phone, not really sure what to do. Minutes tick by and I start to wonder what I am waiting for, exactly.

The phone beeps and vibrates again, tearing me from near slumber with a jolt.

_Glad you're better. Good to know that you text! Edward._

The fuck!

I don't answer the message. I just keep looking at it long after the backlight of the screen dies down.

**~O~**

The fever continues to keep me company quite constantly for the next couple of days, as does Esme. Carlisle comes to stand at my door several times a day to ask me how I feel, always friendly, always with a gentle smile that reaches his eyes. He doesn't come in when I am alone in the room, and I appreciate it.

Some Cullen kids come to greet me. Alice is at my door a couple of times, asking me how I am and if I need anything. Jasper often comes to pick Alice up at my door and he always smiles as he greets me. One time Edward hears Alice talking to me in my room and he stops by too, lingering in the doorway and asking me how I am.

He almost looks shy. He never mentions the text message and I am careful to not look at the phone on the nightstand when he is around.

When the fever is up though, they leave me alone and I have the feeling that Esme has told them to do so. The fever is up a lot. I spend a lot of time alone in the room.

I have a hard time to give in to it and let my body rest and heal, but I cannot deny how blissful it feels to be alone and unbothered for such long periods of time.

Nothing has happened to indicate it will become the same here as it was before, with Laurent, with Stefan.

I shudder when I think of them. I don't know what I did to deserve them being out of my life, but if I were to believe in a God I'd thank him on my bare knees for it.

Even this first week and a half here, however riddled with bad luck and horrible fuck ups, has felt like a vacation to me.

Not your typical sun-vacation, as the sun hasn't really shone in all the days I've been around here now, but a vacation nevertheless.

I sleep a bit better. I take less meds for the ache in my throat and I am not as afraid to go to sleep anymore. It's a mixture of feeling safety and apathy — if they'll come, let them come. I'm tired of waiting.

On Wednesday, I have been fever free for well over twelve hours and I need to get out of this room lest I go mad. I shower, dress, and venture out into the quiet house.

It feels wonderful to get my legs moving again, although my muscles protest fiercely when I walk down the stairs. My stomach growls — maybe I am getting better. And the wonderful news is I might even try to eat some bread or anything soft yet solid.

I'm almost giddy.

Esme is not in around when I reach the kitchen and softly rummaging about I find something to eat and to drink. Yes. Bliss.

The house is quiet, but I am fairly certain I am not alone. Esme would have let me know if she was going to go out. Outside, it's not raining for a change, but the wind is blowing and I can hear it rushing faintly in the trees.

I want to go out, to get some fresh air. Maybe I can find the coat Esme has lent me before. Walking into the hallway, I find the closet that holds the coats and find the Burberry in it.

Taking my chances, and hunger forgotten, I put on the coat while crossing the house and I slip out the door to the porch.

The fresh air is liberating. I walk to the railing and stand with my face in the wind. It feels soothingly cool on my skin. Looking up at the clouds, the wind picks up my hair and whips it around my face. It feels light, and for the first time in a _very_ long time, _I_ feel light, too.

I close my eyes and let a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth.

"There you are!"

I turn around quickly, my mouth opened in a silent gasp. Esme is standing in the door, she is smiling but the look of worry is apparent on her face.

"You weren't in your room, I looked everywhere for you!"

My eyes go wider still and convey what I hope a silent apology. Oops. Will she be angry?

The look on her face changes, softens. "You scared me, is all. I was afraid something was wrong. How are you? Is the fever gone?"

I nod, and I can't prevent the tiny smile that accompanies my affirmation. _I'm better now. Please tell me what I can do for you._

"I'm happy that you are starting to move around on your own. Don't stay out for too long, okay? Or do you want me to keep you company?"

Not necessarily, no.

Reading my face correctly, she smiles again. "I'm glad you feel better."

And with that, she goes back inside. When she is out of sight, I turn to look back over the driveway again and let my thoughts drift with the wind.

I'm not sure how long I have been standing there when I see a car coming down the lane. As soon as I recognize Edward's Volvo — which is apparently working again — I make my way inside.

Fully intending to slip past Esme and hide out in my room, she steps out of the kitchen at that precise moment, still holding a dishtowel.

Hey, I could've helped her with that!

"Won't you keep us company for a bit?" she asks softly, carefully.

Is this a trick question? I don't really want to, but what if _she_ wants me to?

Behind me, I hear the bustle of a car entering the garage.

"Please?" Esme asks, and it's a loaded word. She's asking me for more than staying downstairs for now. It's the same type of 'please' that was used when she hugged me.

Oh, that hug…

"I know it's hard for you," she whispers as multiple sets of footsteps approach the door. "Will you please try?"

There something in the way she says it, as if she is afraid to ask this of me. This woman confounds me. And I am still busy being confounded when the door opens and Edward, Alice and Jasper enter the room.

"Oh, you're up!" Alice exclaims and she skips towards me, making me stumble back a bit. She claps her hands and looks up at me with a sparkle in her eye. "I am so happy to see you better! You had us worried, you know."

Worried? Huh.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Edward looking at me. To his right, Jasper stands, and he's looking at Edward.

Alice, in the meantime, is chattering on. "… now we can finally start to get to know you!"

I look back at her as her words register. The age-old knowledge makes itself known again. I'm not worth knowing. Lowering my eyes, I fidget a little before I shove my hands into the pocket of my sweater. I don't know what to do.

"Edward, I haven't heard you play lately?" Esme asks out of the blue.

"Yeah, well, haven't had a mind to," he replies, shrugging and looking away.

"Well, play something now? I'm sure Bella would like to hear you play."

Now Edward looks up at his mother and I can see he's uncomfortable. When his gaze shifts to me, I shake my head in a way I hope conveys that he shouldn't feel uncomfortable on my behalf. He doesn't have to play if he doesn't want to. And especially not for me.

I'd like to hear him play, though. A baby grand… I wonder how that will sound in this house. I'm sure the acoustics are fabulous.

Edward smiles, a crooked smile, and looks down. "Some other time, maybe."

Esme tuts, but doesn't push. "So, how was school today?"

"Okay," Jasper answers just as Edward says "purgatory, as usual."

I can't help my smile at this and I look down to hide it.

"Tons of homework," Alice says brightly, before she turns to Edward. "Come on. I still need to kick your ass in Gran Turismo."

"I'm game. Prepare for disappointment, though."

Alice huffs and leads the way to the living room. She turns before she rounds the corner and Edward and Jasper walk past her. "Hey Bella, want to see how to embarrass Edward?"

"Will not!" he calls from the living room.

"Come on," Alice says and her smile is so gentle, and her eyes are so sweet, I can't resist.

I'm giving in to an awful lot lately. I'm indulging myself. Yet I can't stop. It's completely addicting.

"Or do you want to play?" Edward asks me.

I shake my head, startled by his request.

"Already trying to back out, Edward?" Alice says teasingly.

He cocks an eyebrow at her. "Never. Bring it on."

I take my seat in the same chair as I have used every time before in this room and I watch as Alice and Edward race each other. It's serious business and Alice beats Edward handily the first round.

Edward is sitting on the couch beside Jasper, and Alice is on the ground between Jasper's legs. His fingers are absently caressing her hair and she leans her head back into his touch.

I force myself to look away.

Edward starts a new game and he and Alice race again, faces tense and fingers flying over controllers in order to get the cars on the screen to do what they want. Alice wins.

Nobody is really talking, apart from the occasional comment ("three out of five!") and I find I am quite okay being here like this. They aren't paying any attention to me and it feels nice to be a part of this atmosphere, even, no, especially from the sideline.

It's incredibly selfish, I know.

The third round, Edward wins, and he pumps his fist in the air to celebrate a silent victory as Esme comes in with drinks for everyone. She looks down at me and she's positively beaming.

"Are you okay?" she asks very softly.

I nod carefully.

"Good. That makes me happy," she whispers, and then she is away again.

Yeah, the woman confounds me.

And oh, that hug…

When Edward and Alice are on a tie, Emmett and Rosalie come home. They get a snack from the kitchen and then come to crash in the living room as well for a bit. It's a little crowded to my taste, but I try to stay calm. No signs of danger.

Yet.

"Heya, Bella!" Emmett booms as he sees me. "Good to know that your voice _is_ working at least!"

I cringe at his comment and the following silence is eerie.

"Don't you remember?" Alice asks softly and my eyes snap to hers. "You screamed. That's why mom and dad came to find you. You had us all very worried there."

I don't know where to leave my hands and all of a sudden it feels very hot in this room.

"I guess you were hallucinating," she continues. "You don't remember?"

I shake my head, eyes wide. Not really, no.

"Well, you managed to awake even me," Emmett chuckles, trying to make light of the situation, "and that's saying something."

"True," Jasper adds. "You can fire a cannon beside his bed and still he won't rouse."

"He's easy to wake though," Rosalie says quietly, her small hand snaking up his back.

"Gross, Rose! Alice exclaims. "Seriously, too much information."

"That's what _you_ make of it," Rosalie says. "I only was going to say that you just have to whisper his name into his ear."

Edward laughs, throwing his head back in the process. "Only with you, dear sister. I'm pretty sure that if I try that, I won't live to tell."

Emmett shrugs and mumbles something incoherent. "So, racing?" He tries.

The others chuckle and turn their attention back towards the game.

Whoa. I have rarely before witnessed this type of easy conversation. I am stunned.

"Bella?" I look up and see Esme standing at the entrance to the living room. "Will you join me in the kitchen for a moment?"

Oh, what did I do? I hurry to get up and do what she asks, trying to ignore the eyes I can feel watching my back.

Esme invites me to sit at the table and places a steaming mug of coffee before me. I lower my head in thanks and she smiles widely. "You're welcome. You really like coffee, don't you?"

I do. I used to be unable to function without it. But I'm tense, anxious. What does she want?

"So, how are you? Really?"

I look up to meet her eyes and blush when again I think back to Friday night. Looking away quickly, I realize I don't know what exactly she means by her question.

"Do you feel good enough to stay up? How long has the fever been down? Wait," she adds incoherently, and she gets up to produce a notepad and pencil from a kitchen drawer.

"How long has the fever been down?" she repeats.

Over fourteen glorious hours.

"Do you have any pains still? Any discomfort? How is your throat?"

It's good enough. I shrug and nod.

"Okay. Just take it easy, will you? You don't have to do anything here but get better."

To me, it's a non sequitur, and I try to hide my frown by picking up my mug. Sipping from my coffee, I realize how easy it has become in such a short time to even drink with others around.

"Is it confusing for you?" she asks softly.

Her words are so spot on right that I look up at her, unable to hide my surprise.

Esme chuckles softly, kindly. "I guess that it's different here from what you know?"

Yeah, you can say that again.

Esme takes a drink, thinking. When she puts down her mug again, she takes a moment before she speaks. "It won't change, you know."

I blink, stunned.

"Here, I mean. How things are here. It won't change."

My breath escapes in a gust and I find I am shaking. I don't even know what to think anymore.

"Just making things clear," she smiles.

I have never been more confused in my life, I should think.

"Oh, something else, I have filed a complaint against the doctor that examined you last week. He had no right whatsoever to treat you like he did and he will have to answer for his actions."

My eyes go wide again and I swallow. I wouldn't want that doctor to be in trouble because of me, but what strikes me more is that Esme seems to think that the man _did_ treat me badly. I have thought this over before but I'm apprehensive to draw any conclusions.

"He had no right," Esme repeats softly and I have the distinct feeling she is no longer talking about that doctor.

For the second time in less than thirty minutes, the room feels too hot and I don't know where to look.

"Mom, what will we have for dinner?"

My eyes fly up and I can see Edward standing at the breakfast bar. How long has he been standing there? I didn't hear him come in?

Damnation, I really should start paying attention more. He's so quiet it's alarming.

Esme fills him in on the menu and I fidget, uncomfortable.

"Speaking of which, I should get dinner going." Esme stands up and puts her mug in the dishwasher. Edward trails back into the living room. When he is gone, Esme asks, "you okay? You look flustered."

I shrug it away and write my question down.

_What can I do to help?_

Reading it, she smiles at me. "You can help me by taking it easy. Keep me company if you want, or join the others in the living room. Whatever you like."

Whatever I like… I'd like to be cooking. Taking the shot, I write this down and for the second time, I am allowed to help to make dinner.

Esme is smug. She's trying to hide it but I think she's happy that I communicated an actual desire. However, she can't be any smugger than I am right now. I am helping out.

I am finally making myself useful.

I am pleased with myself indeed.

When Jasper steps in and starts to set the table without much more than a mumbled greeting, I look at him for a moment. I'm tensed up, but he's not paying me any attention whatsoever as he sets out eight plates in a manner that drips with routine. I shift my gaze to Esme, narrowing my eyes at her. She sees me and laughs, a happy laugh.

Hey, what's so funny here?

Even Jasper stills, surprised.

"I'm sorry," Esme apologizes, but the corners of her mouth keep tugging into a smile. "I should have handled that differently. But you look so indignant. I'm sorry," she repeats, and laughs again.

Jasper hesitates, probably sensing he's intruding something, then turns to leave the kitchen. "I'll come back later."

Looking back at Esme, I wait for her to explain why I am not allowed to help out when the others obviously do, and even without being told.

"I'm sorry," Esme says again, serious now. "Let me try to explain. You probably took care of the entire household back in Phoenix, didn't you?"

Carefully, I nod. Where is she going with this? I notice though that she doesn't use Stefan's name.

"Because it was expected of you?"

Again, I nod. My heart is slowly picking up speed as my apprehension builds. In the back of my throat, a coughing urge itches.

"And there were consequences when you didn't?"

I swallow thickly and I can see on her face that my reaction says more than any other sign could do.

Esme thinks for a moment, her mouth grim as she processes my responses. "That's what I thought. I wanted to teach you that we do not expect you to take care of the entire household. I thought it better to not let you do anything, for fear that you would do more and more. You see, we spoke to Renée about this and she warned us you would. We wanted to give you some time off. And later, when you feel better and more at ease around us, you can do your part."

I listen, stupefied.

"It's not that we think you wouldn't be able to do it, but we don't _want_ you to do it. Not all, at least. You have to learn to enjoy your life, without feeling obliged to take care of the house, for example."

Okay, now she's starting to talk nonsense.

"There will be no consequences if you don't make yourself useful," she finishes in a much softer voice.

Baffled, I look at this woman, my caretaker, my foster mother.

"Never, Bella. Remember the contract? No violence."

I look away, fidgeting again. The coughing itch builds and I can't keep it in anymore, I cover my face in my hands and give in to it.

Fuck damn I sound like a choking sea elephant.

"You're not better yet."

Guess not. But a cough like this can go on for weeks, surely she knows that if her husband is a doctor? I shrug. No way I am going back to bed, though.

"If the fever comes back, will you rest?"

I might. I turn to the sink to wash my hands and resume chopping the last of the vegetables to indicate this conversation is over if I have any say in it.

Esme sighs softly and turns back to the cooking island, igniting the stove and starting on dinner. After a minute or two, Jasper strolls back into the kitchen like nothing has happened and he finishes to set the table.

Only now do I fully register that the table is set for eight.

My movements still as I take in this tiny fact.

"Of course we set the table for you," Esme says softly, reassuringly as she notices the direction of my gaze. "You are part of our family now."

When I tear away my eyes from the table to meet her eyes, she smiles. "Will you join us for dinner? You don't have to eat if that's too much, but maybe you will join us?"

Oh Jesus, will she ever stop asking me questions like this?

Seeing my hesitation, Esme continues. "You don't have to. Would you rather eat in your room?"

I think I would. I have spent the afternoon in the company of others and to be honest, I am exhausted. Esme was right, stating that I wasn't better yet.

And so I eat up in my room once again. I feel worse than this morning when I go downstairs to clear my dishes away.

From the living room, I can hear the TV. And in the kitchen, there is Edward, rummaging through the fridge. He looks up when he hears me and smiles in greeting.

"It's becoming a habit, us meeting in the kitchen," he says, a crooked grin lingering on his face.

The corners of my mouth turn into a smile at his words. He's right. It seems that every time we are alone together, it is in this kitchen.

"So, how are you? Really?"

His eyes are ablaze with sincerity as he asks me the exact same question Esme asked me earlier. Keeping shooting me glances, without asking he gets a second glass from the cabinet above him and pours out two drinks. He places the second glass on the breakfast bar before me while he starts to drink himself, looking at me over the rim of the glass.

"Well?"

I give a one-shouldered shrug. I'm not well, but I don't want to be uselessly lying in bed again.

"You know, I'd be staying in bed as long as I could if I was as sick as you have been," he says softly, lightly. "It's amazing to see you up and about already."

He indicates that the drink before me is indeed intended for me and slowly I pick up the glass. To what do I owe this unbelievable kindness?

Finishing his own drink, he steps back and leans against the counter, hands supporting him on both sides of his hips.

"You really don't remember that you screamed?"

Well, I deduced it, but that's not really the same, is it?

"You really had us worried," he says. A hand trails up to rub the back of his neck.

He's uncomfortable.

That's a common reaction people have around me and I am used to it. Then how come that with him, it matters?

"Anyway, good to know your voice still works, eh?"

That's what Emmett said, too. Why do they consider this so important? I really don't see the fuss.

Seeing my expression, his smile falters. "You're not happy to know that?"

I cock my head, confused. Why would I be happy about this?

He exhales, lost for words. Well, this is awkward. I fumble with the glass, not sure what to do.

The sound of his telephone pierces through the silence in the kitchen and while I jolt, his face doesn't change as his hand slips into his pocket to get his cell out.

Checking the screen, he presses a button and the phone silences. He looks up at me, apologetically. "It's Jessica. You know, the girl you met Sunday, when you fell? I broke up with her last week, but she keeps calling me."

Looking down at his feet, he sniggers. "She told everyone at school that I had cheated on her. Unbelievable."

Oh, is that why Emmett said something about his mistress?

Edward shifts his gaze back to me. "She wasn't very nice to you when you met her here. I'm sorry for that. She had no right and I told her so."

Again with the right…

"Anyway, I have to get going. Homework, and such." He puts his empty glass in the sink and turns to leave the kitchen. At the corner, he turns around.

"It's nice to see you down here with us."

And then he's gone, leaving me confused once more.

* * *

_A lot of you ask me how often I update. I try to keep, roughly, a ten-day interval. The next update as such should be up the weekend after next. As ever, I love to know what you think. Each and every review is read, reread and cherished :)  
_


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N Twilight is not mine. I would have done it differently. That's why I write fan fiction ;)**

_Hello and thank you for all the reviews. They blew me away. So hard, in fact , that I couldn't reach my key board to reply. Thanks to all. Thanks to Sherryola, my beta, and Rutzdeb (mmwa - bb change your name already)__ for random craziness, giggles, and support. Get well Deb, please :)_

* * *

The fever comes back, with a vengeance. When I wake on what I now solidly believe is Thursday, I feel like shit dragged through mud. I feel a constant pressure on my chest and my blankets are soaked. Trying to untangle myself from my sheets, I once again feel how my skin seems to hurt by touch.

My back aches, my head throbs. My throat feels thick and I am thinking, hearing, seeing everything as through a haze.

Fuck.

Esme comes to check on me but she can't enter the room — I have locked my door again last night before I went to sleep. Now I keep quiet as she knocks, hoping she will think I am asleep still and leave.

God forbid she will use that spare key again, but then again, it's not like I could stop that, could I? It doesn't matter.

Finally, she leaves, and when the house is quiet once more, I let myself drift.

Thank the heavens I can actually sleep here.

Later, Esme is back, and this time her knocks do wake me. Actually, they seem to pound right through my eardrums.

Geez.

She's softly calling my name too and as her voice reaches me through my feverish haze, I realize she is not going to leave. She's not going to go away.

My heart is pounding heavily and I am panting with just the effort of breathing. I don't want to bother with anything right now. I feel like I am floating. Carefully slipping in between the covers more deeply, I close my eyes and shut the world around me out.

I hear my name. Far away, nearer, then close by. I open my eyes at the urgent sound of it and look up in Esme's face, which is pale with fright.

Hey, what happened to get her so—

Wait. How did she get in here? I thought I locked the door… Oh. Spare key.

See?

Without a word, she holds up the thermometer for me to see and when I take it from her, the muscles in my arm burn fiercely in protest.

One long beep, three shorter ones — fever.

No shit. But still, shit.

"You'll be okay," Esme says softly, but her voice hurts in my ears and I wince. She walks into the bathroom and comes back with a damp washcloth. Announcing softly what she will do, she places it on my forehead. I close my eyes tightly automatically against the expected blow but instead, I feel the gentle cool of the cold cloth on my skin and it feels absolutely wonderful.

My face relaxes and I open my eyes again to look at Esme.

I realize I am no longer as afraid to be hit by her. She would have done that a long time ago if she wanted to. With an exhale I give in and relax.

"I'll be back with some Tylenol," she says softly, then disappears from my sight. I am too sore to follow her with my gaze and close my eyes once she closes the door behind her, retreating into nothingness.

This fever is different from the one I had before. It hurts more, I ache to my very core. I don't want to move and I don't want to think, really. I lie in the dark, grinding my teeth through the pain and wait for it to pass.

If it will pass.

Because if I had any money to bet on it, I would have sworn time has come to a complete standstill.

Esme is in and out of my room, changing the cloth and checking my temp. She sits at my bed for long periods of time, like a watchful guard, but not in an oppressive way.

If anything, it's comforting to know that she's just _there_. My fever-ridden mind agrees that as long as she is there, nobody else will come in to hurt me.

And that's okay.

I lie and wait.

When the fever settles a little, Esme takes the chance to make me change into clean pyjamas and while I do so in the bathroom, taking the opportunity to brush my teeth as well because my mouth tastes like something died in it, Esme changes the sheets on the bed again, too.

She really doesn't have to go through this trouble for me, but I cannot help but be grateful when she leaves the room again and I slip in between the cool sheets. I stretch out slowly, trying to ignore the lump in my throat.

The cough I had before has intensified still and now it hurts deep down in my lungs when I give in to the itch. My ribs are starting to hurt with the effort of the constant coughing, too.

With strict orders not to leave my bed, I lie awake for hours on end, waiting.

I cannot get myself to swallow any food and even a glass of water is a challenge.

When I wake up — I didn't know I fell asleep again — I am clammy and disoriented. I am alone and I am shivering with cold so badly my teeth are clattering. Every muscle is cramped up and again just breathing is an effort.

I need extra blankets, heat. Determination washing over me, I crawl out of the bed and make my way towards the closet, where I pull out Renée's quilt. The fabric feels soft and familiar against my aching skin and I pull the blanket into the bed with me, curling around it and burying my face in the memory of the woman who helped me when I had nowhere else to go.

In and out of consciousness, I drift.

Slumber.

Sleep.

I stare at the ceiling, the curtains, the desk, unseeing. The room shimmers before my eyes and my head is pounding when I shift focus, yet when I close them I feel very much like falling and I don't like that either.

My own mind is a mess and I try not to think too much, focusing instead on breathing.

As much as I'm used to physical pain, I'm annoyed with my aching body. I'm not getting any relief and when it comes to the point I can no longer sleep for pain, my throat constricts with the urge to cry.

Oh you sodden girl, don't cry over pain. You're getting weak.

I turn onto my back and hold my breath with the effort of it. I feel faint, almost like that time I fell and hit my head. I was off then, too. But this is different.

As the fever continues to wreck my body, I feel weaker by the hour. My mind slowly seems to detach from my body and I close my eyes. I let go.

**~O~**

Beeps like Morse code near my ear, but still miles away. Long, short, short, short. It's not the sign for SOS, is it?

Ah, it's not important. The beeping has stopped. Maybe it was a phone or something.

Muffled voices now.

"It's over 105."

"That's too high. What do we do? Do we take her to the hospital? I'd rather not, though."

"I'd rather not, either. It would be traumatizing for her. But she needs care. We have to get the fever down, preferably without having to place her in cold water."

"Oh Carlisle, is that medieval method still in use? I'll try to sponge her arms and face a bit with cool water, see if that helps?"

"Yes, at least get those blankets off her."

"Only with her permission."

"Of course. Let's see if she's awake enough. Bella?"

As I open my eyes, it takes a long time to register what I am seeing. Two people are by the bed. Carlisle and Esme.

"Hi, honey."

Oh, what have I done wrong? I try to lift myself up, but Esme puts her hand on my shoulder to keep me down.

"No, don't."

Violent panic flares and I gasp for air as I struggle to register what is happening.

"Bella, don't panic. You're very sick. Please keep calm, we won't hurt you."

Looking from Esme, who is kneeling by the bed, to Carlisle, who is standing a foot away, I am not so sure. Panting, I watch them with wide eyes.

It would be _so_ nasty if they would prey on me while I am defenseless like this.

"Take a deep breath," Carlisle says softly and as I do as he says, I notice I can't breathe in deeply at all.

"I have a damp cloth for you again," Esme says softly before she gently places it on my forehead.

Tentatively, my hand travels up to my head to press the cloth firmer against my skin and only now do I realize I am hot, so hot…

I need to get out from under these blankets, but I can't very well do that with them in the room. My tired heart picks up speed again when my mind flips through the possible outcomes of this situation I am in.

They're not good.

"Calm down," Carlisle says softly. "You need to calm down, Bella. Your fever is dangerously high."

Oh, that must be why I feel so off.

My mind feels like it's a mile away from my body. Everything registers in slow motion and I feel detached. Maybe it's not all that important anymore. I just want it all to be over.

And maybe I don't even care anymore that Carlisle and Esme are with me in the room. I close my eyes and let my head fall to the side a little. Let them have it. Just let it be over quickly.

"Carlisle I think it's best that you leave us now."

He doesn't reply, but after a moment he leaves the room and closes the door behind him with a soft click.

When Esme says my name softly to get my attention, I feel like I am pulled from near unconsciousness. I must have drifted off again.

Turning my head slowly to look at her, I can only detect kindness in her face. Her eyes are soft, gentle.

"I am going to pull the blankets off you," she announces softly. "And then I am going to sponge your arms to get you to cool down. Your fever is very high, Bella, and we want to prevent you having to go to the hospital."

I can only take a shaky breath as Esme indeed starts to tug the blankets down. I want to retreat into my mind but Esme starts talking and her words intrigue me, so I wait.

"Don't shut down, please, Bella. Try to stay around and see that nothing bad will happen to you?"

Pulling the blankets further down, Renée's quilt appears.

Shit, I forgot I had it with me here. I clutch the fabric to my chest and look at Esme, pleading, hoping to God she won't take it away from me.

"What's this?" she asks softly, touching the quilt. "Did you bring this with you from Phoenix?"

I nod slowly, still afraid but absolutely too weak to fight.

"It's beautiful. You don't have to hide these things from us, Bella. What's yours is yours and we will not take it away. Let's put it next to you for now. No wonder you are so warm with double blankets over you!"

She gently tugs the blankets away from me, but I am drifting already.

"Bella, will you please stay with me?"

I am struggling to stay coherent, and she is asking me to stay lucid. God, demanding woman.

Then something cool touches the skin of my underarm, with long gentle strokes. It feels alien and I pull my arm back in an uncoordinated gesture, but the cool touch just follows me.

I don't know what to make of this. I don't like to be touched and my entire skin prickles against the sensation. When I move my arm again, the touch follows once more. Frowning, I turn my head away from the annoyance.

I close my eyes and float away, leaving myself behind.

"Bella?"

_I'm here. _

_I'm just not really here._

_But don't worry. It's not like I'm going anywhere anytime soon._

**~O~**

Miserability.

Is that a word? Because it isn't, it should be. It's the epitome of what I feel. Misery just doesn't do it.

Miserability.

Yeah I like the sound of that.

Shifting my head a little, I try to find a fresh pad of pillow to press my cheek into.

The door opens. I freeze and try to keep my breathing calm and even.

Please to be believing I am asleep.

"She's sleeping."

Thank you.

"That's good, She needs to rest. I'm not surprised she fell so ill. She was malnourished when she arrived here and the lack of sleep hasn't helped."

"I'm happy she didn't have to go to the hospital, Carlisle."

"Me, too. Relapses like hers are common, but she had me worried there."

"I hope that from now on things will be better for her. She's had so much bad luck in her life."

"She has. It's truly unbelievable."

"How is she?"

Hey, is that… Rosalie?

"She'll need to recover, but she'll get there."

"Okay. I was worried. I've never seen any of us as ill as she has been."

"It was a close call, I think."

"A very close call, Carlisle. I was afraid she was drifting away as I tried to get her fever down last night."

"Oh, damn. But she'll be okay?"

"Yes Rose, she will be okay. Flu-wise, at least."

"Okay."

Retreating footsteps, a rustle, a sigh.

"Sleep well, Bella. Get well soon," Esme whispers.

A soft click and the door closes.

I am once more alone.

I exhale and add one more turf to my nothing-happened-list.

I want to sleep.

And although I still cannot really believe it, they are _letting_ me. I don't think about the consequences yet. Not now. I will deal with them when they come.

**~O~**

Miserability.

It really should be a word. I now announce it an existing term.

Because there simply is no other word for the amount of miserable I feel right now.

Everything hurts, as it has done for God knows how long, and I am fed up with it. How it has come to this I don't know, but I can't ignore it anymore.

Tossing and turning in my bed, my body fights the fever as the fever fights whatever is making my body sick. It's a loop and I am trapped in it.

Fuck, I am _so_ done with this.

I tried to get up earlier but that wasn't any better. Although it eased my mind to at least try and be useful around here, I nearly collapsed when I tried to get myself dressed.

If Esme demands an explanation I will tell her that I can't. I just can't.

And I don't want to anymore.

The lump in my throat breaks through and tears pool in my eyes. They start their way down my face just as Esme knocks and enters the room.

I wipe my face, but of _course_ she has noticed it. She notices _everything_.

"Are you fed up with it?" she asks softly as she sits down on the chair by my bed.

Forced into honesty by the accuracy of her question, I nod.

"I can understand that. It will get better, honey. You're past the worst of it now. Can I get you anything?"

I shake my head slowly. Again, my mind travels back to that hug she gave me a century ago. Sighing, I push away my longing.

God, Bella, don't be so ridiculous. My evil mind snorts with laughter at my wistful thinking.

But, I am so miserable. I'm too weary to fight it any longer. Tears come up again and spill over before I can stop myself. My evil mind slaps myself hard in my face, but I can't help it.

"Oh, honey." Before I can blink, she shifts from the seat to the bed, her eyes big and worried. "I'm so sorry for you. It has been so stressful for you to come and live with us… When you get better, we'll truly start to make you feel at home here, okay? And please don't worry about being sick. It's not your fault."

Something in her last words hits me. It's not my fault? How can she think it's not my fault? Wasn't I the one that went out without a coat in the first place?

"It's not your fault," Esme repeats. "Do you hear me, Bella? It's not."

I want to believe her. The longing of this want wrecks through my body and before I can stop myself my body turns towards her, rolling onto my side to get into that fetal position that gives me at least a little more comfort.

Esme looks at me for an endless moment while I move, searching for something in my eyes I do not know how to give. Then, without speaking, she opens her arms to me and as if I am being pulled by an invisible thread, I curl myself around her, resting my head against her leg and my upper legs along her back.

Oh…

Slowly, her arms close softly around me, cocooning me and giving me a comfort that makes me shudder violently.

"Ssh, it's okay. You can always ask me for this," Esme whispers and her voice sounds rough, like she has a lump in her throat.

Well, she wouldn't be the only one here.

"Relax," Esme breathes. "Just let me hold you. Please."

She's not going to push me away.

She's holding me. Hugging me.

Oh…

My breathing becomes irregular with the suppressed sobs that struggle to escape my throat. My entire body is shaking. I don't want to cry for fear of being left alone now.

"Let it out. Just let it out. You're with us now. And we're not ever going to send you away."

**~O~**

Miserability shifts back into misery, shifts back into a nagging ache that I find easy to ignore.

As my mind clears, I have more time and space and energy to think. So much has happened while I was sick, and then I'm not even thinking about the fact that I have been in bed for God knows how long and I have not been bothered.

But I screamed. I remember it a little now. I was hallucinating I think and I remembered the pain, the fear, the shock. Then Esme and Carlisle were with me and Esme held me, hugged me. I let her and it felt so wonderful… I can't even deny it anymore. I was wonderful and even if it all goes bad, I will have that feeling, that memory for always.

Then when I thought I was better and could go out again, the fever returned and thinking back on it, I think I came to within an inch or two of my life.

Turning to my other side in the bed, I try to ignore the whisper in my head that it might have been better if I _had_ died. Then nobody would have to fuss over me anymore.

But I didn't. Esme brought my fever down by sponging my arms and face and then making me drink cool water. I was long gone and shut down by then — vaguely happy that I _could_, regarding my state of being — but I listened to her as she was talking, speaking soothing words and promising me again and again I would find no hurt here, no pain, no violence.

When she finally left, I slept better than I had done in months.

And then of course she sat with me, and I asked her for a hug and I got it. I don't know how long she held me, but it was over an hour. She never told me off. She never…

I can't put it into words, even.

I think Esme must be the epitome of kindness. I just get so nervous around her as I cannot imagine what I could ever have done to see that kindness projected onto me. Maybe she took pity on me. Maybe she allowed it just this once because I was so sick.

It's addicting though. In my mind, Oliver stands up with his bowl and asks, _please sir, can I have some more_?

Sighing, and in a bad mood indeed, I roll myself into a ball and try to fight the want from my system.

Stupid girl.

**~O~**

I wake up sometime when it's dark, and from the clarity in my mind I can tell that the fever is finally gone. I don't know what day it is.

All I know is that I am _hungry_. Putting on my sweater over my pyjama top and stepping into my jeans, I open the bedroom door a crack to listen if the house is indeed asleep.

The silence should say enough.

On socked feet, I make my way downstairs, towards the kitchen, towards food.

Within seconds after I have opened the fridge, I hear someone clearing his throat and I fly up to see who's here too.

Edward.

Hair in disarray, t-shirt and pyjama pants. Eyes still foggy from sleep.

"Hi."

I look at him, alarmed. What does he want, why is he here?

"Don't… Don't shut down." His voice softens with the last words, as if he is shy about saying them.

Gripping the fridge for support, some means to ground me, I try to prevent my heart from crashing right out of my chest.

"Um, I heard you going downstairs and I was wondering if you were all right."

Slowly, I straighten up fully, my hand still on the open fridge door. The cold air drifts out and feels heavy around my legs. My mind is at the ready to retreat as I prepare for my world to shatter.

"Are you okay? Better?"

I nod, still wide-eyed.

"Good. That fever took ages to die down, didn't it?"

I don't know. What day is it anyway? _What do you want, Edward?_

"You had us all worried," he says, a crooked apologetic grin appearing on his face. "Did you want something to eat? Drink?"

I nod, hoping against hope he will leave and let me be.

"I can fix you something? Do you want a sandwich maybe? You can have solid food, right?"

Yeah, I can, but I don't answer as I am too busy wondering what his objective is here. Plus, I really don't want to eat with him around.

I am hungry though.

"Why don't you sit down? I've to make up for the milk disaster, anyway. Let me make you something?"

I shake my head. I don't want to be in his debt like this. I hug myself, feeling naked and vulnerable.

He looks at me, head cocked to the side a bit, searching for something I don't know. Esme has that look too, sometimes, come to think of it.

"Please? Or are you not hungry?"

Sincerity once more radiates off him with this question, but I don't understand why he would want to do this for me.

Maybe I should just ask him. I've got nothing to lose and it's one way of trying to learn if he will want something in return to this.

Lifting my hands, I make a typical 'why'-gesture, hoping he understands.

He chuckles, a laugh escaping in a breath. "Because I want to do something nice for you. I've scared you and I fucked up making hot milk — let me make it up to you?"

Now it's my turn to cock my head at him. To my utter horror, my stomach growls loudly in the silent kitchen. I blush crimson and look down to hide it.

"Just sit down," he says, the corner of his mouth turning up in a grin. "Let me make you something. In this house it's normal to take care of each other."

As he moves to the fridge, I step back and walk around him to position myself at the other end of the breakfast bar.

"What, you going to see if I'm doing it right?" he asks lightly.

I can't hide my surprise at his remark and he turns towards me again, facing me fully.

"Listen, I really don't know what happened to you to make you wary like this, but you really should know that there is no reason at all to be scared in this house. I'm sorry if I'm offending you, but you look like I'm ready to pounce on you any moment. Just to be clear here, I have no intention whatsoever of doing so."

I think my mouth has popped open after this little speech. Apart from the fact that I never heard him speak so many words at once, I am stunned at _what_ he just said. I want to believe him.

Edward looks at me for a moment, and his expression shifts from expecting to uncomfortable. He's lost for words. He turns back to the fridge after a moment and chooses some stuff to make a sandwich with. I hardly see what he is doing. My mind is reeling with what he just said.

As he is deftly making two sandwiches, working quickly and efficiently, he smiles. "It really is becoming a habit, us meeting in the kitchen like this. Are you often awake in the middle of the night?"

He looks at me as he asks his question, but I wouldn't know what to answer. I don't know anymore. I used to be awake at night often, waiting, stealing some hours of sleep during the day when Stefan was at work.

But I _used_ to do a lot of things. The only thing that has remained constant in my life since I got here, is my fear.

And even that seems to be changing.

"I am," he answers his own question. "I'm a night hawk. But I've been sleeping poorly over the last months. Dad says I worry too much." He looks down at the sandwiches and bites his lip after this admission, almost as if he regrets saying this.

"However," he continues trying to lighten the mood again I think, "at least I don't have to worry about the quality of my sandwiches. Here you go my lady." With an elegant swirl, he picks up the plates and takes them to the dining table.

He sits down at the head of the table and gestures for me to follow his example.

I'm torn. I want to follow him, but it's a big leap for me to go and sit down at that table. And eat. With a man present.

Swallowing, I deliberate.

"Oh, come on now," he says, smiling. "I'm not going to take it away from you or anything."

Oh, Jesus.

He sees something in my look, for sure, as his eyes go wide and he swallows thickly. "I'm sorry."

I bite my lip, not sure what to do.

"What have you been through?" he asks softly, and I'm not sure if he's really asking me. I couldn't answer him, anyway. I look at the floor, undecided what to do.

"Here's an idea," he says finally. "You sit down there and try to eat. We don't need to talk if you don't want to, and if it gets too much you just get up and leave. I won't hold you to anything, but maybe you could just try?"

He makes it sound like it's easy.

Thinking, he sits back, drumming his fingers on the table in a smooth rhythm. "If you would take half the energy you spend worrying about what could go wrong, on thinking of what could go right, would that help?"

I cock my head at this. I've never looked at it like this before, but then again I've always been right about things going wrong, so why be optimistic when being realistic prepares you better for the worst?

He leans forward again, upper arms resting on the table and face serious and sincere.

"I won't hurt you, Bella. Please believe me when I say this. I won't."

Oh, my God.

I believe him.

I really do.

* * *

_God I am madly in love with my Edward...  
_

_I'm taking a tiny break from Torn. As Bella is healing, my real life is falling to pieces. I am on the verge of losing my job. Although my first reaction was *squee 24/7 writing spree* there's these things like mortgages that need to be paid. I need to focus on keeping an income. So, next update, 2 weeks-ish. I hope you will have patience with me :) As ever, let me know what you think!_


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N I don't own Twilight. I would have done it differently (but then again it would not have been suitable for children, cough).**

_Hello verybody. Thank you SO much for all the wonderful, wonderful reviews! Thank you too for being patient with me, I cannot tell you how much that means to me. Thank you for wishing me luck with my RL - as is, nothing has changed. I still have a job, sort of ;)_

_Special thanks to my lovely beta Sherryola and my prereader Deb. Thanks too to the twitterati nanas_mommy_, brittl76 and steph6446 for their unconditional encouragement. _

_Mood music: Sia - I'm in here._

_This chapter was cathartic to write. Let me know what you think!  
_

* * *

I don't eat the sandwich, of course. I do sit down with him at the table finally and when I do so, the biggest smile I have ever seen appears on his face.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was smug.

He doesn't speak much as he eats and I pick at my food, and I find I enjoy the silence immensely. No questions, no consequences, no deliberations for once. Just sitting down.

I didn't even know this could exist. I'm careful though. My body is tense as I watch and wait, my hands fidgeting in my lap under the table. There's always a catch, even though there doesn't seem to be anticipation in the air right now.

Edward is eating, quietly, calmly. He doesn't look like he's brooding. He's not shooting me warning glances.

He's just here.

When he is done eating, he sits back. "Nothing better than sleeping with a full stomach," he says, patting his belly contentedly. "Don't you agree?"

Caught off guard by his question, I wouldn't know what to answer.

"I'm sorry," he says, smiling kindly, "I know questions make you nervous. Yet I can't seem to stop asking you things. I guess I just want to know you."

I'm incredulous and I'm sure this shows on my face. I'm not worth to know. Honestly, haven't they figured that out by now? They all keep going on and on about wanting to know me. They are either exceptionally stubborn or exceptionally slow. And either way, they are wrong.

"You're so strong," he says so softly it's almost a whisper. "We can't even guess what you're been through and yet you're here, with us, holding your own."

I swallow thickly at his words. They sound so wonderful. He's wrong, though. Nothing strong in going through your life on autopilot. Nothing strong about doing everything wrong just by breathing. And certainly nothing strong about not being able to fight back, because it's all your fault. Always.

Looking down at my plate with the sandwich that smells like it fell out of heaven, I frown and sigh.

"Hey, Bella?" Edward asks and I look up at him, surprised at the sudden change in his tone. "I _dare_ you to take a bite out of that sandwich."

He's grinning and there is a spark in his eyes.

"In fact, I _double_ dare you."

Stunned and unmoving, I keep looking at him.

"Of course I wouldn't know what to wager, as I don't know what you would like to win, but _I_ think you can eat something. Go ahead and try. I won't look if that makes it easier for you?"

What is he getting at? Annoyance washes over me and I sit back, crossing my arms and frowning. I don't eat with others present. I thought this was very clear and it is my only condition.

"Don't be mad," he says softly, surprised by my defiance maybe. And it only now occurs to me that I have indeed defied him and he's not angry.

I'm shocked at my own behavior. Stupid girl, no wonder you trigger a beating so easily.

"I just would like to see you try it. I know you ate ice cream with mom and we had that milk together. It's a good sandwich," he adds lightly. "Believe me, I know."

Scowling, I look from him to the sandwich that not only smells like it fell out of heaven, it _looks_ like it did, too.

"I won't take it away, and I won't bother you while you eat. Try it," he coaxes. "Just that tiny slice of cucumber there. It's calling your name. Can you hear it?"

Two things flit into my thoughts simultaneously. The first is that he is being funny and that he looks like Emmett in his behavior. The second is that he is not manipulating, but trying to persuade me. He's leaving me the chance to opt out if I want to.

This is… new.

"Bella, eat me," Edward calls softly in a silly voice, impersonating said cucumber slice. My eyes fly back to him, incredulous but amused. His silliness is making me laugh.

He cocks his head for a moment, waiting for a reaction I'm not providing. Finally, he shrugs. "Okay, suit yourself," he concedes, smiling. He doesn't sound disappointed or angry. "You're missing out though. It's good food and I know you are hungry."

He gets up, taking his plate with him. The moment his back is to me, I pick up the cucumber slice and put it in my mouth. My eyes close briefly without volition.

It's a sodden cucumber slice for fuck's sake, but it's the best damn cucumber slice I have ever had in my entire life.

Edward keeps busy at the counter, taking more time than needed I'm sure. Following his movements with my eyes, I give in. I pull the plate towards me, cringing at the dragging sound it makes on the table, and take a tentative bite from the crispy sandwich.

Before me, Edward doesn't look around, but he pumps his fist in the air in silent victory.

I am pretty sure that could I see his face right now, it would be very smug indeed.

He manages to stay busy at the counter until I have eaten about half of the sandwich. I'm decidedly full and when I push the plate away, he finally turns around again, leaning against the counter.

"I'd like to say 'well done' but somehow I don't think that's appropriate. Was it good?"

I look at him, not blinking, afraid to admit that it was, indeed, good, even though my stomach is already protesting with the amount of content that it has been given to process.

"This is a victory of sorts," he says, ignoring my lack of reaction and smiling as he straightens up and walks towards me. Following him with my eyes, I have to look farther and farther up as he approaches. I sit rigid, not sure if I should try to get up and away or stay put and see what will happen.

I grip the seat of my chair for some support as my traitor heart starts to pick up speed. Why is he approaching me, what does he want?

"Just getting your plate," he smiles gently. "Are you done?"

When I nod he leans forward over the table to pull the plate away from me. I exhale as he turns away from me again, my shoulders sagging and my breath shaking with the tension that escapes.

Walking back to the kitchen, Edward looks to his left.

"Oh! I completely forgot. Something arrived for you today. That box over there," he points and nods into the direction of the living room.

My heart is in my throat immediately. What could possibly arrive for me here, what can be in that box?

"I think it's your stuff. It was from someone named Dwyer?"

Dwyer! That's Renée's last name!

Getting up, and seeing if Edward won't stop me as I do, I walk into the direction of the living room and find the box on the floor. Checking the address I can see it's from Renée indeed.

"Do you need help to open it?"

Startled, I look up at Edward, who is leaning against the wall near me. Again, I didn't hear him approach.

Jesus Christ. I step back to put in more space between us out of reflex, berating myself for doing so immediately after. Trying to run _never_ helps. Ever.

"Come on, let's get it into the kitchen," he says, apparently oblivious, and I have to step back further as he comes forward, picking up the box with little effort and placing it on the kitchen table.

He goes to get a pair of scissors from a drawer and holds them out to me. I stand looking at him. I don't want to reach out like that.

After a moment, he places the scissors on the table before he steps back a bit again.

I hesitate.

"Don't you want to open it? This is supposed to be your stuff, right?"

Without looking up, I nod. I'm biting my lip as I contemplate.

"Then open it! Or would you rather do it in your room? I mean, it's your stuff, after all."

Finally I look at him. I don't know what to do. It's not the question of _where_ to open the box. It's more that I am apprehensive of what I will find in there. I was finally getting to feel the distance between my time with Stefan and my time here. I don't know if I can face my old life.

"Open it," Edward repeats softly. "You must want to know what's in there. Hell, _I_ would want to know what's in there."

Biting my lip, I decide to just do it. It doesn't really matter if Edward is around or not. I've no connection with the stuff in this box, anyway. I'm not scared he'll take it away or mock me with it. I'm just scared of the memories that box holds for me.

Well, best to get it over with then. Picking up the scissors, I cut through the tape and tear off the letter that's on top of the box first. Opening the envelope with shaking hands, Edward steps back.

"I'll let you read," he says softly and he disappears into the living room.

I have to hold the letter against the box to still my trembling hands.

Swallowing hard, I read.

_Dear Bella,_

_How are you doing? I haven't heard from you since I saw you last at the airport and I want to know how you are. Did you receive my emails? I hope you are well. Carlisle told me you caught the flu. He thinks it's a reaction to the exhaustion and malnourishment and I agree with him. I don't have to be a doctor to see that you were running low on reserves. _

_I hope you are better now and that you are starting to see that the Cullen family is genuinely nice. Please tell me your thoughts on them when you feel you can email me. I'm curious what you think of them!_

_Underneath this letter you will find the box with your stuff Stefan has sent to me. Don't worry, he does not know your address and he never will. You will never have to go back to him, Bella. And the Cullens will never send you away. You have done nothing wrong and you deserve to stay in a good home._

_Don't shake your head at me now, because deep down I know you know I am right._

_I have not opened the box Stefan sent. The contents are yours and yours alone, and it was not my place to check them. I hope you can use them still, but I am sure Esme will understand perfectly if you want nothing to do with the things from your old life._

_You've been given a new start, Bella. I hope you will soon realize this._

_I miss you._

_Love,_

_Renée._

Tears are flowing freely now and I can't prevent a sniffle to prevent my nose from dripping. I wipe my face with the sleeve of my sweater and press my lips into a line, holding my breath and willing the tears to go away.

"You okay?" Edward asks softly from the entrance to the kitchen.

I look at him briefly, startled, _again_, before I look down again and wipe my face once more.

"Are those good tears or bad tears?" he asks tentatively. "I mean, are you upset by the letter?"

I shake my head, not willing to talk about this but unable to ignore him. He's going through so much effort. Even I realize this.

"Good tears then?"

Nodding now, he steps closer slowly. "Do you want to open the box?"

Shrugging, I pick up the knife and rip through the tape. Edward is on the other side of the table, a safe distance away. I am beyond caring if he sees what's in that box right now. There can be nothing of any value in it, anyway.

Finally opening the box, I look inside. My breath halts instantly and my heart explodes out of my chest with shock. Folding the carton back closed, slowly but determinedly, I step away from it, as if the contents could hurt me.

"Bella?" Edward asks, alarmed.

I could have known this. Sucking in air between my teeth in annoyance, I berate myself for not expecting this.

Stupid, stupid girl. What were you thinking? Of _course_ something like this would happen. Of _course_ I would get kicked in the back after all that happened. Of _course_ he would not give in that easily. Of _course_. And I have myself to thank for this.

Fuck.

"Bella?" Edward asks again.

I stand, unmoving, scowling at the box and willing it to disappear from this table, from my life.

Well, at least the message is clear. I shouldn't have opened it.

"I am looking inside the box now," Edward announces as he closes the distance between himself and the table. Gingerly, he folds open the carton and peers inside.

"Oh, Jesus," he breathes. "Oh, my God." Looking deeper inside the box, he reaches to pick something out and hold it in the light.

No! Panicked, I step towards him and reach out to pull the fabric he is holding from his hands.

No need to see this. No need to look at it. Put it away.

He doesn't let go.

Desperation and fear washes over me as we both hold a ragged piece of cloth that may or may not have been a sweater. Bright white spots all over it betray where the bleach has hit the fabric.

"Bella," he breathes, still not letting go but trying catching my gaze now.

All that registers with me is the frantic need to not have him see this humiliation. I clutch the fabric, desperate to get it from his hands and to put it back safely in the box, unseen.

His hands move and suddenly they're over mine.

My breath halts with a gasp and I freeze immediately, my mouth still open slightly as I stare at where he touches me.

It feels warm.

"Look at me."

It takes some effort to tear my gaze away from our hands and to meet his eyes. I can only detect worry there and… compassion? Gah, I can't think like this!

"This is… Oh my God Bella, I am so sorry for you."

Still looking at his face, I am acutely aware of every inch of skin where his hands cover mine.

"Breathe," he whispers, and as he lets my hands go, breaking the contact, I inhale, gulping in much needed air.

I'm nauseous.

Dropping the ruined sweater back into the box, I hope he will let it go now. Just let me hide the box and nobody needs to know this has ever happened. I wish there was a way I could make this clear to him.

But he is not done and he starts rummaging through the contents, mumbling, "maybe not all is ruined," but he doesn't sound very hopeful.

I stand looking, frozen and feeling utterly powerless. I don't want him to see this, see my humiliation. Yet I don't know how to stop him. I am afraid to stand in his way. But this…

Fuck. I will my tears back. Don't cry now. Don't make it worse.

Stefan has shredded my clothes and if that wasn't bad enough, he has poured bleach over it to make sure they were ruined beyond repair.

I watch, helpless, as Edward looks through my stuff. I don't mind him seeing what used to be mine. I mind him seeing what Stefan did to it. I mind him seeing me getting what I obviously deserve for what I did.

"Hey, what's this?" he asks, as he grabs hold of something to pull it out. "A belt?" Confounded, he looks at the rolled up strip of leather.

Oh no. Oh no, no no.

My breath leaves my body as every hair stands on end.

"This is not a woman's belt," he mutters, turning the brown leather over in his hands. "Why would he send this?"

My stomach clenches and bile rises in my throat.

When Edward looks at me, his eyes wide in question, holding the belt up as if to ask me what he should to with it, my stomach turns for real and I have to run, fast, to the downstairs bathroom where my body gets rid of the sandwich that I have eaten only minutes before.

It takes me some time to calm down again afterwards, and to suck up the courage to leave the bathroom and face Edward. And the belt.

That belt.

Taking a deep breath, I step into the hallway and immediately hear voices in the kitchen.

Ah, fuck. Who else is awake?

Listening in for a moment, I can hear Carlisle and Esme. Did Edward wake them up?

Oh my God, will they be angry?

I halt. I need to see how the lands lay before I go back in.

"I feel so sorry for telling her to open it," Edward says. "But when she saw the belt she just ran off to vomit. I…"

"I'm sorry son," Carlisle says.

"It's just… She was so scared suddenly. What could I possibly do with a belt?"

The silence that follows is tangible.

"Oh sweet Jesus. This cannot be happening."

"You couldn't know." Esme. "Don't berate yourself over this. You were only trying to help."

"And here I was, being so proud I got her to eat something," Edward says desolately.

"You made her eat?" Carlisle asks, and the surprise is obvious, but genuine.

"Yeah," Edward says, sounding falsely off-handedly. "Although I think she wouldn't want you to make a big deal out of it."

"It's still quite the achievement, son. She must start to feel more comfortable around you."

Just as I start to walk again, a disapproving sound from the kitchen alarms me and I halt in my tracks, apprehension gripping me.

"This is horrible," Esme mutters. "Look at this. How could he _do_ this?"

A silence falls and all I can hear is my own heavy heartbeat.

"She deserves so much better than this," Esme mutters. "He has ruined her almost beyond repair already and now he kicks her in the back. It's a good thing I don't know where he lives. I want to kill that man for doing this to her."

Esme's words rattle me. I'm afraid to believe she means what she is saying right now. But it seems to me that she's blaming Stefan for this.

"Her foster father?" Edward asks softly, and another heavy silence falls.

"Yes, Edward," Carlisle says quietly. "Her foster father."

"This… He… What… Dad?"

"Yes, son," Carlisle admits.

"But…And that belt?"

Some shuffling, some rubbing sounds.

"_Shit_."

"We know," Esme says comfortingly. "Ssh."

I wait for a moment, not wanting to interrupt this and not allowing myself to think that what is going on in that kitchen actually has to do with _me_.

"I can't believe what she must have been through," Edward says so softly I can barely hear it. "I mean… There's just so much _good_ in her, and here she is, afraid to breathe."

"We know. That's why we let her come here. All she needs right now is a warm and welcome home. The rest will follow."

"I didn't know."

"We didn't either, son. Not that it changes our point of view on her stay here, but we never knew."

I have to swallow hard to hear them talking about me like this. Not a vile word, not one nasty thing. They're nothing less than kind and gentle. I'd expected them to at least be honest behind my back, so either they know I may be listening in, or they _are_ speaking the truth.

Huh.

The one solidly rotten thing about this however, is that Edward now knows about my past. The delicate bond we have build — if I can call it a bond, no best not call it a bond — will now surely stop.

Deciding to put an end to all of it, I round the corner and make myself known in the kitchen.

"Oh honey," Esme breathes, turning to me. "I am so sorry for this. Are you okay?"

What a silly thing to ask. Edward, standing behind Carlisle, looks uncomfortable. See? He'll want nothing to do with me now anymore. Carlisle just looks at me with a look of concern etched on his face.

I stare down again, fidgeting, not knowing what to do or what they expect of me now.

"Do you want to go through the clothes to see if anything can be salvaged?" Esme asks softly.

I shake my head, no. I don't like that they all have seen the ugly truth in that box and I fidget, uncomfortable.

It's obvious. Stefan always told me I ruined him. I guess that by leaving, I did. And now he gets back to me the only way he still could.

And he sent the belt along. Just to be helpful for the Cullens. Just to make clear that he expects my life here won't be too different from what I knew with him.

A wave of nausea washes over me again and my empty stomach contracts so fiercely it hurts. I hold my breath and wait for it to pass.

Carlisle disengages himself from the tiny group at the table and walks towards the kitchen counter, not speaking. I follow him with my eyes, waiting to see what will happen. The atmosphere is decidedly tense, yet I do not sense any danger.

Pulling something out of a drawer, Carlisle walks back to the table. His face looks grim, which alarms me. When he picks up the belt, I take a step back, heart once more picking up speed and eyes going wide. I bring my hands up in front of me in a half-defending, half-apologizing gesture, waiting.

Without a word still, his lips pressed into a tight line, Carlisle unfolds the belt and cuts it in half. It's tough work through the broad strap of leather, but he's succeeding. The two smaller parts undergo the same faith and finally he cuts off the metal clasp. The leather belt that has caused me so much grief, no longer exists.

This belt at least will not be used on me anymore and the relief I feel about this is palpable. Fighting my evil mind, who is in a hissy fit right now, I do not fail to see the ritual in Carlisle demolishing this belt.

When he is done, he leans on the table for a moment, before his face relaxes and he looks up at me.

"Come on, let's get rid of this."

Stepping back, he beckons me to come forward and pick the pieces of the table. The belt feels heavy in my hands, the leather feels like tiny needles against my skin. Taking a shaky breath, I look at the pieces of what once could hurt me so much.

"No more," Carlisle says softly, but almost authoritatively. "That's over and done with. No more."

Looking up at this man, I can see hurt in his eyes. There is nothing threatening about his demeanor at all as he talks to me.

Stepping ahead of me, he holds out his arm in a gesture to follow me. "Esme, if you would join us," he says softly, and Esme moves immediately, preceding me out of the kitchen, out of the house, towards the small dumpster they have under the porch.

None of us are wearing coats, but I barely feel the cold.

Carlisle opens the dumpster for me and holds out his hand. "Go ahead," he says invitingly.

Gingerly, I step forward, for once not entirely alarmed by his close proximity, and I drop the belt in the bin.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," Esme says. "This is your new life, Bella, and it doesn't contain any violence. Let this be the sign to start it for real."

**~O~**

I think I have a ton to think about.

But most importantly, I think I am starting to believe that nobody is going to hurt me here. Because had they want to do so, they would have done a long time ago. Also, Carlisle's words and him cutting up the belt have touched something in me.

I have been unguarded, sleeping, ill. I have acted out, defied, and asked for things I needed. I have been too weak to fight and even then nobody approached me.

Esme has been a kind and patient companion throughout and as my body gets stronger, my mind remembers more and more from the time I was sick. She's been by my side almost non-stop, keeping watch over me. Although I feel guilty about it, there is this strange tug in the pit of my stomach when I think of Esme's constant vigil.

I should do something back for her.

I know now it is Sunday morning. I have been delirious with fever for well over a day and a half, and the rest of the time I have either been slumbering or sleeping.

As I get better, my body is starting to make its needs known. These sensations are altogether new to me and I'm mostly annoyed by feeling hunger, thirst, headaches, back aches, even itches.

Esme brings me food in my room where I stay, as Carlisle as told me to keep resting. If I feel like it, I can come out later for an hour or so. No pressure. He just wants me to get better first and although I am itching to be up and about again, I no longer feel like the bed is on fire.

The cough drags on a bit and still I try to suppress it when others can hear me. Screaming when hallucinating is bad enough — I prefer to be quiet.

When we came back into the house yesterday night, after throwing out the belt (oh my God), Edward was still in the kitchen, a silent witness to all that had happened.

I didn't meet his eyes and it was clear he felt uncomfortable about it all. I have steeled myself and mentally stepped back from him. If he now decides he doesn't want anything to do with me anymore, I am prepared. If he now decides he wants to be mean to me, I am prepared for that, too.

He must be wondering what I have done to deserve this all. He's a curious guy.

Oh God, I hope he's not going to ask me about this.

It's a shame, though. Especially after last night, with the sandwich and his joking. My mind keeps replaying the silent fist pump he made, without looking around at me. He must have done that because I was eating his sandwich. He must have heard me sliding the plate towards me over the table, somehow registering that I was eating.

Did he really celebrate my own victory there?

Sighing, I try to come to terms with the fact that it will all be over now. He knows. He was upset when he learned it yesterday. That must be because he's disappointed, right?

This doesn't seem coherent however with what I heard Carlisle and Esme say. What did Esme say? That I had been ruined, almost beyond repair? That she wanted to kill 'that man' for doing this to me?

_Why?_ What Stefan did to me I brought on to myself, surely?

Before I came here, nobody ever stood up for me. Yet here, it has happened numerous times in several weeks, by various people in this house.

Reaching to scratch the healing bruise on the inside of my left wrist, I think back to how Edward touched me. He didn't do it to hurt me, but to stop me from moving. His hands were gentle, covering mine, softly but surely. And warm on my skin.

Such an alien feeling and yet I didn't recoil. So confusing.

Would I want that again? I know it's normal, for normal people, to touch. Everyone in this house does it all the time. I _know_ it doesn't always have to mean bad things, or pain. It's just something I have never experienced. _Will_ never experience.

Could I ever want it, to be touched in normal ways, like normal people do? I've been hugged twice now, and Esme washed me when I had the fever, although that didn't feel nice at all. Edward's hands felt alien but he didn't hurt me. Nobody hurt me here. I don't want to think too much about this. It's too upsetting, too much to try and comprehend. It's all so new to me and I am confused. Moreover, if I think about it too much I might start wanting things and that's a dangerous, dangerous thing indeed.

My mind can't process it all anymore and I try to distract myself by turning on the TV and watching the news.

In the late afternoon, Alice knocks on my door. When I go to let her in, she looks up at me with a face-splitting smile, but I can see the insecurity in her eyes. What is wrong with her?

"Hey," she says, tentatively. "Can I come in?"

Stepping back, I let her into my room. She's holding three, maybe four bags full of stuff and I wonder why she would carry this into my room. Has she been shopping? Does she want to show me what she bought for herself?

Somehow that thought moves me. I don't really think she'd want to rub in my face what she got. I am starting to think that Alice can't be that type of girl at all. Maybe she just wants to share her enthusiasm with me. Oh, that would be nice of her.

"How are you?" she asks as she puts down the bags, looking around the room. "Better?"

I nod. I feel better. I have showered and combed my hair and I feel… lighter.

"Good," Alice smiles, and there is genuine happiness in her eyes. Her gaze wanders around the bedroom again. "You should have some furniture in here," she muses. "A couch, or maybe a rocking chair? Would you like that? We've one extra in the library and nobody ever uses it. Would you like to have it here?"

Stunned by her question, I don't dare to admit I would dearly love to have a rocking chair I could curl up in. Maybe even read some in. Oh I like the thought of that, indeed.

"I'll ask mom and dad of course, but if they are okay with that, you could have some more furniture here. Make the room more your own, you know?"

Hmm, didn't Esme say something like that too, about an eternity ago?

"Anyway, want to sit down? I've got something for you," Alice says. She takes the chair by the bed and pats the mattress invitingly, urging me to sit down and look at what she got. For me.

For me?

"All right," Alice says, taking on an air of business as she places the first bag between her feet and rummages through it. "Bare necessities."

She starts to get out things and holds them up to show them to me.

"Notebooks and pens, for your schoolwork or any other writing you'd want to do. Do you keep a diary?" she asks incoherently, and I shake my head, no. I still haven't opened the notebook Renée gave me when I moved here.

Other items appear from the bags and are held up to me. Alice has thought of the most random things. A USB stick. Strawberry scented shampoo (honestly). Body lotion. Socks, both neutral black and with funny prints. Bed slippers. A robe and a pair of pyjamas. Some basic tops she 'hopes are my size'. The fiercely apologetic look she wears on her face when she says this confirms that she has seen the box with my ruined clothes, too.

Fuck.

I stop to register what more she has bought as panic washes over me — I will never be able to pay them back for this.

Seeing my concern, Alice frowns, but not in disapproval I think. "Just so you know, mom gave me money to buy this for you, and apart from the fact that you _need_ this stuff, they are gifts. You don't have to give anything back, Bella, that's the essence of a gift."

I'm not comfortable with this. Not at all.

"I hope I'm not barging through your boundaries too much," Alice says suddenly, apologetically. "I bought some blue things, because I know you like that color, but I realize I have made a lot of decisions for you by buying all this stuff. But you needed it, and I didn't think you were going toe be able to go out shopping anytime soon…"

She trails off, discouraged by my lack of reaction, maybe. But she's getting me wrong completely here. When she looks up, again I see that insecurity in her eyes. I'm just panicked over how I am ever going to pay back for all this.

"I didn't mean to upset you. I guess I thought I could make you happy with this."

Oh no. I _know_ I should be grateful and here I am, fucking this up, too. Shit!

Alice swallows. "Jasper warned me it would be too much. I'll leave you now. I'm sorry, Bella. You can keep this all, it's yours now. Do with it what you want. I hope you're not mad at me for doing this. I should have waited until I was sure what you wanted."

I don't know how to fix this. I don't know what to do.

"I'm sorry," she repeats. She stands up and leaves the room, and I feel so bad, so bad about myself right now.

I look at the heap of stuff piled on my bed before me and finger the things she has brought me. She really has thought of everything, even if I wouldn't call all she bought a 'bare necessity'.

Face wash, with cotton pads to use it with. Lip gloss. Hair ties. A decent brush. A nail file. Notebooks in different sizes, with pens and pencils. A week-to-week diary. The socks and tops. No underwear, fortunately — I wouldn't have been able to bear that mortification. The robe, thick and fluffy. The bed slippers. Razors. It's all there, and it was a gift for me.

I didn't even acknowledge it.

I am such an ungrateful bitch. Maybe Stefan was right after all. I don't deserve to be here. I can't even react properly.

Stepping off the bed so I can pace my frustration away, my foot hits something. It's a fourth bag with things. Wary, I pick it up and peer inside.

My heart skips a beat when I take in the contents; tampons and sanitary towels. Swallowing thickly, I count back the days in my head. I have not taken my pill in ages.

And my period has not yet started.

Oh no, no, no, no.

This can't be happening. Oh help no. Stepping away from the bad I start to pace, albeit for a different reason this time.

Think, Bella, _think_! Gripping my hair, I try to focus. They gave me something at the hospital, now a month ago. Until I got sick, I have been very careful with taking my pill. Before that, I was rigidly on time, always.

Maybe it's just stress. Yes. Periods can be late due to stress. I'm underfed and I've been sick. And I've been under stress.

God knows I've been under stress.

In four long strides, I am at the laptop and boot it up. If it's stress, then I need distraction. But first I need to know for sure if it really can be stress-induced. I open Google and search.

* * *

_No breaks for Bella... But at least that belt is gone.  
_

_Next update around the first weekend of April. I am off to Paris next weekend so I won't be able to write :)  
_


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N Twilight is not mine. As such SM is a millionaire and I'm not. **

_Thank you for all the reviews! I did NOT expect that...! Wow, Bella's pregnancy scare triggered a lot of reactions. People threatening to flounce if she is pregnant... All I ask of you is to have a little faith in me. :) The matter will be resolved in due time.  
_

_A lot of you were upset that Renee hadn't opened the box Bella got. Where I live, it is illegal to do so. Also, Bella was not supposed to open the box by herself. Esme should have been there. If you blame anyone on how it went, blame Edward. He persuaded her to open the box ;)_

_As ever thanks to my beta Sherryola and my prereader Deb, who checked this chapter one last time this morning so I could post. _

_Shoutout to nouveauyou who was the first ever to comment on the songs I sometimes add :)_

* * *

They say that Google is your friend. Well, if that is so, then let's hope that the saying is true and friends don't lie.

I've looked up some information and it really shouldn't be so alarming that my period is late after I have been so sick. I just have to wait and see.

And keep my cool, because I honestly don't want this family to find out what is going on right now.

When Esme comes up to my room to bring me dinner, she sits down on the chair by my bed. I check and wait to see what will happen.

"Bella…" she starts.

I am still standing by the door and warp my arms around my mid section, apprehensive.

"I am so sorry about what happened with the box. Renée was right not to open it, but I would have liked it if I had been the one to give it to you. Did you expect this to happen?

Yes. No. Maybe. Yes.

"We cannot change how things went last night. I am sorry you had to go through this."

I can't prevent my shrug. I'm over it now, I just hope they won't berate me. The message was clear. It's all my fault.

Esme is silent for a moment, and through the back of my mind flits the thought that dinner is getting cold.

"I didn't know it was that bad," Esme finally says softly, looking into nothingness as she speaks. Then she looks back at me. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."

I shake my head, eyes wide. She shouldn't be sorry. _I'm_ the one that should be sorry.

Maybe I should tell her this. Walking to my bed stand I pick up the pen and paper lying there, and scribble something down.

_It's not important._

"I think it is," Esme replies to my note. "I think it _is_ important what Stefan did to you with that box."

I shake my head, teeth worrying my lower lip. Should I write it down? Should I tell her that it's all my fault anyway?

I decide against it. Let's let these sleeping dogs lie. I show Esme my first note again, to emphasize my point.

"Well, I think it is," she repeats. "And I am sorry that you had to be confronted like that. We'll talk about this later. I'll let you have your dinner. Come and sit with us if you feel like it after?"

Meh.

I push the thoughts about the conversation away and eat, and try not to think about everything else.

Anything else.

It's not working.

After dinner, I find that I'm too anxious to keep sitting in my room and decide to try and go out for some fresh air. I've done that before and Esme didn't mind it then. If I stay close to the porch, surely I would be allowed out? Or would she still wan me to sit with them, just like she asked?

Collecting some courage, I venture out into the silent hallway outside my room and make my way downstairs. I feel bad. Apart from the worrying about my period, I still have to let Esme and Alice know that I really do appreciate their efforts, but that they just don't have to try it all. Just leave me be and don't bother with me, and I will be happy enough.

_That's_ what I expect of them, come to think of the question Esme asked me ages ago.

Well, if I can suck up some courage, maybe I can let them know.

Some Cullens are sitting in the living room, but I hope to be able to slip their notice as I make my way to the kitchen to put away my dishes. The dishwasher is already going, so I will have to wash it all by hand. Without thinking twice, I turn on the tap for hot water and look in some cabinets to find some soap and maybe a brush to clean my plate and glass.

"You don't have to do that," I hear Carlisle say behind me. "Just put it in the sink, it will find it's way into the dishwasher later."

I fly up to look at him, caught off guard, and reach behind me to turn off the tap. Stupid girl. Keep. Your. Guard. Up. For fuck's sake.

"I'm sorry, did I startle you?"

Yes. Isn't that obvious?

"I was just coming in to make some tea. Would you like some? You can join us, if you want to. How are you?"

Very much willing to get out of here.

Smiling kindly, he steps into the kitchen, and I make room for him as he walks towards the kettle on the cooking island.

These people have their quirks. They're old money and from what I've seen in this house they are insanely rich. On the other hand, they like to read the _paper_ paper still, and to heat water, they use the kettle on the stove.

The kettle Carlise is going to pick up and fill with water soon. He will probably wait here until the water boils.

Could I just leave the kitchen? I don't like to walk out on people, especially when I don't know what is expected of me. Then again, if I could ask anyone for permission to do something in this house, it would be Carlisle.

But I'm too chicken to address him. Instead, I back out of the kitchen slowly, giving Carlisle plenty of time to stop me should he want to. When he doesn't, I hope fiercely he won't come after me as I walk to the closet in the hallway to pull out the coat I've worn before.

This time when I pass the living room, I am noticed, by Esme. Taking in my coat, she smiles. "You going out for some fresh air?"

I nod, registering nothing but kindness in her voice.

"Stay close, okay? Wait, let me put on the porch light for you."

She precedes me towards the door and flicks a switch. "There you go. Emmett and Rosalie should be coming home soon."

At first I don't know why she would give me this piece of information, but when I finally step outside and let the cool air wash over my face, I realize that I will see them coming down the driveway. I wonder if she forewarned me to prevent me being startled, but I put that thought away.

_Of course not._

I stay outside until I hear a car approaching, taking deep breaths and trying to not think too much about hugs, touches, periods and gifts. I fail miserably and multiple times I find myself searching for the missing rubber band around my wrist. I think it was lost when I was sick. Maybe it snapped and broke. I don't know.

I'll have to find a new one. Maybe I can use one of the hair ties Alice has brought.

Making my way inside before Rosalie and Emmett have entered the garage, I put my coat away. There is something I have to do, and I have to do it now before my courage escapes me again.

I reach inside my pocket and pick out the note I have written. It's not long. In fact, it contains only two words. I have tried to write more but found I couldn't do it. Even a simple thing as writing down my thoughts is an impossible task for me and I have soothed myself with the promise I don't have to. The diary Renée has asked me to keep can wait.

First I want to see how the lands lay here. Could it be the silence before the storm? Or could it really be that the storm has finally died down and won't come back to haunt me a second, or third, time?

It's such a scary and such a hopeful thought I find my breathing halts with the promise of it.

But first, the note. An effort. Two words. Maybe it's too much. But they have to know. I'm not entirely stupid. And I _want_ to tell them.

Esme looks up at me when I enter the living room and asks if I want to join them. Jasper is watching TV, as is Carlisle. The others are nowhere to be seen. In the garage, I can hear Rosalie and Emmett exiting their car.

_Do it now. _

I decline Esme's offer, hoping she will allow it.

"That's fine," she smiles. "Do whatever suits you. Would you like to go to your room instead?"

As much as this has been such a dreaded prospect once, I find I am almost looking forward to it now. The room I am staying in is becoming my room, a quiet place where I can try to get my thoughts into order.

_Give her the note_.

Swallowing, I get it over with. I can do this. I will have to.

Carefully reaching out, I offer her the folded piece of paper, which she accepts without question.

I step back immediately after, rushing to my room and closing the door behind me, locking it and leaning against it as I sink to the ground.

I did it, I actually did it. I didn't have the guts to wait and see her reaction, but I really did it.

Minutes later, I hear someone approaching through the hallway. Holding my breath, I hear how the footsteps come to a halt before my door.

"Bella?" Esme's muffled voice asks. "I just wanted to let you know, you're welcome. And thank _you_, too."

**~O~**

I do not go downstairs again after Esme has thanked me. Her words rattle me and I find myself sitting up in bed, thinking about it, about all. In the house, the Cullens get ready for bed. For the first time since I arrived here, I am not overly apprehensive to go to sleep. Although it's only been two weeks, I really am starting to believe that nightly visits in this house do not exist. Could this really be happening? Could it really be true that the violence is over now?

That's altogether hard to believe. My evil mind cocks an eyebrow and scowls at me. _It's only been two weeks_.

Sighing, I have to agree with her. But thinking back on all that has happened, I also think that if they wanted to go bad on me, they could have done it long ago. And nobody did.

Esme thanked me, but for what, I don't know. She acknowledged my 'thank you,' and for that I am grateful.

Edward told me he thought I was strong. I heard him tell his parents there was so much good in me. And here I was thinking he was observant. I'm sure he'll stay away from me from now on and maybe it's for the best, too. I don't like to be around people, and I certainly don't like to be around men.

Alice stops by for a chat almost every day and she has bought me the things she thought I might need. She asked me if I wanted more furniture in the room, to make it my own.

Why I only realize this now, I don't know, but indeed, I am staying here. It's not temporary in the sense as it was with Renee. I am here until I am at least eighteen, and chances are I am staying until I graduate. If they will have me that long. Where to go after that, I don't know. I have no money, no savings. I know I am not able to ever have or keep a job. Some job interview I could give.

I have never thought about the future before and the entire concept terrifies me. Until I am eighteen, I am somewhat covered, but after that? What if the Cullens kick me out the day after my birthday? Where do I go then?

No, don't go there, now. I will deal with that when it happens. There must be something I can do to make some money.

Long after the Cullens have gone to sleep, I lie awake, thinking and wondering about how it can be that this family seem to see all these things in me I have never noticed in myself. They are either lying through their teeth, or exceptionally stupid.

Both options, to me, sound equally ridiculous.

I close my eyes and finally drift into a dreamless sleep.

The next day I am awoken by a family that is getting ready for school and work. I sit on my bed, waiting until the noises die down before I lock myself in the bathroom. I turn off the lights and shower, using the strawberry scented shampoo Alice gave me to wash my hair.

When I come down, Esme is not in the kitchen, but the newspaper is lying invitingly on the table, with a note on top of it.

_Help yourself to some breakfast and coffee. Esme._

Yes ma'am. Feeling strong, I make myself some hot porridge and have coffee and my daily dose of news as I wake up further at the kitchen table.

Oh my, I am becoming more at ease here. Eerie.

As if she has been waiting for it, Esme steps into the kitchen just as I swallow my final bite.

"You had porridge? Good choice," she beams, and a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth in reply.

This woman. I blush at the memory of her hugging me, of me hugging her. She said I could ask for it anytime. I don't know if I ever could, and I don't know if she meant it. But here she is, and she's beaming at me, like she is actually happy to see me.

"Did you sleep well? You look so much better," she smiles.

I nod, and then nod in her direction, _you_?

"I slept well, thank you," she answers, smiling. "And thank you again for the note yesterday. It means a lot to me, to us all."

I flush crimson, ill at ease with her words. Can we just forget about this and move on?

Esme chuckles, a light sound. "So, what do you want to do today? Do you feel well enough again to do anything?"

Oh, I hadn't really thought about that. It's still so weird to not have to do any household chores. Before I got sick I already had so much time to kill.

And I need the distraction. My period has not yet started.

Fuck. Frowning, I look down to push the thought away. _The more you focus on it, the longer it could take. They gave you the morning after pill. It's impossible. _

"Well, here's the thing," Esme starts.

Immediately wary and torn away from my sorrow, I look up at her again.

"You need to get back your strength, as you were already underfed before you arrived with us and your illness has not contributed to that. So, you are to eat four times a day. It should be easier for you now you can process solid food again."

Sounds reasonable enough. Just as long as I can eat on my own, I might be able to pull that off.

"Second, I know you've been through a rough start here, but maybe we can now see how you can find your schedule, your rhythm in the house. You will tell us what you need and what you want to do. I do not want to tell you what to do, you are free to fill in your own time."

She pauses, thinking. "Except household chores. When I want you to help me, I will ask you."

I find this hard to accept, but the no-nonsense way in which she is talking to me, makes me hold my peace.

"Apart from that, I hope you will find some things to do you enjoy. I have heard you love to read, and Alice told me you might like to have a rocking chair in your room? Because that can be arranged."

I nod slowly. I really would like a rocking chair, although I'm afraid to admit it. It holds such a promise of comfort. It's a weird connotation maybe, but to me, a rocking chair has a ring of safety to it.

"Good. It's nice to hear you expressing something you'd like," Esme smiles. "Third, I would love to see if you could try to start on some school work when you feel up to it. I know you are not completely better yet, but once you are ready, maybe you could look into it? Which brings us to the question if and when you think you will be ready for school?"

Oof, I don't know. As soon as possible, however much I dread the prospect of starting a new school. But being out of the house for a certain amount of hours each day sounds very nice indeed.

Misinterpreting my reaction, Esme hastens to reassure. "No, you can home school if you want to. I could do it, or we can hire a tutor. No pressure, Bella."

This time it's my turn to shake my head. I really want to go to school, and it's important to me that Esme knows this. I don't think she will use this against me.

Feeling in my pocket for a piece of paper, Esme is quick to recognize my intentions and goes to the kitchen drawer to retrieve a pen and notepad for me.

Swallowing, I write down my desire.

_I want to go to school._

There.

"Are you sure about this?" Esme asks carefully. "I mean, it would be a lot of new faces, a strange environment… And to be honest, I don't know how everyone will react to the fact that you don't speak."

They'll get used to it. They got used to it every time so far. But maybe Esme is right. This is a small school. The type of school where chances are everybody knows everybody by name.

I will be a novelty. Ew.

But, once that wears off, I will be able to have classes and soak up knowledge. School has always been my sole distraction and my only joy. I would hate it if my inability to act normal would take that away from me, too.

_I want to try_.

Esme reads my note and smiles. "And I won't stop you. Just let me know when you are ready to go, okay?"

Yes, maybe I can do that.

"Excellent. Now, what do you want to do next?"

Taken aback, I look at her.

Noting my hesitation, Esme proposes that I go make some homework and as such I spend the morning in my room, looking through the textbooks Alice has brought me. I don't know where in the books the students are now, but I am able to mark for some subjects where I left off when I left Stefan.

Forks High uses different teaching methods but I must say I like a lot of the books. Yes, it would be good to get into a studying rhythm again.

After Esme has called me down for lunch, she asks me to set the table for the two of us. The happiness to _finally_ be allowed to help must show, because Esme laughs softly as I get to work.

When we sit down, I look at my empty plate, however. Esme picks a slice of bread from the basket and starts to put butter on it.

"Edward told me you ate with him present last Saturday night," she says, focusing on her bread. "Maybe you could try it again, with me?"

I'd rather not. But Esme isn't giving up. She selects a section from the newspaper, slides it to me, and picks up the other part herself. Then she starts to read, and eat. She doesn't ask me any more questions. She leaves it up to me, now.

I know it's all a farce, but I'm hungry, too. Edward's words come back to me. 'If you would take half the energy you spend worrying about what could go wrong, on thinking of what could go right, would that help?'

Would it? As if on cue, my stomach growls loudly.

"Just try it," Esme says without looking up. "If you don't succeed, I will leave. But please, try it."

I sigh, and try. I make a sandwich and chew for an eternity on my first bite. When I finally manage to swallow, I know that I won't be able to take any more. It's too much. I can't do it, and apart from that, I don't _want_ to. Please, don't make me.

Esme finishes her meal and when she gets up, she smiles at me. "Thank you for trying. You don't have to clean up after you're done."

What a ridiculous notion. I finish my meal in silence and start to clear away the dishes when Esme comes back into the kitchen.

"What did I tell you?" she scolds, and I am alarmed. Was she really that serious when she told me not to clean up the dishes? Oh no, I'm sorry!

Wide-eyed, I look at her, and await what will happen.

"No, Bella. Don't be alarmed. I just wished you would leave the chores to me unless I ask you to help. I know it's normal for you to do this all, but in this house, it's normal to _not_ do it all. See what I mean?"

I frown a little. Why doesn't she just let me _help_? What is so wrong with that?

"Why don't you go into the library for a bit?" she asks then. "I am sure there are books there to your liking. You can take them into your room too, if you want to. Hey, what do you say we try to get the rocking chair into your room? Together?"

The thought makes me nervous, but I don't want to deny her. Nodding, I follow her to the library. It's on the ground floor at a corner of the house and it looks out over the garden and the forest behind it. It has two oriel windows with deep windows seats, filled with cushions. It's a sanctuary. I wonder if they would allow me to come here whenever.

The two rocking chairs are opposite each other near the unused fire place. Esme picks one and starts to pull it towards the door, over the thick carpet. Rushing to help her, we make quick work of moving the rocking chair to my bedroom, fussing and clumsily moving as we try to get the thing up the stairs.

In the room, I place the chair by the large window, so I can look out over the forests of the Olympic Peninsula, or that's what Google told me they are.

Esme stands in the doorway, beaming at me and I realize a slight smile is on my face. Well, I am happy with this chair. Surely I can let her know I am? With a nod of my head, I thank her, and her smile widens.

"Anything to make you smile like that, Bella," Esme says. "Anything."

When she leaves, I try the chair. It tilts backwards the moment I sit down in it, and for a fleeting moment I have the horrible feeling of losing my balance. But then my sense of equilibrium settles again and I can lean back in the chair, rocking slightly.

Oh, my. The sense of comfort I thought it would have, it has. Carefully, I lift my feet and tuck them underneath me. Leaning my head back against the high back of the chair, I almost wish I had Renée's quilt with me right now. But it's on the bed and I don't want to get up to get it.

The rocking of the chair is lulling and, still listening carefully, I let my eyes fall closed for a moment.

I could get used to this. I really could.

Esme's voice startles me as she says my name at the same time she knocks. I wasn't really sleeping. I just didn't hear her approaching, is all.

Of course I wasn't sleeping. I left the door to the bedroom open, for fuck's sake.

"You like the chair?" Esme smiles.

Startled, ruffled, and alarmed, I can't help but nod.

"Sorry if I alarmed you. I have often napped in that chair in the library. Especially just after Alice and Edward were born. It's easy to get lulled to sleep in it, isn't it?"

For a moment I have the mental image of Esme, this tiny woman, pregnant with twins. It's inconceivable.

However, I wasn't sleeping.

"Anyway, come on. We're going to the supermarket."

Oh, we are?

"Yes, let's go. You need some fresh air, and I want you to point out what things you like and don't like to eat. Besides, you can buy some things you like or need while we get there."

Esme holds out her hand, and before I have time to think or hesitate, I follow her. I must say I like the clarity. She did it too this morning, when she told me what she was expecting of me. Although I don't agree with her, it's nice that she is so clear with me. It provides me with set rules and boundaries which I can keep.

So, apparently we are going to the supermarket right now. We slip into our coats and Esme drives us to the store. The parking lot is all but deserted, which is not a strange thing on a dreary Monday afternoon.

I did some more Google search about this place. Apparently, there should be about one hundred and sixty sunny days a year in this area of the world. So far I can't remember seeing even one, so on average, the estimation seems to be wrong.

Gah.

I follow Esme into the store. As she takes a cart, I walk after her and take in my surroundings. It's not overly big in here. In the supermarket in Phoenix I knew my way around blindly, and it was easily twice the size of this store. Here, I will have to make myself acquainted again, but it shouldn't take very long to do so.

Esme gives me clear directions to get something for her now and then. Then she asks me to point out what I'd like to eat, or what I'd like to make. I shrug at that, not knowing how to answer this. There's little I won't eat or make.

"Very well. Is there anything you really don't like to eat?"

What, so you can feed it to me? Thanks, but no thanks.

Seeing my hesitation, I do not fail to notice the tiny frown that flies over Esme's face.

"Can you tell me what you would like to make, then? Maybe get the ingredients, so you can cook some time? I know you like to do so." A beat. "I won't use it against you, Bella. Like I said before; anything to make you happy, to see that smile on your face again."

Yeah. Whatever. Can we move on?

"Come on, pick and choose. Don't worry about the cost."

Looking at her for a long moment, she nods encouragingly and I finally saunter off, browsing the isles and savoring this moment of being on my own.

It's quiet in the store, but even if it were crowded I wouldn't really mind. I'm usually not afraid _outside_ of the house. It's what happens behind closed curtains that scares the shit out of me.

I find the ingredients to make one of my signature dishes — lasagna. Although I feel uncomfortable doing this, I don't want to defy Esme and go against her. I have not seen her mad at me and I intend to keep it that way.

Besides, it's getting tiresome to second-guess _everything_. Let it happen when it happens. For now, the last of my bruises are healing, fading to an ugly yellow color. Even the stains on my neck are as good as gone.

I can't remember the last time I have been completely bruise-free. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks and I freeze in my tracks, swallowing heavily.

I wish I could ask someone if this is really happening. I wish someone could promise me that this really is what my new life looks like.

I mean, I _know_ it exists. I just never thought it could happen to me. Is it really happening, to me? Could it be?

"Bella?"

Torn from my epiphany, I see Esme at a small distance from me, looking worried.

"Oh, you're still with us. That's good. You were so still, I thought something had startled you."

Well, yes, but not something that physically happened.

More something that physically _not_ happened.

Shaking my head to clear it a bit, I turn to Esme, my arms still full of produce.

"Lasagna?" she guesses, and I nod, shyly. Please don't berate me for loving lasagna.

"Emmett will love you for this," Esme beams. "Would you like to make it tonight, or another time this week?"

I shrug, indicating it's up to her to choose when I cook. Stepping forward, I hold her gaze for any sign of disapproval when I drop the ingredients in the cart.

"Maybe tomorrow then," she decides. "I have some things in the fridge that need to be made today. Of course, I am assuming here that you would like to cook for us?"

Finally giving in to something I would like to do, I nod. And it's not solely the prospect of cooking for this family, to finally be helpful, but also the prospect of cooking in itself, that makes a smile appear on my face.

Esme's face lights up with a broad grin in return. "Anything to make you happy," she repeats. "It's wonderful to see you smile like this."

Slowly, her words register, and my confusion must show on my face.

"I mean it," she says gently, still smiling.

"Mrs. Cullen, well hello!" a female voice exclaims behind me, and I turn quickly to see who has spoken.

It's a blond woman, good looking, about the same age as Esme.

"Mrs. Newton," Esme replies.

I step back, walking around Esme slowly, hoping to God that I can go by unnoticed.

"How are you doing?" the woman Esme called Mrs. Newton asks. "I haven't seen you in ages."

"I'm fine. Just been busy. How are you?" Esme replies. For some reason I sense a hint of impatience in her voice.

I trail further away, looking at the products in the isle, keeping close but, hopefully, under the radar as well.

"I'm fine. Business is going good, but it's hard work as usual," Mrs. Newton says. "What have you been busy with?"

And now I know what I'm hearing. Mrs. Newton's voice is nagging. There is unmistakable envy in her tone as she asks what Esme has been busy with. Why would she be envious? No wonder Esme is impatient with her. _I'm_ impatient with her and I've not even met her yet.

"Ah, well," Esme starts — or hesitates, I will never know, as Mrs. Newton interrupts her.

"Oh, didn't you have that foster girl coming? When did she arrive, last week or so?"

"Two weeks ago," Esme says.

I tense up. So much for staying under the radar.

"Is that her?"

_Fuck. _

"Yes, that's Bella. Bella?" Esme asks, and I have to look up at her. Her eyes are pleading… apologizing? "This is Mrs. Newton. Mrs. Newton, this is Bella."

"Hello Bella," Mrs. Newton says, walking towards me and holding out her hand.

Startled, and uncomfortable, I step backwards at her approach.

"Excuse me?" Mrs. Newton asks, surprised.

"Bella is very shy," Esme says and she winks at me before she turns back to face Mrs. Newton. "She's not comfortable around strangers."

Shy, huh? Interesting.

"Oh, that's no matter, dear," Mrs. Newton says to me, her tone changing from nagging to, what, cooing? Ew.

"I'm Karen. See? Now we're not strangers anymore. I don't think you are going to school here yet, are you? I have a son your age, his name is Mike. You'll meet him soon. He's a very nice guy, I think you'd like him."

I look at her blankly, and when I don't respond, Karen looks to Esme for help. "She does understand me, right?"

"She does," Esme says, and do I hear a hidden smile in her voice? "She really does."

Karen turns back to me. "Anyway, we have a sporting goods store. Come visit soon. If you come by on Saturdays, you can meet Mike, too. Any idea when you will start school?"

I shake my head. The name Mike rings a bell in my head. Wasn't he part of the group the Cullen kids hang out with?

"Whenever she is ready," Esme answers for me in a warm tone, and I have the feeling she's talking to me as much as to this woman Newton.

"She needs to settle in for a bit here. It's only been two weeks."

"Where did she come from?"

Ruh-roh. Nosiness alert. I look studiously to the ground, then shift my gaze back to the wall of products beside me. I don't want Esme to start this conversation but at the same time I have a morbid curiosity to hear what she will say.

"Phoenix, Arizona."

"Well, that's quite far away, isn't it? Couldn't she be replaced closer to home?"

"No, she couldn't," Esme replies flatly, and the message, I think, is clear.

Mrs. Karen Newton doesn't let go. "What's her story? Why was she moved from her old home?" I can feel her gaze on me as she asks this question.

Oh, she doesn't know half the story.

"We would like to keep her back story private, if you don't mind," Esme replies softly.

"Oh," comes the should-be-sympathetic-sounding reply. "That bad, huh?"

Esme doesn't answer, and I am fed up with this conversation. Of course Esme won't want to tell others what a rotten person I am.

Nosey people. God damn it. Jessica was just the same. Are all the Forks people like this? Because if so, then maybe I should reconsider school. They'd never get off my back.

Plus, once they find out about my past, my life will become miserable, guaranteed.

"Well, honey, things will get better for you now, I'm sure," Mrs. Newton tells me. "If you ever need anything, or want someone to talk to, I'm here, anytime" she concludes, and then she turns and wheels her cart away.

I keep looking at her retreating figure, stunned. Stunned because she told me things would get better. And aghast at her offer to talk to her, 'anytime.' Did she really cal me 'honey'? Honestly?

"Oh my," Esme says once Mrs. Newton is out of sight and hearing range, then bursts into a fit of silent sniggers. She clasps her hand on her mouth, but still she can't stop.

"That woman knows _no_ bounds. I'm sorry we ran into her," Esme says. "Are you okay?"

I nod, slowly, still stunned after this encounter.

"Not everybody in this town is like her," Esme reassures me. "Karen is known to be the main frame of the gossip machine here in Forks. I'm confident that others will show more… discretion."

Oh, that's good. Not everybody needs to know what an awful person I am. Esme was right in not wanting to tell that.

"God, she _wishes_ you would confide in her," Esme mutters as she starts moving again. "Then she could 'confide' in the rest of the town."

I gasp out a laugh at her words, and Esme glances at me guiltily from the corner of her eye. "Don't ever do anything you don't want to, Bella," she says. "I think a lot of people are going to offer you their friendship like Mrs. Newton did just now. But I want you to never feel pressured into doing things you are not comfortable with, okay?"

Keeping my face forward, I nod, and I know Esme has seen it. Her words clash with what she said earlier. Why would she think people want to offer their friendship if she knows how bad I am? Surely she realizes others wouldn't want to know me?

I put this question to the back of my mind to think about it later, when I have time to mull it over.

We finish our groceries and when I lift the heavy bags into the back of the car with ease, Esme stops to look at me.

"You are strong," she observes.

Yeah, well, never strong enough though.

I don't meet her gaze and fortunately, she doesn't press. I wait in the car as she brings back the cart and we drive home in silence.

What a day.

When we pull up in the garage, Esme opens the car door first and stills immediately. Startled, I wait what she is going to do.

She bends back to face me in the car and pushes her finger to her lips, imploring me to be quiet.

Now truly alarmed, I open the car door as softly as humanly possible and step out into the garage. Esme looks at me over the roof or the car and holds her hand to her ear, indicating that I should listen.

And then I hear it.

Softly, in short bursts, the sounds of a piano playing drift down into the garage.

Esme closes the car door as quietly as she can and I follow suit.

"The groceries can wait," she says softly, then precedes me to the stairs that will lead us into the house. The piano sounds get stronger as we come closer to the door, and when Esme opens it, the full warm sounds of the baby grand wash over us.

"Go watch," she says quietly, so as not to be heard over the piano.

Doing as I am told, but very apprehensive indeed, I walk to the foyer where the piano is situated.

It's a wonderful song. Light, hopeful, it embraces you like a sunny day.

Edward is playing. I can see his profile and I can see his deep concentration even from where I stand. His feet are moving the pedals with gentle ease, perfectly in time with the music.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

I start at the whisper beside me, but it's Alice and she's beaming up at me. "He hasn't played since you arrived here. He was too shy. I've missed hearing him play."

Hell, with him playing as well as he does, I would have missed hearing this, too! But, wait, he was too shy? _Why?_

Alice leaves again, leaving me standing, enthralled by the music Edward is making. The song is absolutely wonderful, and I don't even really like music in general.

I am frozen, lost in the gentle tones of the baby grand. Edward's hands dance over the keys and his head moves to the music, scanning the keys without really needing to. He's playing without sheet music. Whatever song he is playing, he is playing by heart.

I realize a moment too late that Edward has looked up and noted me. His fingers do not halt and he plays on, no longer looking at the keys. He catches my gaze and holds it, and I find myself unable to look away.

He's not angry. I can't read his eyes, but I know he's not angry, nor upset.

He plays and looks, until the song comes gently to an end. As the last note fades into silence, he clears his throat and moves his gaze back to his hands.

The spell is broken.

I swallow and hurry back to the garage to help Esme clear the groceries away.

* * *

_Yeah, this last scene moved me. A lot. Edward was playing 'The river flows in you' by Yiruma. Before you judge - I found Twilight through this song, not the other way round ;) It holds a special place in my heart because of all the good that came into my life when I found Twilight and later fanficdom.  
_

_Paris was fabulous, thank you all :) As of today I will have my evenings to myself again (I freelance a lot) which means I will have time to write! For you it means not having to wait 2 weeks anymore for updates. Nice deal, no?_

_Torn has been nominated for two Sunflower Awards; awards for fics that have under 1000 reviews. It has been nominated for Best Angst and Best Esme. I am so proud! You can nominate through April and fics can be nominated for multiple awards (*wink wink, nudge nudge*). Go to thesunflowerawards blogspot com and check it out!_

After_ you have reviewed, that is... ;)  
_


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N Twilight is not mine.**

_Hello all! Thank you for your reviews and your patience. Real life snuck up on me and attacked me in the back. Or, more precisely, in the form of a very nasty inflammation in my hip joint/pelvis which will take weeks to heal. The pain has kept me from updating. Sorry *sends flowers* _

_As ever, my eternal gratefulness to Sherryola, my beta and life support. Also thanks to mmwa_debbie, who gave me the feedback on this chapter that I needed so much. Deb is coming to visit me in Holland next week. I better be nice here, because I'm a bit scared of her to be honest... No hon, I love you and you know it, even though you stood me up multiple times this week :D *smooches*_

_No music this time, the chapter was a struggle to write.  
_

* * *

Too tired from all the events and stress to really think straight anymore, I stand in the middle of the living room after having helped Esme with the groceries, unsure what to do.

Esme noticed my fatigue and told me I can cook another day if I want to. Feeling guilty about not being able to help out, I still can't deny that I am happy I won't have to bear the stress of cooking a dinner for eight after this day.

The sound of Edward playing the piano lingers in my memory. He had left the room when I came back from the garage. I don't know where he is now, in his bedroom probably.

Alice walks up to me just as Emmett steps into the room. Keeping an eye on both of them, I turn to Alice as she addresses me.

"Mom told me you might want to try and do some homework. Do you want me to help you point out where we are now?"

I nod, accepting her offer. I think of all the people in this house, I am least afraid of Alice. Still, I try to keep my guard up. It's dangerous to be at ease. It can all go bad easily still. I have to remind myself of that.

Alice precedes me up the stairs and waits at the door of my room so I can open it. This tiny gesture of respect moves and amazes me.

Once in my room, Alice walks to the desk and starts to open the books I have lying there.

"Listen, Bella," she starts as she flips through the books and puts post its at given places, "I am really sorry for yesterday. I didn't mean to waltz over you like that or anything. I just wanted to help you out, you know? You arrived here with nearly nothing and I just wanted to help you to be more at home here."

I listen to her speech, wringing my hands as she goes through my books. When she's done, she looks up at me. "Are you angry with me?"

The notion alone is beyond ridiculous and I think this shows on my face as she chuckles.

"I guess not. That's good to know," she smiles, "I absolutely loathe it when people are angry with me."

Oh, Alice, how can I let you know I do appreciate what you did? Biting my lip, I decide to go for the obvious. Opening the bathroom door, I gesture for her to look in and when she does, I point out the strawberry scented shampoo in the shower, the face wash by the sink. Walking to my closet, I show her where I have put the tops, the robe, the pyjamas. I still need to wash them, of course, but that's not important right now.

Alice, I think, is stunned into silence for once. "Thank you," she finally says, stunning me in turn.

Looking up at me, she smiles. "Maybe, when you are a bit more at ease, we can go shopping together sometime. Or we could go with mom, if you'd like that better. I can't believe you can function with so little things," she jokes.

I have to fight to keep the cynicism from my face. There is remarkable little you really need when all you want is to stay alive. For the fist time since it happened, the memory of that last night with Stefan really comes to me. When my vision started to blur, I knew it was bad news. His hands were around my throat, constricting, and I couldn't breathe...

Frowning, I shake my head a little to clear it, my hand traveling to my neck.

"The bruises are gone, aren't they?" Alice asks softly. "I mean, you're not wearing your scarf anymore, either. Does it still hurt?"

My neck? No, my neck doesn't hurt anymore.

Swallowing, Alice looks away briefly before she meets my gaze again. "Were you scared?"

Her question takes me off guard and for a moment I can only look at her as I register what she actually said.

Then, finally, I nod.

Yes, I was scared. I was finally scared enough to fight back.

**~O~**

I fall into a sort of rhythm, it seems. In the morning, I wait until everybody but Esme has left the house and have breakfast in the kitchen, ingest my first cup of coffee of the day and read the paper. After that I go up to my room to read some more or try to do some homework. Around noon, I go back down to set the table. Esme protests, but she will have to learn I can be stubborn, too.

And I want to help out.

I cannot eat when Esme is at the table, but Esme remains patient enough and agrees to let me finish when she is gone. And every time, she thanks me for trying.

In the afternoon, I do some more homework. I learn quickly that in Phoenix I was ahead in almost all my subjects. I have little to do here. To prevent boredom, I still do my assignments, gratefully using the pointers Alice has provided me.

With a sigh of relief I recognize the familiar satisfaction that studying always brings me. This, I know. This, I can lose myself in. This is my security, the one thing that is constant in my life, apart of course from the fear.

And even that is changing, it seems. Two and a half weeks in and my world has been toppled over once, twice, now put back again in some angle and I am shifting my feet, trying to regain some balance, a sense of equilibrium in my new life.

My period has not yet started. There is a nagging pain in my lower abdomen and while hope flares, I grit my teeth regardless. Every time I go to the toilet to check, there is nothing to be found.

I make the lasagna Tuesday night, alone in the kitchen. Esme comes to check once or twice as I try to figure out how to cook such a big dinner. She tells me time and again that I will do fine, giving me gentle pointers and tips that will help me cook a dinner for eight.

_Eight. _

Fucking hell.

I do not realize I have been biting my lip furiously until I taste the familiar copper of blood in my mouth. Sucking on my lip to hide the bleeding, I place the lasagna in the oven and lean against the counter to wait.

Esme comes in to check. "Is it in the oven?" she asks.

I nod, not releasing the suction on my lip, hoping the won't notice.

"Good. Would you like to come sit with us as it heats?"

I look at her, my eyes a little wider in confusion. Sit with them? Why? I can wait in the kitchen until the food is done? I always did so with Stefan, not only to be out of his way, but also to prevent the dinner from burning.

I don't want to know what will happen when I fuck this up. The muscles of my belly are sore, I've been so tense as I was preparing the lasagna. I have told myself I will have to get used to this. I would not be surprised if Esme asked me to cook more often.

It's how it goes, doesn't it?

"Don't be so nervous, Bella. It smells delicious and if you need help, just ask me."

I can't react to her. I wouldn't know how.

"Just… Take a deep breath," Esme says, and I do as I'm told. "Good. Now come sit with us. Please. If it's too crowded you can go."

It's a direct order and I can't refuse it. I follow her into the living room, where only Emmett and Jasper are seated.

Is she fucking kidding me?

Emmett is on the couch, his head lolling leisurely back against the headrest, and Jasper is in the loveseat, one leg draped over the arm rest. They are playing some sort of puzzle game, in which they have to shoot a big, bouncing ball, which will turn in two smaller balls, which will turn in four even smaller balls…

The game looks ancient. Why would they play this? Surely they have the consoles for more… sophisticated stuff?

"Ah, Bella, you know this game?" Emmett asks as he sees me.

I shake my head. I've never seen it.

"It's fun. Retro," Emmett smirks. "And I totally squash Jasper with this."

Jasper chuckles and I move my gaze to him. "I have to give you _something_ to win, sometimes."

"I just have not as much time as you do to practice my skills with gaming," Emmett retorts.

"Do I sense some jealousy there my dear brother, that Rose can't be bothered with gaming, and Alice _can_?"

"I do more fun things with Rose than just gaming," Emmett says dryly, reacting too late in the game and cursing under his breath when the giant red ball squashes his tiny character.

"Emmett," Esme warns softly.

I'm still standing at the entrance of the living room and watch as Emmett's brows rise high on his forehead.

"What?"

"Mind your language, and mind your topics. Both of you."

"What… I can't talk about Rose?" His eyes flit to me before he looks back at his mother. "She _knows_ we are a couple, right?"

Oh, he's talking about me. I fidget, uncomfortable.

Esme sighs, looking for words, her lips pressed together as she is thinking. What will she say? What will she not say?

"It's okay, I was leaving anyway," Jasper says, standing up and stretching. His gaze falls to me and he nods towards the television screen. "You want to play?"

What?

I've never done such a thing before. Back with Stefan, my foster brother Peter wouldn't let me touch his things, and apart from that it could never even remotely interest me. At all.

"You should try it," Jasper smiles, his eyes sparkling. "I know it doesn't look like it, but it's terribly addicting. Here." He reaches out the controller to me, but there is no way in hell I'm accepting that from his hands.

Smile faltering, he places the black thing on the table. "Here you go," he says hesitantly. "I'm sorry."

What on earth do they all keep apologizing for?

I shake my head, to let him know he shouldn't be the one who is sorry.

"Yes, why don't you try to play, Bella? Against Emmett? Or against me, if you'd like that better?" Esmes voice is soft, hopeful.

Jesus, I don't want this. My heart rate is picking up and my breathing speed increases as I stand still, not knowing what to do. The tell tale first signs of hyperventilation are starting and I decide to leave before it can evolve into a full scale panic attack.

"No, Bella," Esme interrupts me as she sees me looking to the stairs. "Don't panic. There is nothing to panic about."

I halt in my movements to look at her. Of course there is reason to panic. I can't play a game. What if I win? What if I _don't_ win? What if I suck? I don't even know how to operate the controller.

"We are not forcing you into anything. It's fine if you don't want to play."

She sounds gentle, but I have a hard time believing her words.

"I'll play you, Emmett," she continues, reaching to pick up the controller from the coffee table. "It's been ages since I played this game."

They play and they both laugh, a lot, as I gradually calm down again. Esme is 'rusty,' as she puts it, and often is too slow to react on what she sees on the screen.

I sit in the big winged armchair once more and alternate my gaze between the two people playing, and what's happening on the screen.

After a good twenty minutes, I start to realize that maybe someday I'd like to try my hand at it, too.

I stand up carefully, and Esme follws my gaze as I walk into the kitchen to set the table. To my surprise, she lets me.

I place the plates quietly, listening to the sounds that drift from the living room. I can hear they are ending the game and turning off the TV as I lean against the counter to wait for the oven.

When I hear the buzz that tells me the lasagna is ready, I turn to retrieve it from the oven. It smells divine and Emmett wanders into the kitchen, drawn in by the smell.

"You made that?"

I nod carefully, on guard.

"Now that smells like food I'd like. Can I help you with anything?"

I shake my head, hoping he will leave, but he stays, sitting at the breakfast bar, leaving me no choice to do my things with him watching.

"So did you calm down a bit again?"

Yes. Until you decided to linger.

Opening the oven door, the hot, but delicious smells waft into my face. It's perfect. I did it.

I feel Emmett's eyes on me like fire, following my every movement.

Gah.

"Hey, baby," a soft voice purrs then and I look up to see Rosalie approaching Emmett.

"Hmm," he smiles as he moves and opens his arms wide for her, allowing her to step in between his legs. I can see them just around the breakfast bar. His huge arms snake around her tiny waist and I close my eyes as I hear them kissing.

Picking up the panholders, I crouch and reach inside the oven to retrieve the enormous lasagna dish. It's heavy in my arms and I feel the heat through the fabric immediately. Standing up, I try to ignore Emmett and Rosalie, but I have heard their conversation, and I can't prevent that from the corner of my eye I can see Emmett's hand traveling lower on her body, until he first cups her ass and then _slaps_ it.

I flinch violently and almost drop the dish, having to make an awkward movement to hold it up. I feel the burn on my hand immediately and I clench my teeth together to prevent making any sound. I manage to get the dish on the counter. It clatters out of my hands, thankfully on the coasters I had set out before.

Oh God, it hurts.

I drop the panholders and move to the sink, turning on the water to lukewarm and holding my hand under it. It's already red and it's a real burn, stinging deeply into my skin.

I hope it won't blister.

Emmett and Rosalie are cuddling and have not even noticed me. Good.

Breathing evenly through my nose and pressing my lips together to hide the pain, I don't even notice Esme has stepped into the kitchen.

"Did you burn yourself?" she asks and my head flies up to see her looking around me, to my hand under the water.

Well, I can't very well say 'no', now can I?

"Let me see it."

No, Esme.

"Come on. Let me see, so I know if I have to get ointment."

_No, _Esme.

"Bella."

Her change in tone registers and reluctantly, I pull my hand from under the water. The sting returns immediately after the cooling ends and I hold up my left hand to show her the pad of my thumb, which is angrily red.

_Please do not hurt me_.

Esme brings her hands up and I make to pull back, but she hastens to clarify. "I won't touch you. Just watch."

Her hands cradle mine, without touching. My hand stings and I stand, tense, trying to be strong, to not run.

"Did she burn herself?" Rosalie asks.

"Yes," Esme replies, not looking around.

She examines my hand, then looks at me. "I'll get you some ointment."

As she leaves, I turn back to the tap and hold my hand under the lukewarm water once more, sighing deeply and utterly pissed with myself.

Fuck. _Fuck_.

I can't even get cooking right anymore, it seems.

"Are you okay?" Emmett asks, and I look at him. He looks concerned, his eyes wide and a tiny frown puckering between his brows.

I nod, quickly, not wanting to have this conversation. The tap still runs and the sound is all consuming, distracting.

Esme comes back into the kitchen, followed by Carlisle.

I have to fight _very_ hard to not roll my eyes at this. It's just a fucking burn. Leave me be, I'll get over it.

"I have some ointment for the burning, but I would like to have a look at it, Bella," Carlisle says, almost apologetically.

Esme, in the meantime, turns to Emmett and Rosalie and with a wordless look, they leave the kitchen, shrugging. Hey, where are they going?

The lasagna is cooling on the counter.

This is just _excellent_. Fucking hell.

Looking at Carlisle and Esme, I feel decidedly cornered here in the kitchen. I have shown Esme my hand. There are no blisters. I just need to cool it.

Fuck. Off.

Please.

"Please, Bella. Carlisle is a doctor. He can see if you need care."

By God, if I could talk.

I shake my head, turning off the tap and putting my hand in the pocket of my sweater. The stinging returns immediately, but I manage not to flinch as I face them, waiting.

"Bella, nothing will happen. Let Carlisle see your hand."

It's the same tone she used before.

I'm nauseous.

Fear flares as I realize that I am solidly defying them. What if this will upset them? I didn't even realize they might be angry that I got this burn.

Holy shit, what do I…—

"Isabella." It's Carlisle's voice and it's soft, but the name…

Laurent called me this. Stefan called me this. It always meant bad news.

_Isabella… Why are you still in my sight?_

_Isabella, what have you done now?_

_Isabella, what am I going to do with you?_

_Isabella, why are you trying my patience like this?_

_Isabella, Isabella…_

Bile rises in my throat and I swallow it away desperately. Don't call me that. Please.

My breathing is picking up speed and through the sting in my hand the panic flares.

Noticing my reaction, Carlisle lifts his hands, palm up. "Excuse me. I will use 'Bella' if you are more comfortable with that."

This is taking too long. The lasagna will get cold and then this endeavor will be totally and completely ruined.

Fuck.

I don't want to show them where I hurt.

"Show me your hand, Bella. Please. I will not hurt you. I just want to see if it needs any treatment."

When I finally show him my hand, I don't do it because I believe him. I do it because I want this to get over with and I want them to leave me alone and go eat already.

Holding my breath, I pull my burning hand out of my pocket and show it to him.

_Please don't hurt me._

Every nerve ending is on alert as I stand before him.

Carlisle looks without touching, just as Esme has done. "I'm afraid it will blister," he finally says.

Yeah, I was starting to feel that too.

"Keep it cool. Take something for the pain if you want to."

Of for the love of…

"Come find me should the skin break, so we can prevent it scarring, okay?"

I almost frown.

When he smiles and turns to leave, I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment to once more prevent myself rolling my eyes. I can take care of myself. True, I have been so stupid as to burn myself, but it's not like this is the first wound I need to attend to, is it?

What's with all the care and concern? Honestly. Nobody ever looked at me twice. There is no need to. Just… don't.

"Get it back under the water," Esme orders, and for once I do react in an instant, welcoming the cold stream on the burning skin once more.

"This must be stressing for you. Shall I put the food on the table?"

Is she asking me? I half-shrug, half-nod. It's not like I am going to eat it with them, anyway. In my mind, I have already taken two steps back and everything comes to me as through a haze.

When Esme turns back after having set the lasagna on the table, she puts a tube on the counter. "Put this on your hand. I am going to call the rest for dinner. Will you join us?"

No, please, don't make me do this all. I have had such a good day today, and now everything is catapulting into chaos and catastrophe.

"Very well. You can take a plate up to your room, or eat in the living room. I was hoping you at least would want to sit with us."

Once again, it's the disappointment in her voice that hits me as hard as a slap in my face would do.

As the family gathers around the table, I stand with my back half turned to the counter, my hand still under the water. I listen to easy banter, flowing conversation, and compliments about the way the lasagna is smelling.

Edward walks into the kitchen and looks from my hand under the tap to me. "You okay?" he mouths.

I bite my lip, hard, and the skin cracks immediately, leaving me with the taste of blood in my mouth and of bile in my throat. I can't do this.

I am not okay. Besides, what's the deal with him? I thought he wouldn't want to do anything with me anymore after the whole box and belt incident, and here he is, looking at me? He allowed me to look and listen when he was playing piano, too.

It doesn't add up.

And I am too worked up, too tired and too chaotic in my head to try and work it out anymore.

I decide to leave before I collapse and scooping up the tube with cream I bolt for the stairs, hands shaking and breathing ragged as I close the door of my room behind me with a soft click, trying to listen for anyone following me over the thundering of my heart in my ears.

Oh, this is ridiculous. Trying to calm my breathing, I go for the rocking chair, pulling Renée's quilt with me as I walk past the bed and I curl up in the chair, letting it tilt backwards and rock me as I put the quilt over my head, hiding in the darkness that seems to emanate from my soul.

The gentle rocking is soothing, soothing…

My breathing calms and my heart slows down gradually as I move my upper body with the lulling motion of the chair to keep it going.

My hand is burning like hell.

A knock on my door both startles and irks me and I pull the quilt off my head, squinting against the sudden light in the room.

"Bella?" Esme.

Weary, I clamber out of the chair and go to the door. It doesn't go unnoticed that she is not entering the room, doesn't try to see if the door is locked.

I lay my right hand against the wood, head bowed, craving closeness but so afraid to ask for it or to allow myself to want it even. Deep down, I crave the care they just gave me just as much as I shy away from it.

_You don't __deserve to be cared for_, my evil mind sneers. That's a third point of view, come to think of it, just to add to my confusion.

"Bella, don't shut me out. Please." Her voice sounds muffled through the door and the way she has turned her words catches me off guard.

_But I don't know how to let you in, Esme. _I rub the wood, unable to do anything else.

"I am sorry you panicked. Please come out?"

I sigh with the sheer impossibility of it all.

"Bella, please. Give us a chance."

Stilling at her words, I let them sink in and gather some meaning in my head. Give them a chance… How? I think back on the hugs we shared when I was sick. It now seems a lifetime ago. The thought of doing that again is scaring me out of my wits. I must have been very weak indeed to even _ask_ for it.

I swallow, trying to convince myself I do not vividly remember the warmth of Esme's arms around me. _Don't let them come too close. There will only be disappointment._

Esme waits at the other side of the door and somehow I think she knows I am standing here, closer than I would ever want to be to another person, but protected by the safety of the wood between us. Leaning my forehead against the door, I worry my lower lip, barely registering the pain of breaking the already battered skin again.

Finally, I open the door and step back, to see Esme smiling at me. "Thank you. Will you come downstairs with us? I never meant to put pressure on you like that, with the video game. But you have to understand that we will keep trying to involve you in our lives."

My confusion must show and Esme thinks for a moment before she speaks again.

"We invited for you to live here, with us, to become a member of our family. You're not a guest, and you are not a charity case, if that's what you think. We have told you this before. We also won't send you back if that's what you are afraid of."

I wait and listen, impassive. What's in it for them? Nobody does this out of altruism. I'm still waiting for that catch.

"You don't believe me," she says, and it's the disappointment in her voice that stings. "That's okay," she continues, but I can tell it's not. "You will see for yourself that I am right."

Or not. Time will tell, won't it?

"Shall I bring some dinner up, so you can eat? It really smells delicious."

Knowing I won't be able to eat, I still gesture my consent, feeling guilt-ridden that I can't get down to fix my dinner myself.

When Esme comes back up, I am waiting for her by the door. I watch as she sets the plate on my desk.

"I cannot begin to image how chaotic and frightening these first weeks must have been for you. I think you have done very well so far, Bella. And I am happy you can make clear to us what you need. Anything to make you at ease here. You live here now, you know. Might as well start to feel at home?"

Esme leaves and with that, leaves me shocked to my core.

I look at the steaming lasagna dish and the usually delectable smell now does nothing for me.

I turn off the lights in the room and then walk into the dark bathroom, to hide.

From what, I don't exactly know right now.

I would have preferred to leave the house altogether for a few hours, but I can't go anywhere from here and I'd also have to face coming back later.

Gah. Cooking never before has caused me such stress. I fucked it up royally. Images of Carlisle and Esme hovering over me come flying back to me and I stumble to the toilet and retch, my throat burning as bile makes its way out of my body through my mouth.

When I am done and my insides hurt with phantom contractions, I sit down in the bathtub and apply a thick layer of cooling ointment to my burning hand, hissing as my touch hurts my skin. Cradling my hand against my chest, I lean my head back and close my eyes.

This is not good. I fucked up the cooking and I panicked, but when I think back on it, there really wasn't a reason to. Deep down, I know there was no reason to panic. Th_e_y only wanted to help.

But Jesus Christ, could they have been any _more_ condescending? What's with the 'show me'-crap? Why would they want to know what my wound looks like? It didn't look like they were going to taunt me for burning myself. But why do they care about me? At all?

My heart won't calm and I lie in the tub, sinking down deeper when I hear a faint knock on my door. I ignore it. They will come in when they want to anyway, so I won't even have to bother to open the door for them.

I stay awake until deep into the night, when the house has quieted. Nobody comes to visit me. I slumber, but am rudely awaken when I hear hasty footsteps in the house. Doors opening and closing, hurried movements muffled by the double layer of doors I am hiding behind.

Sitting up in the tub, body in full alert mode, I listen to footsteps going down the stairs. After long moments of silence, I hear a car racing out of the garage.

What on earth is going on?

With a hammering heart I listen as one pair of footsteps comes back up the stairs and disappears into silence.

Who left the house, and why?

My mind is pulled back to that afternoon years ago, when my mother left me. Then too, there where hasty footsteps, rushed movements, and not a word was spoken. What happened here now? Has Carlisle left? Or, worse, Esme? Who is stealing away in the middle of the night and who was the second person, that knows what has happened?

Rigid, thoughts tumbling, I stay where I am until the first rays of dawn shine into the tiled room.

* * *

_One step forward, two steps back... Things will get better, I promise :)_

_Thanks to those that nominated me for a Sunflower Award. I will pass 1000 reviews soon, so I won't be able to be nomintaed again. However, the nominations that stand, will stay :) Check Thesunflowerawards blogspot com for all the noms!  
_

_Until next time!  
_


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N Twilight is not mine. I'm just playing in that universe.**

_Hello everybody! Thanks as ever for reading and reviewing and for your patience. Real Life these last two weeks consisted of pain (see previous note) and of a shape called mmwa_debbie, whom I had the honor to spend almost an entire week with. We had a blast, and between wine, late nights, sex on the beach and groping, it was swiftly decided that I am going to visit her in June. *squee*_

_Thanks to Deb for prereading and to Sherryola, who is my beta and who means more to me than she realizes. Next year Sherry, we shall meet too!_

_This chapter I think is a bit more hopeful and contains some epiphanies and realizations. Enjoy!_

* * *

On Wednesday I wait once more for the family to leave the house before I make my way downstairs. I have flushed the lasagna down the toilet.

I am apprehensive, nervous. My body is stiff from being in the tub but it is nothing compared to the chaos that is in my brain.

Who left last night, and why?

I am surprised to find Esme in the kitchen, sipping coffee and reading the paper. An empty plate stands beside her on the table. I can't shake the feeling she has been waiting for me.

She looks up and smiles when I enter the room. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

No. I nod.

"Where you woken by us last night? Carlisle was called into the hospital for an emergency," she says apologetically.

Ah, so that's what I heard. No reason to panic then, after all.

By God, I can almost laugh at this explanation when I think back to all the possible scenarios my mind has conjured last night.

"Anyway, we all wanted to pay our compliments to the chef," Esme beams. "Your lasagna was beyond excellent. We really enjoyed it."

I shift, uneasy. Frown.

"How is the burn? Does it still hurt?"

Absentmindedly I look at my hand. The skin has broken overnight, but the wound is already closing up again. I shake my head to let Esme know it doesn't bother me anymore, and suppress a shrug.

She looks at me closely, then nods in acceptance.

At her invite, I go to fill my first cup of coffee of the day. When I turn back to Esme, mug in hands, she looks at me and thinks for a moment before she speaks.

"Bella, I want to talk to you about what happened yesterday."

I don't.

"You were obviously not at ease." A beat. "Have you eaten your dinner?"

Her question catches me off guard and because I cannot lie to save my life, I can't nod convincingly enough.

Esme narrows her eyes as she sees through me.

I look down and exhale, trying to convey that such things matter little to me.

"You have to eat, Bella. Otherwise we should perhaps reconsider the fluid food you had before, to gain more strength. But apart from that, I want you to tell me what happened yesterday. Why you panicked."

I press my lips together; the only way I dare to defy. I don't want to talk about this. I panicked because they were all over me, demanding me to show them where I was hurt. To me, this is very disturbing. I am not used to getting care and to be honest, they were more than a little condescending yesterday. I mean, come on, it's _just _a_ burn. _I'll live.

And why would they care anyway? What is so important for them to know where exactly I am hurt? What's in it for them?

"Were we too close yesterday? Was that it?"

Torn from my train of thought, I stand motionless and need a moment to process what she just said. Yes, they were too close. And Esme has to learn to let things go already. It's not important.

"Please talk to me. If you don't tell us what we did wrong then how can we make it better? We were supposed to do this together, remember?"

I did not sign my part of that contract, if I recall correctly.

"Are you not used to being cared for when you are in pain?"

Her question is tentative, shy, even, and somehow she manages to catch me off guard with it.

I blink once, and of course to Esme this is enough information.

"We care for you Bella. It would be nice for you to start realizing, _accepting_ it. We care for all our children when they get hurt." She hesitates. "It's... normal to do so."

I know that, Esme, I am not entirely stupid.

"You see, I can leave you be and have you follow your own plans here, but I am getting the feeling you prefer to be alone. And was hoping you would want to become part of our family more."

Again the disappointment is clear in her voice. Wherever she got these high hopes, I will never know. I am bound to disappoint... maybe it's good she is coming to realize that. It's about time, too.

In the pit of my stomach, a sting of disappointment flares, too.

I reach into the pocket of my sweater and pick out the note I used twice yesterday.

_It's not important_.

Esme looks at it for a long moment before she looks back up at me.

"It _is_, Bella. _You_ are important."

I blink at her. Has she lost her mind?

Annoyance flares and reaching for the pen in my pocket (I can't believe I have one with me, come to think of it), I write something under the earlier utterance. I don't even care about the consequences when I show Esme the note again.

_I don't want to talk about it._

I think my eyes must be hard when I look at Esme as she reads, but she nods and doesn't show any sign of disapproval on her face.

"That's okay. I am happy you feel confident enough to let me know you don't want to talk about it. I don't think we are done talking about this, but let's leave it for now." A moment. "Thank you, Bella."

Guh. What on earth for?

Finally, she moves and gets up to bring her dishes to the sink.

"Why don't you try and do some homework this morning?" she then asks. I think I am starting to learn whom Alice got her randomness from.

Nodding at her offer, Esme smiles back at me.

"Okay then. But first you eat. I don't like you skipping dinners."

I swallow at her reprimand and move to the fridge as soon as she starts leaving the kitchen.

I eat, I do some homework I think that needs to be done. I have an early lunch at Esme's request and afterwards I go into the library at her proposal. I find some books about astronomy, a random subject that has my interest, and sink into the window seat to read.

The home is quiet. Esme doesn't come by to check on me and for the first time in a long time, I feel certain tense muscles in my back relax. From time to time I look up from my book into the garden. Everything is so very _lush_ here, I should think come spring it will look like Eden.

At two, Esme comes to get me for tea. She has butter cake laid out on a plate on the coffee table in the living room, and two mugs of steaming liquid are waiting for us.

I sit down gingerly in the chair, anxious for another cross-examination. Instead, Esme offers me some butter cake. I look at the substance, which seems to be between a cookie and cake.

Seeing my hesitation, Esme smiles. "You never had this?"

I shake my head. I'm not really a sweet tooth, anyway.

"Try it. If you don't like it, you can leave it."

I take a piece and place it before me on the table. From Esme's reaction I can see she is still not very used to the fact that I don't like to eat with others present. Not even when it's low-key stuff like this.

But I just really don't like to eat when not alone.

"Are you making progress on your homework?" she then asks.

I nod. I can't really explain that I don't know if I am doing it all well, but at least I am trying. Those astronomy books I found are mightily more interesting, though. I hope I will be able to read more in them later on.

"That's good. Studying really makes you happy, doesn't it?"

I nod again, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth now. I just can't deny what knowledge means to me. It's why I am adamant to go to school. I want to learn. Other students be damned, I'll deal with them when it gets that far.

"I am happy to hear that. Did you find something interesting in the library?"

I nod again, and Esme beams back at me.

"You can go there anytime, Bella. Please know that."

I keep nodding, it seems.

"So, there is some business we need to go through," she continues after sipping her tea.

I sit up straighter, apprehensive and, well, curious as to what she is going to say.

"As you have been sick, the meeting has been postponed, but you have been assigned a social worker here, and she wants to see you as soon as possible."

She waits for my reaction, eyes wide, expectant for some reaction, I presume.

My evil mind snorts out a not-so-ladylike laugh. I had a social worker back at Stefan too. As if she _ever_ noticed anything. She never even looked up from her forms when she was with us, checking the boxes and high tailing her ass back out of the house as soon as she could.

Esme continues. "Her name is Mrs. Gomez and she's coming by tomorrow at ten. She'd like to speak with you then."

I nod, as there is nothing else I can do.

"She'll ask you some questions about your well being here. I won't be present the entire time. I don't want you to feel pressured in any way."

That's… either very nice or very tricky. I realize with a weird feeling in my stomach, this time maybe it won't be such a stressful occurrence. Because _I_ at least won't have to hide anything.

"Oh, and Bella? Just so that there is no misunderstanding about this — we really want you to stay with us. So don't worry about that, okay?

My face goes blank for a moment as the realization of what her words mean sinks in. From my momentarily blurred vision, I can see Esme appraise me, but for once, she says nothing. She just smiles.

And I smile back at her, too. Somehow I am very happy to hear her say that she wants to keep me. I can even shut up my evil mind for a moment, which whispers that the misery could very well start _after_ the social worker's visit.

"So, tomorrow at ten, okay?"

I nod once, decisive. _Okay_.

"Then, there is someone else Carlisle and I would like you to meet. He's the Chief of police in this town and we think it's a good idea if you meet him. His name is Charlie Swan. He's Renée's ex-husband."

My mind whirls with all this information. And honestly, _Swan_? What a coincidence! And that in a tiny town like this. Renée never told me this. But she rarely spoke of her ex, Charlie. What she said was always very positive though.

However, the prospect of meeting this man is not something I am looking forward to.

Esme seems to notice my hesitation. "Charlie would like to talk to you, Bella. He wants you to know you are safe here, and he wants you to know him so that whenever you should need him, you know where and how to find him."

Why ever would I need him?

I don't know about this, Esme. I worry my lower lip, afraid to disappoint but feeling my hackles rise about the idea of meeting this man.

"He's coming by tomorrow after dinner. Here's the deal. If you want to meet him, you just come to us. If you don't want to meet him, you don't. It's okay if you don't. I'll leave the decision up to you."

Oh my, but that is scary. I don't like to have to make decisions like that.

We finish our tea and then Esme gets up again. "Do you think you can find something to do for now?" she asks kindly.

I nod, yet again, but look at her expectantly in case she needs me for something.

"Very good. I am going into Carlisle's study to work some on my blueprints. Come and get me if you need me?"

She leaves me with a nod and a smile and before her footsteps have died away completely, I am trying the butter cake. It's sticky sweet, but I like it.

In the silent house, my eyes are drawn to the television and I think back on the game I have seen Jasper and Emmett play yesterday. Should I…?

I am alone now, but a quick look at my watch tells me the others will come out of school soon. I stay in the living room and watch the forest outside the house until I hear the cars approaching, then leave up the stairs to find refuge in the silence of my room.

Using the bathroom up there, I find that my period has finally started.

I sigh and cry and laugh at the same time, relief washing over me and my fists balling up with the happiness I cannot show in any other way.

**~O~**

I have opened my bedroom door and I'm sitting on the floor beside it, leaning against the wall with my elbows on my knees. I am listening to the sounds in the house. Faint music spills from two different rooms and in Alice's room, I can hear her talking with Jasper. Well, I can't actually hear them, but sometimes the tones of their voices drift out and I know they are in some sort of conversation.

As long as I can't understand what they are saying, I don't see any harm in just listening to this normal family's life.

When I hear somebody coming up the stairs, I get up and close the door before I sit down at my desk. Nobody comes for me and the footsteps pass.

While I'm here, I might as well boot up the laptop and finally do something with the emails Renée has sent me.

There are five in total and I read them all, messages of concern and reassurance. Although my evil mind tells me she is emailing me out of professional obligation, my heart does remember how she cared for me when I showed up at her door. I asked her for help and she helped me. She did so much for me. Even if she did it out of plight, I might as well give an answer and end our relationship, or whatever it's called.

But I miss her. A lot.

The last email she sent contains a downright pledge to send something back. I click 'reply'. She has to know she can forget about me now, I guess. I'm amazed she even contacted me after she dropped me with Carlisle and Esme in Seattle.

.

**From:** Bella Swan  
**To:** Renée Dwyer  
**Subject:** Re: How are you?  
I'm okay here. Don't worry about me.

.

The reply comes almost instantly.

.

**From****:** Renée Dwyer  
**To:** Bella Swan  
**Subject:** Re: How are you?  
I am so happy you have let me know you are okay! Esme told me what was in the box Stefan sent you. I am so sorry you had to go through that. I didn't want to go through your stuff without your permission, but I never wanted this to happen.

.

Why is everybody sorry about that? I type what I've written by hand before.

.

**From:** Bella Swan  
**To:** Renée Dwyer  
**Subject:** Re: How are you?  
It's not important.

.

Again, the reply is swift.

.

**From****:** Renée Dwyer  
**To:** Bella Swan  
**Subject:** Re: How are you?  
I think it is, and I am not the only one. Please consider pressing charges against him?

_._

I blink at the screen. Pressing charges? Why? All he did was my own fault. I don't like all that happened, but pressing charges? For things _I_ did wrong? Isn't that a _little_ far-fetched?

I don't reply to the email, since I don't know what to say, and shut the program down. Since I Googled the shit out of everything even remotely interesting over the last days to distract myself, I find I am momentarily out of subjects to read about on the net.

I don't feel like watching television, and I don't want to lie on my bed, being useless. It's four o'clock. Maybe I can help Esme with dinner.

Trailing down the hallway to the top of the stairs, Alice comes out of her room with a stack of books in her hands.

"Hey, stranger," she smiles, eyes radiant. "Your lasagna was excellent yesterday, just so you know."

I flush involuntarily at her compliment and look away. Jesus, what's wrong with me?

Alice giggles. "You better believe it. I'm going downstairs to do some homework. Want to join me?"

Oh. Do I?

"Come on, I won't bite," Alice smiles, and she looks up at me with nothing but open honesty. "It will be nice to have some company."

There is no way in which I can refuse her offer, when she looks like this. It's a scary notion, but I go into my room to retrieve some books and follow her down the stairs, where we settle at the kitchen table, opposite each other.

Alice helps me along with some subjects, telling me what actual homework assignments need to be done. I do some reading for Biology and then move to Trig, a subject that's clear as glass for me.

Working along, I notice that Alice is huffing every now and again, scratching out things on her paper and then raking a hand through her usually immaculate hair.

It's easy to conclude that she's not getting the material. Carefully looking over at her paper, I see how much she has scratched out already.

I press my lips together, not knowing how to approach this, or even if I want to. But finally, Alice notices my stillness and she looks up at me, looking curious.

Biting my lip, heart hammering, I look from the paper to her, then back to the paper. Alice looks down at the chaos she's written down, before she looks up at me.

Then, very carefully and slowly, so she can stop me anytime she would want me to, I pull her notebook towards me.

Alice keeps looking and for once, she's quiet. Slowly, she shifts her chair so she's coming to sit at the head of the table, closing the distance between her and me.

I pick up my pencil and carefully point at the assignment she is stuck on, waiting until I am sure she sees what I would like to do. Then, I start to write. Alice leans in as I write down the formula she needs to use, pointing out on the paper and writing down why she needs to use that formula, and not the one she's been working with.

It's elaborate and slow, but I wait every time until she nods and after a while, she seems to be catching on. We sit in silence as I point and write, and she starts to write down things as well. When she makes mistakes, I try to point them out to her without making her feel like she's stupid, and explain the formula from a different angle.

It takes about twenty minutes, but then her face lights up like a Christmas tree and she goes to work on a new assignment excitedly, confident she can do it. I set to work on my own homework again, until she very softly says my name.

"Bella, I think I'm stuck again."

She moves her notebook for me to see and after some encouraging looks from her side, I go over her figures, spotting the mistake and trying to explain why she went wrong.

Numbers just make sense to me. I can't help it.

Alice sighs in relief and finishes the rest of the assignment without any trouble.

When she is done, she sighs happily and looks up at me. "You know, you are the first who ever succeeded in making me understand Trig."

Well, it's not that hard, really.

"I mean it. Teachers never have patience with me long enough to explain it like you did."

I frown, and flush, uncomfortable.

"Oh right, I forgot you weren't used to getting compliments," Alice smiles. "Hey," she then changes the topic, "shall we go out next Saturday? Maybe go to Port Angeles or something?"

Caught off guard, I hesitate. I loathe shopping, and I don't even have any money to spend.

"I think that's a good idea," Esme interrupts as she walks into the kitchen. "You need some things, and it's good if you pick them yourself."

"That's settled then," Alice decides, smiling.

"She hasn't agreed to come with yet, Alice," Esme says kindly. "Bella, what do you want? It would be nice to get out of the house for a bit. Would you like me to come along?"

Pff, too many questions at once. I must admit I'd like the thought of going out with Alice, but it makes me nervous as shit, too.

"Think about it," Esme smiles. "Get back to us later. Its not Saturday yet."

I nod, grateful for her understanding.

Wait. Grateful? For her understanding?

Whoa.

It's like my brain can't process this. _Error. Does not compute. Abort, Ignore, Retry?_

Ignore.

Ignore.

Ignore.

**~O~**

I do more homework with Alice, until Esme wants to set the table for dinner. I want to help, but am refused to do so. Instead, Alice gives me her journal so I can take over the homework assignments that are relevant for me.

"You should have Edward's, too," Alice muses. "He has subjects you have, which I don't. Wait, I'll get it for you."

Before I can figure out how to stop her, she sprints up the stairs. I am left in the living room, my journal in my lap, biting my lip.

Jasper comes in then, looking from the journal to my face. "You preparing to go to school?"

It's the easy, off-handed way he has of asking questions, I think. I nod, waiting for what he has to say about it.

"That's good to hear," he smiles. "I don't think we share any classes, else I could help you, too. At least, I'm guessing Alice has been filling in your journal?"

I nod again, and Jasper laughs. "You wouldn't have had much choice in it, anyway."

"Hey, I'm only trying to help," Alice says as she steps back into the living room. She's holding a booklet, which must be Edward's journal. Wait, does Edward know she has it?

Alice opens it without further ado and flips through the pages. "I can't make any sense of this," she finally says. She hands me the journal and without thinking, I accept it from her.

"See if you can understand the way he writes things down. Else you'll have to ask him," she smiles.

She has no idea, has she?

I look through the diary and see that not only Edward's handwriting is beyond immaculate, he has a clear way of noting homework assignments, too. It's no effort for me at all to copy them.

I close the journal as soon as I'm done, not wanting to see what else is in that book and feeling I am invading his privacy by even looking at it. I put it on the coffee table and go to fetch my dinner, which I will once more have in my room.

For the first time, I mind.

After dinner, as per usual, I go to bring my tray back down again. Esme asks if I have eaten and although it irks me that she's checking on me, after having skipped dinner last night she has every right to do so. So I nod in answer, and as soon as Esme perceives I am not lying, she nods in return and finishes making coffee.

When she turns with a sudden whirl to say something, I flinch so badly in shock that I lose my grip on the empty wooden tray and it clatters out of my hands, onto the kitchen floor.

The sound is horrible and I my mouth drops open as I look from the tray to Esme, shocked to my core, heart hammering.

"I'm so sorry," she stammers. "Oh, Bella, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you like that."

It's the shock on her face.

Her eyes are wide, and she looks pale.

She stands rigid but even from here I can see that her hands are shaking.

"Bella, I wasn't going to hurt you."

My lungs are burning and the need to breathe makes itself known.

Gasping in a too big gulp of air, with a heart that is hammering out of my chest, the adrenaline starts coursing through my body in a way that makes me shake.

I sink to my knees slowly to pick up the tray, hoping to God it's not damaged. But when my knees hit the ground, I find that I cannot get up again. I kneel and wait. Shocked to my core. Broken. Tired.

Vaguely, I register that Esme is kneeling, too, so that she's at eye level with me.

"I am sorry, Bella. I didn't mean to scare you like that."

When I can finally focus on her, I have to double check.

She's crying.

I blink my own upcoming tears away to look better, and sure enough, tears pool in her eyes and roll down her cheeks.

"See how it upsets me to see I've startled you like that?"

I swallow as my mind goes in a full-on frenzy. I can't process this. Is she telling the truth? I can't comprehend that, at all.

Taking a shaky breath, I try to get my bearings together. When Esme turned, I thought the moment had finally arrived. But when I flinched in anticipation, nothing happened. And now she's upset because she has startled me.

This can only mean she never turned to hit me in the first place.

I exhale heavily as this realization settles in.

She wasn't going to hit me.

Oh, my God.

Sitting back on my haunches, since I can't keep myself upright anymore, I look at Esme, wide-eyed.

And I think she sees how the epiphany sinks in with me.

Finally, when I am starting to calm down again, she smiles through her tears.

"Let's get off the floor," she says and as she gets up, she reaches out her hand to me. I get up myself, picking the tray up as I go. I check if it's still undamaged, but Esme takes it from me before I've seen it all.

"That thing is as old as time," she says. "Besides, I am the one that startled you, so if it's damaged, I only have myself to blame."

She continues to make coffee as I rinse off my plate in the sink. My hands are still shaking, but something changed.

Although I am still vividly aware of Esme being in the kitchen with me, it's just that. The fear is diminishing.

My evil mind slaps me in the face, hissing to not trust this sense of safety.

But I'm too tired.

And this feeling, if only for mere minutes, of not having to be afraid? It's liberating.

Exhilarating.

So when Esme asks me if I want to join them for coffee, I am too distracted to say 'no' and I follow her to the living room, where Emmett, Rosalie and Carlisle are.

"Ah Bella, how nice of you to join us," Carlisle says.

"Did you leave the kitchen in one piece?" Emmett jokes, probably referring to the noise of the falling tray.

"It was just your granny's tray," Esme says as I tentatively take a seat in the winged chair. I don't like this. Not at all.

"Oh, _that_ thing?" Rosalie answers. "That thing could go through the Apocalypse and come out unscathed."

"Or through one of your tantrums," Carlisle says drily.

"Which equal the Apocalypse," Emmett adds, which makes Carlisle and Esme laugh, and Rosalie scoff.

I can't help my own smile, either. Perhaps it's a good thing Rosalie doesn't notice it.

Carlisle flicks through the channels on TV until some game show appears on the screen. The contestant can win a lot of money by answering questions that increase in difficulty.

I love these shows. I always play along and imagine the money I could win if I ever competed.

If I ever.

Ha. Ha.

The Cullens like this type of entertainment too, apparently, because they settle in to watch, mugs in hand, butter cake within reach.

We watch the game, until I decide to try to drink something. Reaching out with my left hand, I am more than a little startled when I hear Rosalie's alarmed voice.

"Holy shit, what happened to your hand? Is that from the burn from yesterday?"

Glancing down at my hand, I hastily pull my sleeve over it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Biting my lip to distract myself from the here and now, I hear Carlisle's voice as through a daze. "Is it that bad, Bella? Would you mind if I looked?"

Yes, I do. But what if I say so? I shrug and keep my hand hidden from sight. Don't pay attention to this, please. All eyes are on me now and it makes me beyond uncomfortable. I shift in my seat, unable to prevent a frown.

It's not important.

"All right," Carlisle agrees after a moment. "Will you then at least tell me whether the wound is closed?"

I nod. Yes, it's closed. Maybe it won't even scar and if it does, so it. Leave me be. Please.

"Very well. But I want to stress that you can come to us with these things, Bella."

Yeah, yeah. Can we watch the game, please?

"That must have hurt," Rosalie whispers. "Does it still hurt?"

I shake my head, no.

"You are one tough chick," Emmett grins, dimples appearing in his cheeks.

"It doesn't take much to be braver than you are," Rosalie snickers. "You would have screamed like a girl with that burn."

Instead of coming back with something witty, he just throws his head back and laughs. "Yeah, you're probably right," he finally says.

As the others are back to watching the game, the conversations falls silent and I get to finally pick up my coffee, this time with my right hand.

Sipping, I answer the question on the screen in my head. On the couch, Carlisle answers out loud.

We are both right.

Soon all are answering the questions, but it's early in the game still and we are often all right. I have not missed one question as yet, and I must say I am quietly smug about that.

That is, until Carlisle answers the question differently than I would have done. The contestant on the screen gives the same answer as Carlisle, and unconsciously, I shake my head.

"What do you think it is, Bella?" Carlisle then asks.

My head whirls around to look at him, wide eyed.

"What do you think?" he repeats.

"It's all right," Esme encourages when I hesitate. It's her smile and the epiphany I had with her in the kitchen that makes me give in.

I put up three fingers, indicating I would have gone for answer 'C.'

"Let's see who's right then," Carlisle says with a gleam in his eyes, and for a moment fear washes over me as I think of what might happen if I lose this tiny game. Or if I win it. Which would be losing too, in a way.

And this exactly is why I don't like games.

The answer appears on the screen before I can worry myself into a full frenzy.

It's answer 'C.'

Carlisle laughs heartily. "Well done."

I blink at his compliment and focus on the screen again, keeping a visual of him in the corner of my eye.

This is… new. Laurent would make tiny bets with me, or games. He'd always make sure that he'd win. He'd just change the rules to make sure he'd win.

I frown to push the memory away and search for the still-not-there rubber band around my wrist briefly. I have to find a new one.

We watch until the end of the game, and then Rosalie and Emmett announce they are going upstairs. They stroll away, hand in hand, and I can't tear my eyes away from where their fingers are intertwined.

But he _slapped_ her yesterday.

Is that really something couples do? She didn't seem to be offended by it. Or scared.

I find it altogether disturbing. The ugly burn on my hand bears testament to that all right.

Although there is no tension in the room, I find that I am not at all at ease with just Carlisle and Esme present.

Plus, they'll want some time together or something, right? Since he had to go out last night?

Making to get up, I get no response. I look over to Esme, who nods gently. "Go to bed," she smiles. "It's been such a long day for you."

Yeah. It really is.

"Shall I wake you in time for your meeting with Mrs. Gomez tomorrow, or will you set an alarm?"

I hold up two fingers and Esme nods. "Very well. Good night."

I nod once in return and reach to pick up my mug to bring it to the kitchen, when I see Edward's forgotten journal on the coffee table.

Oh, I should give that back to him, right? Since I borrowed it?

"Go and bring it to him," Esme says as she follows my gaze. "I'm pretty sure Edward is still awake. Else you can just leave it by his door."

Her quiet encouragement once more gets me over that edge and after placing my mug in the sink, I walk upstairs, journal in hand.

My heart is hammering by the time I am on the third floor, and it's not because of the 26 stairs I've just taken.

Edward's door is ajar and soft piano music drifts out into the hallway.

Don't I know that song…?

I walk towards his room tentatively, insecure. I am vividly aware of what happened when I opened the box with my stuff in his presence, and although I can't really read him, logic states that he'll stay away from me.

As long as he doesn't get nasty.

When I reach the door, I am not so sure if I even want to knock or let him know I am there. Maybe I can just leave the journal on the floor by his door. He'll find it tomorrow.

Yes, that's for the best. Stay out of his way.

Taking the final step to his door, I am just about to bend down when—

"Bella?"

Shit!

"You can come in, you know."

Looking into the room I can see Edward sitting at his desk, the computer screen lighting up his face from the side.

How he ever knew I was here is beyond me. He must have seen me or heard me, although I can't imagine that's possible over the music that is still drifting from the stereo.

I know this song. It's distracting as it pulls on a memory just out of reach.

I push the door open further carefully, until I can look fully into the room. To my right there is a dresser against the wall. Holding up his journal so he knows what I am bringing, I place it on the dresser tentatively.

"Thanks. Did you get all you needed?"

I nod.

A quick glance around the room shows that he's not overly tidy, but the room is not an utter chaos like Peter's always was back at Stefan's.

"Any idea when you are going to school with us?"

No. A quick shake of my head and utter confusion as I was so sure he wouldn't be nice to me anymore.

What have I done to deserve this?

What does he want?

"Bella, about that box…"

Oh-oh. Here we go. I brace myself against the impact.

"I am so sorry I convinced you to open it. Mom told me I should have left you to do that with her. I didn't know."

He's… He's not referring to what was in the box. The conversation I overheard comes rushing back to me. _'Her foster father?' 'Yes, son, her foster father.'_

He knows. Shame and humiliation wash over me and my face explodes in a crimson blush.

I have to get out of here.

And so I walk away, confused, mind erratic, unable to finish a thought.

He knows.

He knows.

I don't know why I didn't fully register that before.

Oh my God.

_Fuck. _

* * *

_Ah, Bella, don't be so hard on yourself..._

_I won't promise to update quickly, because apparently those promises are impossible to keep. Until next time, and let me know what you think!_


	25. Chapter 25

**Twilight aint mine. I'd take Rob anytime, though.**

_You never stop to amaze me with all your wonderful, wonderful reviews! Thank you so much, each and every one of them is cherished._

_Thanks to Sherryola, my beta, who sat down with me today to fix some problems in this fic. Thanks too to Deb, my prereader. I'd say she is my reason, but she's as much under influence of meds as I am right now, so that won't work. _

_Another late update, I know. For those that don't know yet - in March I've been in a car accident. Basically I've been in pain ever since and we still don't know what's wrong. Pain takes away the joy in writing, let's keep it at that. _

_Tiny thing about the content of this chapter: Bella and Charlie share a last name, but they are not related. Both Renee and the Cullens would have found that out by now if they were. _

_Onwards. Enjoy!  
_

* * *

Mrs. Gomez is a kind woman. Her light hair is cropped into a bob, which emphasizes the roundness of her face. Through bone-rimmed glasses, wide eyes look at me with patience.

I sit in front of her in the living room where Esme has left us with coffee, to talk. I fidget, not knowing where to look. I am nervous because I don't want to know what she is going to ask. I am nervous because I am afraid something will change. I am nervous because I have spent the night wondering about my life here with the Cullens, and because I have come to the conclusion that I'd like to stay here, if possible.

And I don't know if there is any chance I will be removed and replaced for whatever reason.

So yeah, I'm nervous.

Mrs. Gomez has a long form of questions she needs to go through, but she apologizes beforehand. She doesn't seem to be really bothered by the fact that I don't talk, she just looks up every time to see me nod or shake my head.

It's such a relief to be able to answer truthfully. There is no Stefan sitting with me, sending me warning glances and touching my back where he kicked me just before the social worker came, just to remind me I wouldn't play any games, as he called them.

I turn my focus back to the questions of Mrs. Gomez. Yes, I like it here. Yes, I am being taken care of. No, I am not in need of anything. No, I have not been deprived of any care. No, I have not been hurt.

Yes, I want to stay.

After that last question, I am strangely relieved I have finally admitted it out loud. Mrs. Gomez beams at me and calls Esme into the room with us.

More questions, more glances. But there's no tension here. No threat.

I sit, just experiencing the atmosphere, and when Esme looks at me I know we are both thinking back on what happened in the kitchen yesterday.

And when she smiles at me, I smile back.

They talk logistics. Esme tells Mrs. Gomez what happened with the box, and the shock on the social worker's face is obvious.

I don't like this. And I don't understand why others can be so shocked about what happened. I mean, it's not like I didn't have it coming or anything.

"Have you gotten new things already, Bella?" Mrs. Gomez asks.

I nod. I have some stuff. I'll survive.

"We will go shopping as soon as she feels ready for it," Esme adds. "Until that time, we have provided her with a basic wardrobe and we have lent Bella clothes. Although I do believe she's more comfortable in her own things."

"That's understandable," Mrs. Gomez smiles at me. "It's good to see you are doing well. How is your health? Your throat?"

I nod to let her know it's okay.

"I see here you should be off the fluid food now. How is that coming along?"

I nod again. I'm good. No pain anymore.

"And your voice?"

At this my eyes fly up to hers, and I can tell she's surprised at my sudden reaction.

After a moment of awkward silence, Esme speaks very softly. "It works. When Bella was sick in her first week here, she hallucinated and she screamed."

Mrs. Gomez nods and scribbles something down on her form. The silence is heavy and I swallow thickly, trying to get rid of the sudden tension I feel.

"Very well. But you haven't talked yet?"

I shake my head as Mrs. Gomez nods and writes something down again.

"Maybe in time," she smiles. "I think we're done here, Bella. I would like to talk some more now with Esme in private."

I nod, getting the message. I pick up my empty mug and disappear from the living room.

When I place my mug in the dishwasher, I can't help but overhearing a bit of the conversation between Esme and Mrs. Gomez.

"That box incident must have been cathartic."

"I think it was, although Bella doesn't want to know any of it. She shrugs it off. I think… I am afraid she thinks she deserved this. For running from him, maybe?"

A silence follows and I hold my breath, waiting to hear what the social worker will say.

"This often happens with victims of such traumatic abuse. They often think it's their fault."

"Yes," Esme replies softly. "It would explain why she seems to be so confused about our kindness."

"I am not surprised she is. It will take her a long time to start to realize that what she has known is not normal. But she has the wrong benchmarks, so to speak. To her, _this_ is abnormal."

"She's so afraid, it must be exhausting for her."

"I have to warn you, Mrs. Cullen. Children like Bella may never heal, may never come out of their shell."

Silence.

"I know this may sound silly, but I refuse to believe that. I have seen Bella develop over the weeks she has been here and when I compare her now to her first day, I have faith."

"Be prepared for relapses, though. It's a bumpy road."

A soft smile. "I know. We've seen her relapse."

"I have to ask you some more questions, Mrs. Cullen, I hope you will answer them for me."

"Ask away."

"First of all, and most importantly, would you like her to stay?"

"Absolutely."

My chest constricts and then relaxes at Esme's answer. Mrs. Gomez continues, unaware of the enormity of Esme's answer to me.

"Has she been violent? Has she acted out?"

"No, if anything she shies away when things upset her."

No mention of the glass incident? Why not?

"Does she mention her past, refer to it?"

"No. She's adamant when it comes to that and she absolutely refuses to talk about it. Nor will she stay to listen when we refer to it."

"That's not an abnormal reaction. Does she let you know when she is uncomfortable?"

"In her way, yes. Like when her past comes up. And she doesn't like to be cared for in general. She gets nervous when we ask how she is. It was most difficult for her to accept that she was ill, and to let me take care of her. Also, she often tells me things aren't important."

"That's a common mechanism. She's making herself unimportant so as not to attract notice. Good or bad."

"That makes sense. That makes a lot of sense, actually."

"Is she actively involving in the family life?"

Esme is silent for a moment before she speaks. "Well, sometimes. She doesn't seem to like to be in the living room when we are here together, but I am starting to think she is not really the type for that. When someone approaches her, she will give them attention. My daughter Alice for example tries to involve her in conversation a lot, and she tells me that Bella seems to like it, but that she is hiding it.

"But Bella rarely asks for attention, she doesn't really come to us to ask something. She always waits until she is approached before she interacts."

"She's probably seeing how the lands lay. After what she has been through, and I have a feeling that her file shoes only the tip of the ice berg, she's waiting to see how safe she actually is here."

I think I am done listening to this conversation.

Shaking after everything I just overheard, I sneak my way past the entrance to the living room and go upstairs, to hide in the silence of my room.

My mind is too full. Flashes of words come flying back to me. _Victim of traumatic abuse… common mechanism… waiting to see how safe it is…_

The word 'victim' sticks in my consciousness like a fishhook.

I am no victim. Because victims are never at fault. And all that happened, was my fault.

Right?

Right.

I nod to myself, glad to have solved this. Esme and the social worker must be wrong. They're just very slow to realize it.

I push away the uneasy feeling this conclusion brings.

Sitting down at my desk, I decide to read some news on the net first before I start my daily homework routine.

I check my mail as well, and see I have a new one from Renée.

.

**From: Renée Dwyer  
To: Bella Swan  
Subject: Tell me more  
**Hi Bella, how are you today? I was wondering if you wanted to tell me something about the Cullen family. What do you think about them?

.

Chewing my lip, I reply.

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Renée Dwyer  
Subject: Re: Tell me more  
**I do appreciate your mails, Renée, but honestly, I am no longer your case. Don't feel obliged to do this.

.

Can I do this? I click 'send' before I can change my mind.

No instant reply follows this time, and I come to the conclusion that either Renée is not using her pc right now, or that she has gotten the message and that she'll no longer send me these obligatory emails. To my amazement, the realization of the latter stings more than a little bit.

Which is stupid, as I just literally told her she doesn't need to bother anymore.

I focus on reading more news to distract myself from the weird feeling of disappointment in my guts.

A soft sound alerts me some time later. I have mail.

.

**From: Renée Dwyer  
To: Bella Swan  
Subject: Re: Tell me more  
**It's called interest, Bella. I want to know how you are. I do care about you and you know very well this care goes far beyond the legal definition. Now tell me about the Cullens? Give me your thoughts on them. I'm curious.

.

I pout at the laptop screen. I don't want to get used to Renée's mails because I know they will get fewer and farther in between, until they stop completely. I don't want to be dependent on the one person who I ever trusted enough to ask for help.

Squaring my shoulders, I reply.

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Renée Dwyer  
Subject: Re: Tell me more  
**The Cullens are nice. No violence yet. Lots of men here, though. But they have left me alone so far.

.

That's all I can say right now. I send the mail and turn off the laptop, shoving it to the side to get started on my homework.

Esme comes to get me for lunch, and we talk a bit about Mrs. Gomez. Or, well, she talks and I listen and nod or shake as the situation requires.

"She's a nice woman," Esme observes. "They often are too busy worrying about their case load to pay real attention. I was almost surprised that she even read your file. She'll be back in about three months, to see if you are still happy here."

With that, she smiles at me, and for the second time today I smile back.

After lunch Esme asks me if I want to join her to the supermarket again. Feeding a household of eight, she tells me, requires doing groceries twice a week. Usually she goes on Mondays and Thursdays.

I go with her, glad to be out of the house again and lifting my head up to the skies in the parking lot of the store, catching a very rare ray of almost-sunlight.

"You must miss the sun," Esme says softly as she locks the car.

I nod, lost in thought a bit as my mind wanders back to the conversation I overheard this morning.

Shaking my head a little to clear it, I follow Esme into the supermarket. We don't run into overly concerned neighbors this time and just as I think we are done, Esme once more guides me to the non-food section of the store.

"Just look around, see if there are things you need," she encourages.

I glance along the isles, trying to find a use for the products on display. There are none. I like to live with little personal possessions. It means you can't lose them, either.

Turning back to Esme, I try to convey there is nothing I need, and she sighs softly and nods. "Just know that it is okay to want things," she smiles.

This time when we get home, there are no gentle piano sounds drifting into the garage. I help Esme to carry the groceries into the house and hear Emmett and Jasper in the living room, probably gaming.

As we put the groceries away, Rosalie trails into the kitchen, followed by Alice. Rosalie peeks into one of the bags, probably trying to find some candy. Finally she fishes out an apple and she rubs it on her sleeve before she bites it, looking bored.

Alice in the meantime has lifted herself onto the cooking island. I am standing against the counter now, not really at ease with so many people around me.

"Mom, can Rose and I go pooling in Port Angeles tomorrow?"

Esme stills and looks at her daughters. "Are Jasper and Emmett coming?"

"No," Rosalie says. "We wanted to shop some, grab a bite to eat, then pool. Girl's night out."

She sounds disinterested. I know immediately it's a mask. She's dying to go.

"Be home at ten. And park the car close by the pooling hall."

"Yay!" Alice squeals, making me flinch, and she hops off the counter to give Esme a fierce hug.

Rosalie looks me over once before she just leaves the kitchen. Alice disentangles herself from Esme and then looks at me.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she stammers. "Ehm, would you have wanted to come with us?"

I shake my head quickly. No, it's a sister's night out. Besides, I don't want to go with them, period. Way too stressful.

"Maybe when you are more at ease," Alice smiles then. She starts to walk out of the kitchen, but turns just before she rounds the corner to face me again. "Oh, Bella? Thanks to you I aced Trig today. Thank you so much."

And with that, she leaves, and I stay standing in the kitchen with a vague half-smile on my face. I helped her out. I did something _right_.

"You helped Alice with Trig?" Esme is surprised, but I can hear in her voice that it's in a good way.

I look around at her and shrug with one shoulder as I nod. Yes, I did. Let's not make a big deal out of it.

"That's wonderful to hear, Bella," she beams. "I'm guessing Alice appreciated the help?"

I nod, thinking back on our quiet exchange yesterday. Alice's solemn face as she read what I wrote, and as she tried to work out the things I pointed out for her. The light in her eyes and her bright proud smile as she got it.

The pride _I_ felt when she could make the next assignments without too many struggles.

Esme takes me in and smiles that secret smile I've seen both Edward and Alice wearing before. Well, I already knew they both take after their mother.

When the groceries are all away, I look around the kitchen to see if there's anything else I can help with. Esme notices me and clears her throat to get my attention.

"I've noticed you really do find it very hard to take it easy and not help out," she starts.

I shift my weight on my other leg, wondering where she wants to go with this.

"So I've been thinking, if it helps if you are allowed to do one task a day? For instance, you helping to put the groceries away, is one task. Clearing out the dishwasher, would be one task. Folding the laundry, changing your bed linen, all those things, all one task. Can you live with that?"

I chew on my bottom lip as I contemplate this. It's not nearly enough to ease my mind. But, it's something, and I'll take what I can get. We can move on from there. So I nod, and Esme smiles in relief.

"This also means your quota is done for today."

Oh, rats.

Esme chuckles. "Get used to it," she says lightly. "Now, how about some porridge? We need to get some weight back on you again."

I nod and stand back with twitching fingers as Esme prepares the meal, flat out refusing to let me help. She places the steaming bowl on the breakfast bar and as I slide on a stool, she continues her business in the kitchen by opening a drawer and starting to pull out every small container to check the expiration date.

The ones that are overdue, she throws away. She's not looking at me, keeping herself occupied with the contents of the drawer.

Cunning, Esme. Very cunning.

I'm not buying it and with a defiant glare at her back, I pick up my porridge and take it up to my room, where I eat it heartily with hammering heart, enjoying the taste all the same.

When I go downstairs again to rinse out and clear away my bowl, I stop dead in my tracks when I hear a strange male voice in the house. Sneaking past the living room, I see a man sitting on the couch. He's in a police uniform. His face is neutral, almost unreadable. A retreating hairline shows a widow's peak. He has big, brown eyes and a moustache like I've never seen on a man.

This must be Chief Swan.

Tiptoeing into the kitchen, I rinse my bowl as quietly as possible and place it in the dishwasher. Then I turn and try to collect my guts to pass the entrance to the living room again.

Right then, of course, Esme steps into the kitchen with the coffee pot, to place it back in the holder.

"Hello," she smiles at me with a gleam in her eyes. "I guess my little trick didn't work earlier."

She says it so lightly, and there's not a hint of malice in her voice or face as she says it. And when she smiles, I gasp out a laugh, looking down to hide it.

Esme laughs too. "It was worth a shot. You were right to eat upstairs. At least you ate."

Well yeah. And I've already come to realize that Esme thinks it's more important _that_ I eat, than _where_ I eat. And so she doesn't blame me for going to my room.

These tiny securities, however frail, are such a relief to me.

"Chief Swan is here," Esme states the rather obvious. "I forgot to tell you plans changed and he is joining us for dinner. Of course you are free to eat in your room if you want to."

I nod to let her know I heard her.

"Would you like to meet the Chief?"

I have to think about this. I mean, what's the use?

Seeing my hesitation, Esme continues. "We were thinking it might be nice if you met him. Should you ever need him, you know him and he knows you. Besides, I believe he'd like to give you something."

Well, I don't need anything.

"Please, Bella? If you are really uncomfortable, you can leave. But Charlie is a good friend of ours and he'd like to meet you."

_One day I'd like you to meet a friend, Isabella. I'm sure he'd enjoy you as much as I do…_

I swallow rising bile at the memory that washes over me. Esme looks alarmed at my sudden distress, but keeps silent until I compose myself again.

That 'friend' never came. And this is not the same situation. It really isn't.

So I nod at Esme, noting her elated look as she precedes me into the living room.

Chief Swan stands up as I enter the room. The man is tall, and he has an authoritative air over him that I think is a second nature that being a police officer brings.

He doesn't extend his hand in greeting, which makes me think he actually knows and understands that I wouldn't shake it anyway.

"Miss Swan," he states with a nod, and I nod back at him. "I'm Charlie Swan."

And then he remains standing, and I am at a loss as I grow uneasier by the second.

"Please sit down, Charlie," Esme says softly from my left. "Bella will sit down when she's ready."

"Very well," Chief Swan mutters and he sits back down again, facing me with an open gaze.

I shift my weight and fidget, finally shoving my hands in the pocket of my sweater to hide my anxiety.

"Bella, I wanted us to meet so you know who I am, should you ever need me. When you feel harassed or scared, please don't hesitate to come to me, and I'll see how I can help."

I don't know how to reply to this, so I hold my peace and wait what else he has to say.

"Also, when you feel ready for it, I have arranged for you to take some lessons in self-defense in Port Angeles. In the meantime, I want to give you this pepper spray. Keep it with you at all times and if you are ever harassed, do not hesitate to use it."

I look at the tiny can on the table with wide eyes. That's like something that could _hurt_ someone.

Gah.

Looking from the can to Chief Swan, I shift my gaze to Carlisle and finally Esme. I don't know what to do with this.

"Take it," Esme encourages. "Even if you never use it, it will give you an effective means of defense should you ever need it. Maybe it'll make you feel safe."

Hardly, Esme. But as she nods once again, I gather up the pepper spray and shove it into the pocket of my sweater.

"Just put it in your back pack, or in your jacket pocket," Chief Swan advises.

I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes.

_I have never been hurt _outside_ the house, Chief Swan._

After a moment of silence, Carlisle clears his throat, but Esme speaks first. "Thank you, Bella. You know how much we appreciate this."

"Oh, I also have my card with my phone numbers," Chief Swan adds as he reaches in his back pocket. "Call me, or text me I guess, when you ever need me." He pushes the card forward on the table.

I reach to pick it up the moment he sits back and put it in the pocket of my sweater, next to the pepper spray.

Are we done now?

"You can leave if you want to," Esme says softly after a moment of silence, and I happily oblige as I shuffle up the stairs to my room.

With Charlie present I don't really feel like getting my own dinner downstairs and just as I am starting to think I should just skip dinner Esme knocks on my door with a tray of food.

I smile in thanks and wish I could convey to her in any way how grateful I am that she accommodates my weird habits without a word.

Before Stefan tried to strangle me and in that process hurt my throat so much I had to eat fluid food for almost four weeks, I never really appreciated how nice it is to actually be able to eat without pain.

Eating in complete ease as I often can do here at the Cullen's is another major plus. I have not yet been disturbed whilst eating and it's bliss. I'm even beginning to notice that my food no longer settles in my stomach like a brick. My body is getting used to normal amounts of food again.

I guess in time I shall start gaining weight, too. Maybe then I won't always be cold anymore. But there's a safety in being too thin like I am now. It makes you unattractive by definition and that is a benefit I had never foreseen.

In this house, nobody has looked at me in _that_ way. Nobody lifted a hand at me here. Nor have I seen any violence towards the other children.

And everybody is so at _ease_. There is no tension. Alice dances through life, Emmett is boisterous, Jasper is always the epitome of calm and relaxation. Rosalie is cold, but not necessarily tense. Carlisle never bothers me and Esme, well, Esme is the most mom-like person I have ever met in my life.

Not that I know many. But Esme is top on my list.

Somehow, the _thank you _I gave her is not enough. I need to do something more.

Chewing on my food and my thoughts, I am trying to hatch a plan to do something back. Even if things do go wrong, even if she realizes how horrible I truly am, so far I have met nothing but kindness. And I have sat back and enjoyed the show.

God, I'm such an ungrateful cow.

A soft knock on my door pulls me from my reverie and when I go to open it, Alice is smiling up at me.

"Mom asked me to come and get your plate?"

Oh, my. I hasten to pick up the tray from my desk.

"You afraid of the strange man downstairs?" Alice jokes when she takes the tray from me.

Her banter is not far from the truth and she swallows when she meets my eyes.

"Charlie is really very nice, you know," she says. Then, apparently lost for words, she says goodbye and disappears down the stairs with my tray.

I feel like an imbecile.

Instead of closing the door behind her, I slide to the floor and lean back against the wall next to the open door again, to listen to the sounds that come drifting up from downstairs. I hear several different voices, the occasional roar of laughter.

It all sounds so easy.

Soft footsteps on the stairs alarm me and I push the door closed and lock it before I know who's even coming up. I won't be surprised anymore like I was with Edward, when they were playing that game downstairs.

"Bella?" Edward says my name as he knocks on my door. "Bella, are you awake?"

My heart is in my throat immediately and I scramble up as silently as possible, looking at the locked door with wide eyes.

What does he want?

"Alice said you were still up. I, um…"

As he hesitates, I unlock the door and open it. He's tall as ever, and his hair is truly all over the place. He's holding his journal.

"Hi," he smiles, and his entire face lights up as he does so.

And I exhale, some tension leaving my body as I see him relax. But then I remember all that has happened and I tense up again, clenching my jaw as I take him in, waiting to see what he wants.

He face falls as he sees my reaction, but he clears his throat and holds up his journal. "We got an elaborate assignment for Biology today, and I was thinking that maybe you'd want to know, so you won't have missed it when you get to school…" He trails off, bringing his free hand to scratch the back of his neck when I don't reply.

Why doesn't he just give me the journal and get it over with?

What's in it for him?

Finally, I step aside and he steps into the room, looking around him as he walks to the back, to my desk, where he sits down.

I stand by the door, fidgeting, chewing my bottom lip and completely at a loss.

After what happened, I don't trust my readings of him anymore.

Edward licks his lips in a nervous gesture and looks at his hands before he looks at me.

"Bella, are you mad at me?"

What?

That notion is beyond preposterous. Why would I ever be angry with _him_?

Seeing my face, he chuckles that half-smile that becomes him. Well.

"I guess not," he says softly. "It's just… After last week, with that box, and I touched you… You've been different. Have I upset you?"

That box. That God awful, rotten box. His question sinks in a moment later. Has he upset me? Not as much as I thought it would.

But he knows. He _knows_. Anger and mortification flare and I look down to hide my shame.

"There you go again," he breathes. "What are you so worried about? What's wrong?"

I wring my hands, unseen in the pocket of my sweater.

Edward tilts his head a little, lowering it to catch my gaze from across the room. "Are you ashamed?" he asks so softly I can barely hear it.

My blush turns crimson and, seeing it's useless to try and hide it, I nod. At least now I can let him know I am not proud of who I am.

"Bella, you don't have to be ashamed of what was in that box. I sure as hell won't look down on you for it. That wasn't your fault."

My eyes fly up to his, and I'm utterly confused. Of course it's my fault. I ran from Stefan. I had this coming. I should have seen it coming, too. All the way from Phoenix.

I wish there was a way I could make this clear without having to spell it out.

We're both lost for words, it seems, and the silence stretches.

"So you're not mad at me? Or upset?" he finally asks, changing the subject a bit.

I shake my head. I'm worried it's the other way round and before I can stop myself I nod in his direction, to return the question.

He laughs, a light sound that does more to me than his words have done so far.

"I'm not mad at you, either," he smiles gently. "I am sorry that I upset you so, though."

He keeps saying that. An image of Edward holding up the belt flashes through my mind and I remind myself once more that he knows.

Keep your guard up.

Edward thinks for a moment before he speaks. "Listen, Bella… When you ran that night with the box, I woke up my parents because I was scared you were going to have a panic attack or something, and since that wouldn't be the first time I caused one," he looks very apologetic when he says this, "I wanted to get help. But then dad told me something, and…"

He stops to swallow. Here we go.

"I'm sorry about what happened to you. I wish I could say something better than that. But I don't see you any differently, if that's what you are afraid of."

I exhale heavily at his words, realizing that deep down this is exactly what I wanted to hear.

But I don't, no can't believe him. Raking a hand through my hair, I contemplate what I should do next.

The silence grows. I look at the floor, chewing my lip. He said he didn't see me any differently. But how did he see me in the first place?

Unbidden, other words come into my mind. _So strong. So much good in her. Why so afraid?_

"Hey," he says softly to get my attention. When I look up at him, he continues. "I'm on your side. Your past doesn't matter to me. You're here with us now. And we won't hurt you. Haven't you noticed? You're safe with us."

Trying my hardest to suppress the feeling and failing miserably to do so, I cannot deny the surge of hope I feel when I realize he is telling the truth.

* * *

_Hope. Don't we all love surges of hope..._

_Torn has been nominated in various Sunflower Awards. Vote for me or your favorites at thesunflowerawards blogspot com!  
_


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N I don't own Twilight**

_You never stop to amaze me with your response to my little story. Thank you so much, you make me tear up! I get a lot of questions about the pace. I'll say this: not the enitre fic will be written in real time, but in this beginning, all the details are so important. _

_As ever, thanks to Sherryola for being my rock and thanks to Deb for noticing every detail and for making sure I actually do take some care of myself. Sometimes... ;)_

_If you ever asked me to preread for you, please ask me again. I'd be honored to do so. Real Life just got in the way :)  
_

_Music for this chapter: Peter Bradley Adams - song for viola. It's for the very last part._

* * *

It is decidedly cold when we pile into Esme's Ford as we leave for Port Angeles Saturday morning. I am wearing a freshly washed hoodie, a scarf and the Burberry, but my feet are cold in the sneakers that really are made for Phoenix weather.

Well, at least it's dry today. I need a torch to find my way outside it's so cloudy, but the skies aren't weeping, as Renée used to say.

I have spent my Friday working on the Biology assignment, going all out and finishing it before the men came home. Alice and Rose were off to the pool hall, of course, and I assumed they went there directly after school.

My thoughts kept going back to that conversation I had with Edward. About him telling me that I was safe, and I believed him. But as I really don't know what possibly to do with this information, I put it to the back of my mind.

I've become proficient at not thinking about things I do not understand or don't want to think about.

In the end, I finally did get to write down that Biology assignment. When he moved to put on some music, he played that same song again. That quiet piano song, the notes almost hesitant in the beginning as the music picked up and it became a soothing piece.

I had walked away, again, alarmed by the memories that song triggered, the memories that were just outside the periphery of my mind. It was as if my mind was purposefully blocking them, because I _knew_ that song was attached to a memory. I just couldn't reach it.

I was hiding out in the library after finishing Biology in the late afternoon, once more submerging myself in those astronomy books I found, when I heard some sounds outside. Huddling in the pillows of the window seat, I could see how Jasper, Emmett and Edward were in the garden playing ball.

Pretty sure I was out of their sight, I looked at them. They were moving so easily, laughing and talking about things I could not hear.

At one moment Jasper jumped Emmett and although my first reaction was shock and alarm, they both were laughing as Emmett bent over forwards with Jasper still on his back, trying to get him off again.

I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth to see them happy and careless like that.

But that light mood is far-gone now I am in the back of the car as Esme pulls out of the garage. We are going to Port Angeles. To shop.

Ew.

I hope that Alice will ask for so much attention I will be overlooked. I don't want Esme to spend any money on me. I just need an extra hoodie and I'll be good.

Alice babbles non-stop the entire way there and just as I contemplate shutting down just to be able to shut out her voice, Esme announces we have arrived.

I unfold myself from the back seat carefully and look around. There are definitely more people around here than in Forks. But I don't really mind people.

Three weeks ago, at the airport, all those people made me nervous. I find that right now, I don't really care anymore. Although I generally don't like crowded places, it's not the things that happen _outside_ the house that scare me.

"Bella?" Esme's voice pulls me from my thoughtful gaze and I look around to face her. "I know this is completely unnecessary, but please… Don't try anything funny."

I gape at her as the meaning of her words sinks in. Did she really think I would try to make a run for it? My reaction apparently is enough reassurance for her, because she smiles and invites Alice and me to come with her into the mall.

Alice is talking, talking, talking, and I tag along, listening to her rambling now and again and picking up pieces of sentences about school, clothes, Jasper, clothes, fabric, clothes, dad, clothes, shoes, and clothes.

Esme listens and actually asks questions, and I suppress the catty thought that this, exactly this, is why I don't like to talk. It doesn't get you anywhere, so why bother?

They both leave me alone as they have figured out correctly that I do not care at all about clothes, shoes, or fabric.

We go into some stores and Esme encourages me to browse through the things, to see if there are things I'd like to buy. I see some tops and jeans I'd like, but when I check the price tags I have to swallow my nausea. These stores are _expensive_. No way I am going to ask Esme to pay for a pair of jeans that costs as much as my entire wardrobe did back in Phoenix.

Esme notices my hesitancy and she comes up to me as I look through a rack with hoodies in all sizes and colors.

"See anything you like?"

I shake my head, letting go of the black hoodie that looks so entirely comfortable to me. It's without any print and thick, exactly what I was looking for. But I can buy three of these in a different store for the same amount of money, I'm sure.

"Well, what about this one?" Esme asks as she holds up the hoodie I've just let go.

I shake my head and step back, indicating that I do not want the sweater.

"Not to your liking?" Esme asks, and she sounds almost hopeful, as if she wanted me to like the sweater, or at least tell her then what I want.

She's trying. I can tell. I think back to the resolve I made before and swallow as I make my decision. She is trying. I have to try, too.

I lift my hand and rub my fingers together in the universal sign that means 'money.'

Esme frowns and looks at the price tag of the sweater. "This isn't expensive. Is that what you are worrying about?"

I nod, yes. I can at least let her know I feel bad about needing money to buy stuff. There's nothing wrong with that.

"Do you want to try it on?"

Horrified, I shake my head quickly. Honestly, as if I would undress in a shop. Just give me a large and I'm good. But seriously, don't buy the sweater. No need to spend that much money on a piece of fabric.

Alice comes bouncing back to us with her arms full of clothes. "I think I'm going to try something on," she beams. Just as she is about to turn, she stops in her tracks and looks at my empty hands.

"You didn't find anything?"

I shake my head as Esme answers. "Yes, a hoodie, I think."

Alice looks at the sweater Esme is now holding. "That's boring," she states. It's not said in a judging way, and I shrug at her words. _I'm_ boring. And I like comfortable, wide fitting clothes that don't stand out. Easy.

"It's what Bella likes, perhaps," Esme answers for me. She looks at me, seemingly seeking reassurance.

I nod at her, once, to let her know that she's right, but I doubt my message comes across. Not that it matters. I won't accept a simple black sweater that costs this much.

Alice bounces off with her clothes, leaving Esme and I standing at the rack with the black hoodie.

God, what a fuss over a simple sweater.

"If you want this, Bella, we can buy it for you. It is that easy."

I shake my head and again I make the 'money' gesture with my hand. I can't pay them back. So why put me in expensive clothes? They can easily use it against me, should they be so inclined.

"Bella, we have signed contracts that state that we will take care of you. Several, in fact," she says meaningfully, referring to the non-violence act they signed in my first week here.

"We are required by law to provide you with proper housing, clothing and food. Don't worry about the cost. I told you we're old money. Besides, we _want_ you to have good clothes on your back. We _want_ to take good care of you. Is that so hard to accept?"

Taken aback by her speech, I blush at the truth in her words. Looking down, I nod to answer her last question. Why would anyone ever take care of me like the Cullens are doing now? I was already happy with the fact that there really seems to be no violence in this household. No need to go spending ridiculous amounts of money on me too, then.

The rainbow has to end somewhere, right?

"Please accept this. Don't feel guilty about this. I want to give it to you."

I frown, frustrated with her perseverance. Esme lets go of the hoodie and digs in her purse, finally coming up with some old receipt and a pen.

"Write," she says. "Talk to me."

Fumbling with the thin paper and no proper surface to write on, I give the shortest possible answer, as always. If they haven't started to realize it by now, I probably have to give them a nudge into the right direction.

_Don't deserve it._

That should do. Heart hammering and swallowing hard, I give Esme the piece of paper.

She looks up, wide-eyed, appalled almost.

"What makes you feel you don't deserve it?" she asks, so softly I can hardly hear it over the noise in the store.

Well, isn't that obvious? I mean, look at me. I was a mistake just by being born, and everything else I've ever done I've done wrong in one way or another. Both Laurent and Stefan have told me so and had I been a good daughter, I'm pretty sure my mother would not have left me behind, either.

"Of course you deserve it," Esme whispers. She opens her mouth to say more, but thinks again and hesitates for a moment before she finally speaks.

"Do I need to say that you haven't done anything wrong yet in our home to not deserve the sweater?"

My shoulders sag a little as I take in her words. I've done so much wrong, but it's not for what I did or didn't do here. The fact that this family is burdened with me is enough, isn't it?

"Bella, what can I tell you for you to start believing that it really doesn't matter how much money you need to buy decent clothes?"

I frown, hopelessly frustrated, but rattled by her words, as well. I mean, her asking what to tell me so I believe her is… a different way of approaching things, at least.

But it doesn't negate the fact that the sweater is expensive, and that we've been standing here in this store for far too long over a piece of black fabric I can honestly get elsewhere, too.

"How about this," Esme then starts. "I give you a budget you can use. Will that make it easier for you?"

No. A bit. Maybe.

"Good. You have one thousand dollars to spend at your leisure. Now go indulge yourself."

I can't move and simply gape at her. Is she shitting me? One thousand dollars? One thousand fucking dollars?

Holy shit. No fucking way.

"Bella…"

Oh-oh. That's exasperation. I know that sound. That's a dangerous sound.

Esme closes her eyes for a moment and seems to be thinking hard. When she opens them, I see resolve.

I brace myself.

"Listen. I really wanted this to be a happy, relaxing experience for you. If you don't pick your own clothes, I shall pick some out for you. They'll be paid with the same money, and I still don't mind to pay for your stuff." A beat. "I am your caregiver now, Bella. Please accept that."

Her voice breaks at her last word and again I realize she's trying. She's trying so hard. Still, doesn't she understand how hard it is for me to accept this fact?

_Just take what you can get_, my mind whispers, and I'm not even sure which voice is speaking right now.

It's just… Nothing has been unconditional in my life before. I keep expecting they will want me to pay them back. My mind flits back to when I was with Renée and I had absolutely nothing. I _had_ to accept clothes and toiletries.

It's like a light bulb that goes on in my head. I know what to do. I know how I can pay Esme back. I did the same with Renée.

Gesturing for the piece of paper Esme is still holding, she hands it to me with a curious and hopeful look on her face.

I scribble something down and show it to her.

"Chores?" she asks, surprised. "You want to do chores to pay back for the clothes?"

I nod, pleased she's getting my point.

"What are you thinking about, Bella? Will it really ease your conscience so much if you feel you can pay me back in whatever way?"

I nod again, hoping she will go through with this.

Esme thinks for a moment, before she smiles. "All right. Very well. One chore for each article of clothing."

She's smug, ridiculously pleased, but I'm not buying it. One chore, is she out of her mind? That's not enough. I hold up five fingers.

By God, I am actually negotiating with her.

"No, Bella. Five is too much. Two."

Thinking whether I really want to go with four, I settle on three. Three should do and she knows it. I can do three things for each thing I shall get. It will not ease my mind, but it will at least help me to do _something _in the house, make myself useful for once.

"Three? That's too much."

I cock my head. Please?

"All right then, three. Now, do you want this sweater?"

I cannot help my victorious smile, but still nod reluctantly for the sweater. It _is_ an expensive thing.

"What size are you? Small?"

I blink at her, alarmed. No, please. No no, no, don't give me fitting clothes. Please.

Esme looks at me, and I see confusion and dread in her eyes. Carefully, I point at the sweater we've both been holding, size large.

"Are you sure?" she asks softly, carefully. I don't understand her sudden concern, but I nod at her and she nods in return.

As Alice pays for heaps of clothes with her own credit card, I cringe when the sales assistant says the price for my new sweater out loud. Esme hands over her card without blinking and I walk out of the store, carrying a lone glossy bag, containing a sweater that was an utter struggle to buy.

We buy more stuff. Knowing I get to do something back and agreeing with myself I shall do more than just the three things per item, I give in more easily and buy two pairs of trousers, some other tops and a hooded vest.

I'm tired and hungry by the time noon arrives, but I know eating will be a problem. Esme however insists that we sit down somewhere in the back of a relatively quiet lunchroom and orders for the three of us. I look at my salad, unable to touch it, until Alice breaks through my thoughts.

"It's so shitty that you just can't eat with us around. You really must be hungry."

My stomach is churning, but fortunately it can't be heard over the noise in the bar. I'm uneasy, sitting down here with so many people around us.

I shrug, to answer Alice's observation. Esme excuses herself for a moment and I remain with Alice, who looks at me with sad eyes.

"You really can't eat? Like, you can put it in your mouth but just can't swallow?"

I nod. No use in denying it. They know I won't eat with others present.

"That's so shitty," she repeats. "But, how did you do that at school? You went to school, right? Did you just go hungry?"

I nod again, to answer both her questions. I used to be able to go without food for days. My resolve has gone ever since I've been sick, it seems.

"How come you won't eat?"

Her voice is soft, tentative, but I still look at her pleadingly, begging her to not make me remember all the fuckery I had over food. Laurent used to take it from me mid-dinner, or put pepper on it without me knowing it, then still making me eat it. Push my face in it until I felt I couldn't breathe anymore. When I arrived at Stefan's, I drew the line and simply refused to eat with others present.

Apart from that, food is one of the very few things I can actively control in my life. _I_ can decide whether or not I eat, when and how much if I decide to. It's the same with sleep. It's the same with my voice.

These are the three things I can choose to use to my convenience, or not. More often not. It's uncomfortable. But it's the last thread of control I have. Let me decide on these three things, and you can have the rest of me.

"Don't you want to?" Alice asks.

Yes and no. I want to decide when I do it. But I won't write that down for her.

She sits back and exhales. "Should I go for a while? Keep mom with me? Then you can eat."

I shake my head, but she's up before I can stop her. "Watch my bags. I'm going to freshen up in the restroom."

She stays away for a good ten minutes with Esme, and I know they do this so I can eat. It's unnecessary, but nice. I can't deny it. I look down at my salad, looking deliciously green and fresh. Do I try it? I used to eat outside of the house back in Phoenix a lot.

I _know_ how impossible it is for a stranger to come and bother me while I eat. And it seems as if I'm no longer able to suppress my hunger, even though I feel hugely uncomfortable with the knowledge that Esme and Alice are doing this for _me_. Taking a deep breath, I devour my salad, eyeing the place I expect Alice and Esme to reemerge, looking around me with shifty eyes for any sign of danger, then looking back at the restroom area. I'm almost done when they come back, and Esme beams as she sees my nearly empty plate.

"Anything to help you out," she smiles. Then she picks up the bags. "I've already paid. Ready to go?"

We nod and set off again, this time for shoes.

I am utterly exhausted watching Alice try on pair after pair, finally setting on two pairs of pumps and some loafers that look comfy, but cold.

Then Esme looks at me. "You need shoes too."

I start to shake my head, but she interrupts me. "If not for convenience, then for warmth. Your sneakers are not made for Forks weather."

Ah yeah, she's right, of course.

"Go look around," Esme encourages, smiling down at me.

The patience of that woman is sheer unending, it seems. I would have given up on me long ago.

Tentatively, I browse the racks with shoes in my size. I just need some basic stuff. Me in heels is a very bad idea, so maybe some sneakers or something more sturdy to go with. I'm pretty sure there will be lots of ice to be met once winter sets in fully here.

"Can I help you?" a sales lady asks me briskly. Her blond ponytail bobs as she bounces up to me.

I step back, startled, and shake my head quickly.

"Anything special you are looking for?"

I shake my head again, and focus on the shoes, in the hope that she will leave me alone.

"What size are you?" she asks as she steps closer to me.

Cringing, I step back a little. Frowning with annoyance, I don't look at her but keep my focus on the rack.

"How rude," the girl mutters softly, but loud enough so I can hear.

Well, I don't care.

Just then, Alice comes up to me.

"You know what's rude? Stepping into somebody's personal space and not accepting that she doesn't want help," she snaps at the sales girl, who looks taken aback.

"I'm sorry," she stammers. "Company policy."

"I know. But my sister here doesn't need help. I'm sure she'll manage. When we need you, we'll get you, okay?"

Alice's tone softens at the apology of the girl, who I really think can't help herself. She looks so young and innocent.

The girl beams radiantly after Alice's words and nods, before she steps back and goes to pester somebody else.

And then it hits me.

Alice called me her sister.

And she came up to save me from the annoying sales girl.

She called me her _sister_.

I simply look at her and I think my mouth may be hanging open in shock.

"What?" she laughs, confused.

I can see Alice thinking back on what might have happened to evoke such a reaction from me.

"Because I called you my sister? Well, as far as I'm concerned, you are."

Even my mind is lost for words for a moment.

But then my body reacts for me and my mouth curves into a smile, a big ear-to-ear grin, teeth and all.

Holy shit.

She called me her _sister_.

And Alice smiles goofily back at me, her eyes sparkling as she looks decidedly happy. And proud.

My evil mind interferes, but I shut her up. Alice knows enough of me to have pushed me away. But she hasn't.

Perhaps she really is mentally challenged.

Or perhaps…

Perhaps it's time for me to reevaluate my views.

**~O~**

We arrive home in the late afternoon, packed with goods. Esme was adamant that apart from the jeans and sweaters I got, I buy two pairs of shoes, some under things, sweatpants, and house slippers.

I reluctantly agreed, but only when I sensed she was losing her patience and told me very clearly she would buy the things for me anyway.

And then we passed a bookstore.

I don't have any books anymore. My foster sibling Heidi burned them at Stefan's house to get back at me, although I don't even remember for what. The few books I had left, Stefan has not sent and probably destroyed.

But when I saw the large displays of the bookstore I could not help but stop in my tracks and peer inside to look at the treasure trove hidden behind the glass.

Esme didn't blink once as she changed her tracks and guided me into the shop, telling me to look around.

For once, I did not need encouragement. I found my way to the literature section quickly, and saw that the shop had all the classics in store. Reverently, I fingered the backs of my favorite books — Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, Romeo and Juliet. I don't like romance, but I love these.

When Esme came up to me, I was a moment too late to hide the excitement on my face. I smoothed it back into a neutral expression, and was surprised to see her frown.

"Don't hide what makes you happy, Bella. Please don't. What books do you like?"

Before I could answer, Esme pulled Romeo and Juliet from the shelf. "This one?"

Reluctantly, I nodded.

"This one?"

Again, I had to confess.

"This one?"

So now I have five books, all of my own, to read and to cherish.

They mean so much more to me than the clothes I got.

I clear my new stuff away and go downstairs to find Esme, and to see where I can make a start with the chores I shall do to repay.

Esme is nowhere to be found, but Alice is in the kitchen, sitting on the counter and sipping from her mug.

"My feet are killing me," she smiles. "You must be exhausted, too. Are you happy with what you got?"

I nod, because I am.

"Good. I am too. Shopping sprees like these are not very common, I should tell you, but I had the feeling mom wanted to celebrate that you were out with us today. Say, you weren't really scared out there, were you?"

I shake my head slowly, afraid of what Alice will make of my answer.

"Maybe you're getting more relaxed in general. I think you are, at least. It was fun to have you today, you know."

She beams at me, and I smile back. She seems genuinely happy, and that makes me happy, too.

I chew on my lip, trying to decide if I dare to take this next step or not.

Alice finishes her drink and hops off the counter. If she leaves, I'll lose my chance. I quickly pull the note I've written from my pocket and hold it up to her, in the hope that she will take it.

She is surprised, but she takes the note from me. I stand back and chew on my lip, hoping to God that she will help me out.

"The song Edward plays?" she asks, confused.

I nod. It's all on the note.

I _need_ to know what song he has been listening to over the last couple of days.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"

I look horrified at the notion alone and Alice laughs, but I can see she doesn't mean it in a mean way and her face straightens almost immediately again.

"Too big a leap?" she asks softly.

I nod. It's a big leap for me to reach out and ask something, even from Alice, but I really need to know the name of that song. Perhaps then I can get to grasp she memory it holds for me. I feel like my own mind holds it out of my reach and it's starting to annoy me, especially since the notes have been playing over and over in my head.

"All right, I'll ask when he gets home," Alice promises, and I nod in thanks.

Now let's hope that she will keep her word. And not use this against me. But I'm prepared for that, should it happen.

She leaves me in the kitchen and I go to clear out the dishwasher before I check in the fridge for something to drink. Just as I pull out a carton of juice, Jasper steps into the kitchen.

"Ah, that's exactly what I needed," he nods at the juice I'm holding.

Reaching for the cabinet, I simply take out two glasses instead of one, and fill them up.

He thanks me when I place his on the breakfast bar.

"Did you have fun today?" he asks. "You don't strike me as the shopping type."

I smile at the truth in his words, and give a half-shrug. I'm smiling a lot today, it seems. But he's right. I loathe shopping.

"Well, I'm off to see Alice's fashion show. You're lucky that you don't have to sit through that," he winks.

"I heard that!" Alice's voice comes from the stairway.

"Good!" Jasper throws back over his shoulder. Then he turns back to me. "Time to go. Did you get everything you needed?"

I nod, once more, and then he too leaves me, so that I am alone again in the kitchen. I lean against the counter and put my hands in my pocket.

And then the belated anxiety hits. My stomach cramps up and I'm breathless for a moment as my heart seems to skip a beat.

Jasper just came in and asked me for a drink, and I gave it to him without hesitation. And he thanked me.

Holy Jesus.

It was what I would deem a normal encounter. And I didn't panic. And he wasn't weird around me.

And my guard was completely down.

I exhale, puffing out my cheeks as I try to relieve some delayed tension.

Then I push myself away from the counter and go upstairs to start the dreaded task of trying on the clothes I bought.

To me, it doesn't really matter how things look on me. I just check if they fit and feel comfy. I used to check if the fabric wasn't too raw on my skin. It's a wicked relief to find out that that no longer seems to be an issue.

Everything fits loosely, but I don't worry about that. I don't like tight clothes anyway and I think I'll gain some more weight with the four-meal diet I am still on. And then these clothes won't be so large on me anymore and I won't have to bother about getting new ones, either.

Plus one for efficiency.

After dinner, I curl up in my rocking chair, huddled under my quilt, with one of my new books. Esme was correct when she observed I was through my social quota for the day and I was grateful when she told me I could go to my room. I stroke the cover reverently before I tuck my feet underneath me and set to a soothing rocking rhythm. Then I open the book and submerge myself in the unlucky world of Romeo and Juliet.

A soft knock on the door goes almost unnoticed and I frown at the intrusion. It's late, must be nearing ten.

My body kicks in before my mind can and my heart starts racing as my hands get clammy within the blink of an eye.

Oh God oh fuck. And here I was thinking this would not happen in this household.

Another knock.

I'm just frozen. And in horrification I realize I didn't even lock the door.

_Idiot!_ my mind screams.

For once I have to agree with her.

And then the knob turns. Slowly, as in a horror movie.

I close my eyes for a brief moment and brace myself.

"Bella?"

It's Alice.

Tentatively, she opens the door and peers inside.

I'm still under my quilt, looking at her wide-eyed.

"I'm sorry, did I startle you?"

Yes, you did, actually.

"Can I come in?"

I nod, wondering what she wants.

"I just wanted to thank you for today," she says as she walks into the room, leaving the door ajar behind her. "It must have been stressful for you, even though you seem more relaxed."

I don't reply to that, as I don't really answer rhetorical questions.

Alice smiles gently, looking at my sweater. "I guess you're not really one for bright colors, huh?"

I shake my head, looking down at the infamous black hoodie I've decided to keep on after I tried it. I just don't want to stand out.

"Do you like your books?"

This time, I nod with more enthusiasm, realizing too late that I've lost my books once and that it could happen again.

But Alice just smiles, and there is not a hint of malice in her voice when she speaks again. "It's good to see you happy like this. I know you've been through a lot and I'm guessing that you force yourself to keep calm simply just to cope with things. But you're really welcome here and I meant what I said in the store today. I consider you my sister already. I hope to get to know you better."

I'm stunned after her speech and her words trigger something in me. Forcing myself to keep calm just to cope with things? That's so completely right it's scary.

I thought I was less obvious than that.

And she considers me her sister.

It's too much to comprehend.

Alice just smiles at me. "Anyway, good night. I've a sleepover with Jasper so we're turning in early and will watch a movie."

Ah, Alice, I _so_ didn't need to hear that. I mean, I know that normal couples do it but honestly, I don't want to know. But I nod at her to bid her goodnight and she leaves my room again.

Forcing myself to keep calm simply just to cope with things. Huh. She really is right.

I find I can't concentrate on my book anymore after she's left and I move to my desk to check my email. As usual, a message from Renée is waiting in my inbox.

.

**From: Renée Dwyer  
To: Bella Swan  
Subject: Re: Tell me more  
**Of course they have left you alone so far. They will never do anything to hurt you or be nasty with you. It's good to hear you are starting to realize that. But tell me more. What have you noticed about each of them?

.

She wants detailed accounts. She always wants detailed accounts. _Tell me more_. God, she's such a therapist.

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Renée Dwyer  
Subject: Re: Tell me more  
**You want my view on each of them?Carlisle is kind but I'm scared of him. Esme is patient and kind. Alice is a bunch of energy, she comes to talk with me often. Emmett is loud and big. I stay out of his way. Jasper is quiet, and nervous around me. Rosalie is cold, but I don't care.

.

I click send and turn off the laptop again, deciding I can try to watch some TV. I know already though that sleep won't come. My head is too full with everything that happened, everything I realized, all the words that have been said.

But I find it impossible to relax and just trust them, even though I really do believe they are sincere. I honestly dare to hope that things won't turn bad around here.

Yet this doesn't solve the problem of me being a horrible person and I'm still waiting form them to find this out and turn their backs on me.

Edward said though that he didn't think any different about me, and that he was on my side.

What side was he talking about? And why does he refuse to see what's really going on? He's been so utterly nice to me, and he really has no reason to. He apologized for scaring me on my first night here over and over, and I can tell he felt really bad about that box.

I can't make any sense of it. It's so different from what I know, and it's hard for me to believe that my life really has changed this much.

When I got here, I was fully prepared for harsh words, clear rules, a beating when I fucked up. Perhaps nightly visits, since they have been part of my life for so long. Or then at least I would have thought they would have expected me to make myself useful; clean the house, cook, run errands.

I never thought they actually wanted me to become a part of the family, and I find the notion a scary one. I don't know the rules of social behavior. I don't like to communicate with others and I never know what others expect of me. I'm always scared to screw things up, as I've done so many, many times before.

It's why I'm quiet. It's why I prefer to be alone. Then I can't disappoint or be disappointed.

I don't know yet how I'm going to do it, but when I grow up I want to live alone forever and have a cat or some other animal that doesn't require me to go out.

Maybe I can write. It's ambitious, I know, but maybe I can try to write. Before I fled Stefan, I would spend hours at night to make up stories in my head. I've numerous plots, characters, ideas. Maybe I can try to start writing in time and maybe I can try to get it published. I'd be one of those mysterious people that don't do face-to-face meetings and all communication would go by email.

I chuckle silently once, shaking my head at my silly dreams, and go to lie on the bed after I've locked the door. I don't even bother to undress. I know I won't be able to sleep.

By two a.m. I decide it's been enough already and I venture out into the quiet house, going downstairs on socked feet. I pull my coat from the closet and after I slip into my old sneakers, I unlock the porch doors to go outside and sit down on the top step.

It's crispy cold, but I like it. It clears my head. I hope Esme won't mind that I'm outside like this, but with the kitchen light on you should see me sitting here. It won't be as if I ran away or something.

Wasn't that what she implied this afternoon? 'Don't try anything funny?' As if I would run. Where would I go? I have no money, I can't drive a car. Forks has no city buses. I don't fancy a shelter and I'm not entirely stupid — if I even tried a shelter or anything and they would find out I don't talk, they'll put me away. I'm sure psychiatrists would have a field day with me.

And apart from it all, I don't _want_ to run from here. I like it here. I have my own room, I've not been disturbed yet. Esme goes out of her way to find food I like, to make sure I eat, to make sure I have decent clothes. She's never been angry with me, even when I threw the glass at the wall, even when I burned myself. Even when I simply shut her out.

Her patience is uncanny.

And although I realize I've been trying it time and again, I also realize that I've been _thriving_ on it. She gives clear boundaries, even though I don't always agree with her.

She has a way of showing disappointment or disapproval by just words. And she gets the message clear, all right. When she startled me in the kitchen and I thought the time had finally come, she was so shocked herself she had been crying. She wouldn't have been crying had she wanted to hurt me for whatever reason.

"Penny for them."

I lose my balance with the force I turn around to see Edward towering over me. I gasp audibly, cursing myself immediately for making a sound, and start to scramble up so at least I'll be standing on my feet.

"Whoa, I didn't mean to scare you like that. You really were lost in your thoughts, weren't you?" A beat. "Calm down," he laughs. "Honestly, don't panic. It's just me."

As I take a shaky breath, I take him in. I can very faintly make out his figure in the gloom of light that emanates from the house. He's wearing a coat, too, and he's holding two mugs precariously in one hand.

Following my gaze he explains. "I made you some tea. I boiled water and everything."

His smile is disarming, as ever.

"May I join you?

Taken aback by his question, he invites himself and before I know it, he's sitting down on the porch with me. Thank fuck he's keeping a safe distance from me, but I turn to face him and lean back against the railing just so I can keep a better eye on him.

"Oh for God's sake, relax. We both can't sleep. I just thought you might like some company."

His words rattle me. He's exasperated, but not impatient. He's not angry. He places both mugs on the porch floor between us and mirrors my position, sitting back against the opposite railing.

"I didn't put anything in it," he says, nodding towards the tea. "I figured, since you drink your coffee black…"

I nod, hoping to indicate that it's okay.

It's just… he made me tea. It's such a kind gesture and all I can think about is what he would want in return or how I could do something back for him.

"So, did you enjoy being out today? You've been cooped up in here for weeks."

He looks into the forest after he asked his question and I have the feeling he doesn't really expect an answer from me. Instead, he picks up his tea and blows off the steam before he sips it.

"We're both bad sleepers I guess, huh," he observes into his mug. "Wanted to come outside to clear your head a little?"

This time I nod to answer his question. He nods in return. "I sometimes feel like I can think more clearly in the night. It's pretty shitty that we have to be at school so early every day, but during holidays, I'm often up until four in the morning."

Huh, that sounds like me. I used to sleep after school, before Stefan got home. Then I'd be awake at night, waiting to see if he was coming for me or not.

But somehow I'm guessing that Edward doesn't stay up out of fear. He's just not a morning person. Him oversleeping not so long ago bears testament to that.

When Edward gets quiet again, I pick up my tea too and blow off the steam before I sip it. It's some sort of herbal tea and I really like the taste of it.

We sit in silence for a moment and I let the tea warm my insides as the cold wind clears my head. I listen to the soft rustle of the trees around me and realize that I've become quite relaxed around Edward Cullen.

"Oh, before I forget. Alice asked me about the song I've been playing?" He states it like a question.

I look at him expectantly, all of a sudden both scared and excited of what the name of the song will trigger in me.

"Did you mean that piano song you walked away from twice?"

I flush at his observation. I did leave quite suddenly. I hope he won't mind. I nod to answer his question.

"That's Clair de Lune, by Debussy. I'd like to learn how to play it on the piano, so I've been listening to it to get to know it, you know?"

No, I don't, but it does make sense. I am disappointed, though. I had hoped that the name of the song would do anything to me. But… nothing.

"Do you know the song?"

I nod before I can stop myself and I look down to hide from my mistake. Don't ask me why I know it, please.

"Then you have good taste," Edward smiles.

I stare into my tea, not sure what to do.

He rakes a hand through his hair and takes a breath, but in the end doesn't speak. Instead he exhales slowly, relaxed, and stares off into the invisible woods again.

"I like to come here to think about things," he says quietly after long moments of silence. "In a family like this you can rarely be truly alone."

No shit, Sherlock.

God, I think I like this guy, if only for what he says at times.

We finish our tea and then we both get up. Somehow I don't want to stay here on my own when he goes inside. He reaches out to take my mug from me and after a moment of hesitation, I hand it to him. He accepts it with a smile and then precedes me into the house.

I lock the doors behind me and go to hang up my coat in the closet. Edward comes up behind me to do the same and I step back to let him do his thing.

When he's done, he looks at me and winks. "See? No danger in this house. Good night, Bella."

He goes upstairs before me and I turn down the last light as I go up behind him, to my own room, where I lock the door. I don't bother to undress when I slip in between the covers and fall asleep immediately.

I dream.

_Soft piano songs drift through the back yard. I know this song. __Mommy has a tiny radio and she plays this piano song often. She says she likes it. I like it too, because she likes it. _

_Mommy is in the hammock. She has her favorite sundress on. She wears it often the day after grandpa has been angry again. She looks at me and reaches out. _

_"Come to me, my Bellarina. Lie with me in the sun?"_

_I climb into the hammock with her and she helps me. Then I snuggle up and hide my face in her neck. Mommy always smells like sunshine when she is in the hammock._

_She caresses my hair and hums along with the song. _

_"I met a man, Bellarina," she says softly, only for me to hear. "I am going to leave here and go with him. He promised me he will look after you, too. He will be good for me. For us. We can live happily ever after. His name is Laurent. And when we go there, he will become your daddy. Would you like that?"_

"_Yes, Mommy." __I say this because I know she wants me to. _

_"We will leave without a word. So don't tell grandpa or grandma, okay? They don't need to know. We can leave like girls on a secret mission."_

_I smile at her little story. Yes, we should not tell grandpa. He often shouts at Mommy. Calls her names. I don't like him. I'm afraid of him. But he never hurts me. Because Mommy always goes to stand in between when he comes for me. _

_"Would you like that, sweet girl? To leave here and never come back?"_

_I nod into her neck and sigh happily as she holds me a little tighter. I want to leave here if Mommy wants to. Mommy is often crying and I don't want her to be sad. _

_She swings __us in the hammock and hums to me along with the piano song until I fall asleep, warm in the afternoon sun._

_Tomorrow, I'll be five years old._


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N Twilight isn't mine. Rats. **

_Hello all. Thank you for the wonderful response to my last chapter :) Here's another chapter for you. More Edward, I believe ;) As ever, thanks to Sherry and Deb who helped me to make this work. Also they have been my rocks as I have been in pain since March. I truly love you.  
_

_I am flying to Switzerland this Thursday to meet up with Deb. In between wine and things we don't talk about, I think there's little writing going to happen. Unless she locks me up in the guestroom and only lets me out after finishing a chapter. Which I do not think is beyond her, even O.o  
_

_Music: Clair de Lune, by Debussy_. _Enjoy!  
_

* * *

Her face.

I remember her face now.

She had brown hair, like me. Brown eyes, too.

I don't remember her name.

I do remember the trailer park, the trailer we lived in, the cramped space that always felt like there was not enough air.

I remember her holding me. I remember her arms around me and how I would crawl into her lap willingly.

I don't really remember my grandparents. I don't want to, either. Nameless, faceless people I never knew and never want to know. Best to keep quiet about them, I should think.

I sigh deeply and shift my weight to my other leg, as I look out of the window, seeing a new day start in the Olympic Peninsula. I haven't slept anymore since I woke up from my dream.

The skies are clear. This might very well become the first sunny day I get to enjoy here.

I'm downstairs before the rest of the house is even awake and have my breakfast in a blissful silence I've come to miss. I take my time to eat some cereal, then make myself some strong coffee, just the way I like it.

As I'm still not sure how the Cullen family does breakfast in the weekends, I decide against setting the table. Instead, I leave the kitchen as I entered it and go to the library, where I want to finish the book on astronomy I've been reading over the past week.

From time to time, I look outside, enjoying the blue sky and the sunrays beating down on the yard. I'd like to go outside today. Would it be really stupid if I just walked a circle around the house?

A soft knock on the door alerts me that somebody is there and when I look up from my place in the window seat, Esme steps inside, smiling sweetly.

"Good morning Bella, I had a feeling I'd find you here. Did you sleep well?"

Not long enough, but I nod, as usual.

"Do you have any plans for today? Things you wanted to do?"

I shake my head in denial, but reconsider and then tentatively point outside.

Esme smiles again. "Yes, sunny days are rare here. Go out today, enjoy the sun. Is there anyplace you'd like to go? I could take you if you want to?"

Where would I go, Esme?

"The kids aren't all up yet. Edward is sleeping late, as always. He never goes to sleep early."

I may have noticed that.

"Emmett and Rosalie are going to meet with James, a friend that goes to college in Seattle. Alice and Jasper I think will be home today. I'm not sure. Carlisle has a day off, too."

I nod, wondering why she is divulging this information to me.

Esme steps further inside and sits down in the one remaining rocking chair.

"I want to run something by you, Bella, and I want your honesty in this, okay?"

Alerted, I look at her.

"Carlisle and I would like to go out today. But we only want to do so if you are comfortable to be in the house without us present."

Ah.

I blink as I realize that she is acting out of consideration. For me. She wants to know if _I'm_ okay with them leaving.

She cares.

It's an alien feeling and I want more of it. I beat down the traitor emotions that fill my stomach and force myself to keep my face neutral. I don't want Esme to know it if my interpretation is wrong.

And why would she care?

Hm. What would the Cullen kids do once the parents are gone?

I guess I'll just have to wait and see. No way in hell I am going to be in the way of Esme and Carlisle's plans.

Conveniently, Esme has brought a notepad and a pencil, and she holds them out invitingly.

I write, and use more words than the absolute minimum.

_By all means, please go. Do what you want._

Hoping she'll get it right, I give her the notepad back.

She smiles as she reads. "Are you really sure?"

Yes, I'm really sure.

"That's very nice of you, Bella. I'll bring my phone with me, so if there's anything you can always call or text, okay?"

I nod in understanding.

"So," Esme continues after a moment of thinking, "how did you like yesterday? Was it manageable to you?"

I nod again. It was all right, I just feel conflicted about the expensive stuff I got. At least I talked her out of a coat, and instead I got the Burberry on indefinite loan, which is fine by me.

"It was good to see you outside of this house, Bella. It made me happy to see you somewhat relaxed."

Um, yeah, whatever.

"I hope you can start to accept that we care for you here, and that buying you the things you need accompanies that."

I swallow, lost for any other non-verbal reaction that could possibly provide an answer for that.

"Well, at least you don't take things for granted," she says lightly, and I look up at her in surprise as she chuckles.

"Did you have breakfast?"

I nod.

"Good. Please make sure you have lunch, too. Do whatever you want today, Bella, just no chores, okay?"

But, you said that…

"No. I want to go over what you will do with you together. Enjoy your Sunday. Go out, watch a movie, listen to music? I'm sure Alice or Edward would happily lend you their CD's."

I think I'm gaping at her right now.

"Or stay in here to read. Anything, Bella. Whatever makes you happy."

I nod slowly, mind reeling. I just want to stay here or go to my room and read some. That is, if I will get some peace without Esme in the house.

Well, only one way to find out, is there?

Esme stands to leave. "We'll leave in half an hour. If you change your mind about us leaving for the day, just come and tell us. We won't mind."

And then she walks out, leaving me in the library with the astronomy book on my lap.

It doesn't escape my notice that my heart has been beating the same solid rhythm throughout my meeting with Esme.

I'm really starting to relax, and I'm not sure yet if that is a good thing.

I don't want to come out of the library when they leave, but Esme comes to get me, telling me they want to give me something.

Alarmed, on guard, I follow her to the kitchen, where Carlisle is standing too.

I balk and halt in my tracks, taking a step backwards immediately.

What is this fuckery, what are they planning?

"No, calm down. Nothing is going to happen," Carlisle says softly, lifting his hands in a surrendering gesture. "No violence, remember?"

I swallow, physically unable to step forward and I see how Esme walks around me to the breakfast bar.

"No reason to panic," she says gently but firmly as she turns to face me again. "No reason at all. Deep breath."

I do as I'm told and feel some of the tension leaving my body.

"Good. Now, we wanted to give you this."

She holds up various items on the breakfast bar, and my mouth falls open in shock.

"We wanted to do this earlier, but so far little has gone as we planned," she smiles. "Here you go; a credit card, a house key, and some cash. The credit card is limited to two thousand five hundred dollars. If you ever need more money, please discuss it with us.

"You can spend this amount of money every month, but like we tell all our children, use it wisely. Don't waste money. I don't think I'll have to tell you this, but if you spend too much, we shall ask you why you feel you had to buy those things."

Ah, so they check the receipts. That's good to know.

"We give all our children this credit card, and we hope that through it they will learn to be wise with money, even though technically, none of them will ever have to be poor," Carlisle continues.

"But we do understand Bella, that you need a lot of new things and we encourage you to use the card and buy things that will make you feel more at home here. Perhaps some more books?"

I just swallow, stunned at this development.

"Let it sink in," Esme smiles gently. "But please realize that you can use this card for yourself. The money on it, we consider yours. It's one of the things we give our children."

There she goes again. _Our children_.

How on earth can she consider me an equal member of the family?

Wait… Is this some kind of test? What will they do if I use it and buy things they don't approve of?

On the other hand, my mind whispers faintly, it's a huge amount of trust they put it me by giving me this amount of money. Even if I would use it just once and get those twenty five hundred dollars, I think I could get quite far, should I ever decide to leave.

What makes them think I won't steal their money?

"We have to go," Carlisle says then, interrupting my internal monologue. "Are you sure you are comfortable with us leaving?"

I look up at him a moment late, still lost in my thoughts, and nod. Of course they can go.

I feel more relaxed when Carlisle isn't home anyway.

So they leave, and I exhale a sigh of relief when I hear the door close. I am alone downstairs. Edward I think may very well still be sleeping and Alice and Jasper have not yet reemerged from their sleepover.

I decide this is an excellent time to go back upstairs and read one of my new books until it is time for lunch. I pick up the items from the breakfast bar before I go, and they feel heavy in my hands. I am holding twenty five hundred dollars in the form of a plastic card. I have never seen this amount of money, let alone had it for myself to spend it at leisure.

It's hard to concentrate on my reading with all that just happened in my mind.

When I emerge from my room to go downstairs again, I hear faint voices coming from Jasper's room. I hurry downstairs quickly, quietly, and force a hastily made sandwich down my throat, just in time indeed it turns out before Alice and Jasper emerge.

"Hi Bella," she says brightly. She's wearing something new she bought yesterday.

I look at her attire appreciatively, and Alice beams and turns around for good measure.

"Do you like it?"

I nod, unable to deny.

"Did you have breakfast yet?" she then asks as she walks around the breakfast bar to the fridge.

I don't reply. She won't see my response as she's opened the fridge and is now looking in. "Oh, Jazz, there are some pancakes. Want some?"

"Yeah, sure," he says, walking to the kitchen table leisurely. When he sits down, he looks at me. "Any plans for the day?"

I shake my head, sucking on my lower lip, uncomfortable.

"Just a lazy Sunday then, I guess," Jasper responds. "But then again, I guess that every day is a Sunday to you, since you're not going to school and all that."

"Oh, but she will," Alice says as she puts something that looks like pancakes in the microwave. "Right, Bella?"

I nod. I don't know when yet, but I really want to go to school.

And I really want to leave this kitchen, if it's not too much to ask.

When the microwaves signals it's done, Jasper gets up and walks to the staircase.

"Edward!" he shouts, startling me and I flinch violently, "pancakes if you want them!"

"Coming!" comes a muffled response.

Jasper turns back and his eyes go wide as he sees me. "Did I startle you?"

You can say that again.

"Sorry," he says, obviously surprised at my own reaction. "Um, you want some pancakes, too?"

No. Even if, then still not.

"It's okay, Bella," Alice says softly behind me. "Do what you want. It's okay."

What, is she trying to be Esme now? Nevertheless, I escape the kitchen before Edward arrives and hide out in the library once more.

I really like this room. It's so calm, and because it's at a far end of the house, little sounds reach here. I make myself comfortable on the window seat and look outside for a long time, not really thinking of anything in particular but merely taking in the sunlight, the way the rays fall down on the autumn yard.

The sun. I never thought I'd see it again.

Just as I am about to get up, I hear a scream. Completely alarmed, I look back outside and see Alice running, followed by Jasper.

Oh God, no.

They can't see me, but I can see them. Jasper tackles Alice and pushes her to the ground. She emanates a high-pitched sound and I can't tell if it's a scream or a squeal.

Holding my breath, heart hammering, I watch how Jasper crawls over Alice. She tries to push him away, but he catches her hands effortlessly and holds them over her head in one of his.

Do I need to go out there? Alice is so tiny. Do I need to go and help her?

Jasper leans in and kisses her mouth, then moves on to her neck. Alice squirms underneath him, struggling to break loose from his grip. I can't see her face — the back of Jasper's head is blocking it from my view.

Then he comes back up again. My stomach twists as he leans to kiss her, but my utter shock follows when I see how Alice lifts her legs and wraps them around his waist, effectively pulling him closer.

Swallowing thickly, I see how Jasper lets go of her hands to tangle them in her hair, still kissing her. Alice's arms wrap around his back and one hand moves to the nape of his neck.

My breathing is deep, erratic but not frantic. Jasper wasn't attacking her.

What I'm witnessing is pure intimacy.

My sense of propriety tells me to look away, but I find that I can't.

They kiss for long moments, until Jasper disentangles himself from the hold of her legs and reaches out a hand to pull her up without an effort.

They hug fiercely, him lifting her completely off the ground as they do so, and then they walk back around the corner, back into the house I guess.

I'm baffled by what I just saw. I mean, I know it exists — I'm not entirely stupid. But to see it happening right before my eyes is something new indeed. Jasper held Alice and she liked it. Even I saw that. Their struggle was playfulness.

A thick, heavy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach and my mood has shifted. Frowning, I try to sigh it away. I don't even know what I'm feeling right now, but it's an empty, desolate emotion. Almost as if I am missing something.

I just don't know what I'm supposed to be missing.

From outside the library door, piano sounds drift into the room.

I recognize the song from the first note.

Edward is playing Clair de Lune.

**~O~**

I stay in the library for a long time, listening to Edward play. Every time he makes a mistake and goes back to try again, I feel a twinge of sadness that the song is interrupted, and I also know what note he should have been hitting.

I guess I know the song better than I thought. I must have heard it countless times.

When I really need to use the bathroom, I can't hide out in the library anymore. Hating to have to disturb Edward, I open the library door. He is facing me from where he is sitting at the piano, and he looks up and smiles, his eyes crinkling as his entire face softens from the scowl of concentration he wore before.

"Hi," he says softly.

I exhale, belatedly realizing I was holding my breath. It seems he's not upset that I interrupted him practicing.

"I didn't know you were in there. Does my practicing bother you?"

Bother me? My eyes go wide at the ridiculousness of his question. Of course it doesn't bother me!

Especially not while he is playing this song.

"Okay," he says, and he seems relieved. "It's just… I'm a bit shy to play around new people. I'm sorry. And learning to play a new song like this can be tedious, I know."

I shake my head in denial before I can stop myself. I don't mind him practicing at all.

I bite my lip, unsure what to do. If I stay here, he might feel uneasy to start playing again. But I don't feel like I can leave, as I feel that this conversation is not yet over.

"How's the burn?" he then suddenly asks, and I have to think for a moment what he is referring to.

Then I remember the burn on my left hand. I look at it. It's healing. It'll be red for a while, but the skin will become smooth again, I think.

I shrug and nod, to let Edward know it's okay.

"Good," he smiles.

Silence falls between us, but I don't feel particularly uneasy. Edward looks at me for a moment, before he focuses back on his sheet music again.

He has a way of making me feel I am not intruding something. He has a way of making me feel it's okay to just walk away and do my thing, without having to be afraid of the consequences.

It's uncanny and it would be disconcerting if it wasn't such a relief.

After long moments, he starts playing again, at the beginning of the song this time. The notes simply flow and I can't help myself if I stay in the library door to listen, mesmerized by that song that holds this memory for me.

I steal a look at Edward's face as he plays. He wears a tiny frown in concentration, his eyes and lips are tight but not angrily so. He looks from the music to the keys, his head nodding to the rhythm of the music now and then.

When he looks up at me, I look away quickly, feeling caught, and decide it's really time for me to go to use that bathroom.

That desolate sense of missing something essential still feels heavy deep down in my guts.

**~O~**

When I come back from the bathroom, I spend an hour standing in the sun on the porch and enjoying the quiet. Jasper and Alice are gaming in the living room. After a while, the piano sounds stop. I half expect Edward to come outside and join me, but he doesn't.

And why should he? I mean, it's not like I'm good company or anything.

I stay on the porch until I see Carlisle and Esme coming back from their trip. Esme is happy to see me outside and both seem pleased to hear that everything went well.

It has been a nice and quiet afternoon, indeed. Nothing happened. It's uncanny. I contemplated for well over an hour if I should bake something in the kitchen, as a 'thank you' for Esme, for the family, but finally decided against it. I think I really should ask Esme before I'm going to make something elaborate like marzipan or pies. If she even has the ingredients for that.

Could I ask for that?

I'm still mulling over that question when we go to the supermarket on Monday, and although Esme says something about my quietness, she doesn't press.

All Tuesday, I'm trying to gather courage, but it won't come. I don't feel like I have deserved the privilege of making something nice in the kitchen. Instead, I do the chores to pay back for my clothes with vigor.

They slightly ease my conscience.

Tuesday night, Alice comes to find me in my room and asks me almost shyly if I want to come down with her and do some homework.

She's struggling with Trig once more, but after gentle coaxing for help from her side and after hesitant suggestions from mine, she picks it up again and she sets to work, smiling.

"Leave it up to you to make Trig fun," she grins, and I can't help my own smile in return.

Like I said, numbers just make sense to me. It pleases me if I can have them make sense to others, too.

To my utter surprise, Edward comes to join us, flopping his books on the table with a sigh.

I keep looking studiously at my books, not sure what to do.

"I hear grief is less when it's shared," he jokes, and Alice smiles.

"Join the club," she replies.

Edward sits down and opens his journal to see what needs to be done, then looks at Alice. "Need any help with Trig?"

"Bella beat you to it," Alice beams at me, and I look up, startled at her praise.

"Really?" A big smile appears on Edward's face as he looks from Alice to me. "You good at Trig?"

I nod carefully.

"Oh, I may just love you for that. More so if that means she's off my back for help every other day."

I blush fiercely at his words and look down to hide it, seeing from under my lashes how Alice punches him softly in the arm. "Hey!"

"That's what I get for telling the truth," Edward mocks lightly.

Alice scowls at him. "Don't be such a drama queen. Besides, you don't get it yourself half the time."

"That's… true," Edward deflates. "Good to know we've a genius in our midst now."

I know he's talking about me and I look at my books again, blushing deeper, uncomfortable.

"Don't make her uneasy like that," Alice says.

"Sorry," Edward replies, but I hear the confusion in his voice. "I was just joking."

I shrug, more to relieve the tension in my body than anything else, and stay still until the twins finally focus on their homework.

God, if you had told me three weeks ago I'd bee sitting here at the kitchen table, doing homework with two of my foster siblings, I would have laughed in your face.

Silently, of course, but still. I would have laughed.

Which is why I am baffled beyond reason when I find myself on that same kitchen table again on Wednesday after dinner. Alice has invited me once more. Edward comes to join soon after. My breath stutters when Jasper sits down with us too.

I shift in my seat, uneasy with so many people around me. Trying to decide if I want to be here or not. If I even have a choice in that.

"Jasper is within kicking reach of my feet," Alice informs me matter-of-factly from the corner of her mouth, not looking up from her work.

Edward looks up at her statement and in my peripheral vision I can see the surprise on his face, but he stays quiet.

I don't know how Alice ever could guess that Jasper makes me uncomfortable, but somehow I do understand that she's telling me she'll stand up for me if he bothers me.

The scene I witnessed last Sunday comes to my mind. I swallow thickly and force my mind away from the mental image of their obvious easy intimacy.

But it's Jasper who really startled me when I first got here and I've not really seen him since. He stayed away from me, I'm sure. Not like Edward. I feel like Edward has come to find me often. Maybe it's a false sense of safety I have with him, but I do feel slightly more comfortable around him than around Jasper.

But Alice simply smiles at me and then distracts me by asking something about Trig.

By the end of the evening I find that I am almost relaxed. Nobody bothers me and we work in silence.

Carlisle comes to check on us and smiles when he sees us working. "My, Bella, you have a good influence on my other kids, I see."

It's yet another compliment I don't know what to do with.

I don't dare to look up at him.

On Thursday, Esme takes me out for groceries again. I still don't dare to ask permission to buy the ingredients to do some cooking and I'm frustrated with myself over it.

Esme notices, but again she doesn't push. "Just tell me when you are ready," she says to me when we ride back home, a trunk full of groceries, but no ingredients for cookies, or pie.

When we have put the stuff away, Esme makes us both coffee and announces she wants to discuss something with me.

More curious than apprehensive, I accept the coffee from her and go to sit at the kitchen table at her invitation. The notebook and pen she places before me look ominous to me. What does she want?

"Here's my proposal. You told me repeatedly that you'd like to go to school, right?"

I nod in confirmation.

"How about we go to school tomorrow, and we meet the principal? He doesn't have to know your entire story, but he should know that you don't speak, I think."

Her last words almost turn into a question, and I nod carefully. I don't want attention like that.

"Good. We need to be there at eleven am. Are you up to that?"

I nod again, and wonder briefly what she would have done if I had refused, since the appointment apparently has already been made.

"Wonderful, Bella," Esme beams. Then her face turns serious. "If you have any other requests or things you'd like me or the school to know, now would be a good time to share them."

I look at the notepad in front of me. I have one big concern but it seems I can't get myself to write that down. it's too dangerous to have them know it. I'll work my way around it when at school, I'm sure.

So I shake my head, pushing the notepad away from me.

"Okay," Esme says carefully. "You can always come to me if you think of anything. Now, would you like to help me cook tonight? As a chore to pay back for the clothes?"

I nod again, and I know a sparkle in my eye must show at the prospect of cooking.

We finish our coffee and set to work.

Despite my being able to be in the kitchen whilst others are walking in and out, I find I still can't — and don't want to, so won't — eat with others around. Esme is very understanding and allows me to eat up in my room once more.

I leave the door open this time, listening to the Cullens having their dinner down the stairs. I wish I could hear what they were saying. They are so easy around each other. I've been here now for almost a month and I haven't even witnessed one fight.

Exhaling, I sit in the rocking chair as I wait for my food to sink in a bit. I'm drowsy. I've slept badly over the last few days, waking from disturbing dreams that flee my memory as soon as I open my eyes.

I know what the dreams are about though, even though I can't remember them. They're very likely about the times when I did fight Laurent. When I did fight Stefan. When I defied them, went against them, stuck my chin out and did not give in to their threats.

The bruises were always worse after. My muscles now are sore when I wake, as if remembering the tension I felt in my dreams.

I don't know why my mind chooses to remember the moments I fought.

I do know it has a clear tendency to utterly and completely ruin my mood, though.

Tonight I have a hunch it will be one of those nights again. And sure enough, at 2 am I jolt awake, disoriented and scrambling to turn on a light to make sure I am actually alone in the room.

I am panting and my heart is beating heavily against my ribs. My pajamas are sticking to my skin and I can feel how my body is coiled — either to run, to hide, or to shut down.

I know, I just _know_ I won't be able to sleep. My mind is too crowded with memories, accusations, questions, doubts.

Sighing, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and shuffle into the bathroom where I splash some cold water into my face. Turning off the light, I discard my soaked pajamas and dress quickly in the clothes I wore during the day. Then I walk out into the dark hallway and go downstairs once more.

Not bothering to make myself anything to drink, I slide onto a stool at the breakfast bar. Leaning my head in my hands and my elbows on the bar, I close my eyes and try to clear my head a little.

It's useless. I'm still conflicted over all that has happened here, all the kindness I have encountered. Do they really not see who I truly am? Especially Carlilse and Esme, they've seen my file, have they not? Why are they so nice to me, so patient? They go out of their way to accommodate me.

And as a steady undercurrent, there is the prospect of starting school.

I really thought I wanted it. I really did. And I still do. And Esme is right when she says I should meet the principal, and that the principal should know I don't speak.

Will they notify the rest of the teachers? I don't want that kind of attention. But I don't want to be put in front of class either to introduce myself. I simply couldn't.

I should have asked Esme about this, perhaps.

And then there are the other students, too. I met Jessica already, on my second day here. If she's an example of how the rest is going to be, it will be a bumpy ride before the novelty wears off.

But the novelty will wear off. Even in a small school like this.

I can handle them, however. I will have to.

I hope the Cullen kids will be nice to me when Esme is not around. Then again, they were nice to me last Sunday and they had any and every chance to be nasty with me then.

They didn't. They have been nothing but nice. All of them.

Unbelievably patient, too. They ask me time and again to join them in activities. Alice stood up for me in the shoe store last week, even.

Called me her sister.

Her _sister_.

And then there's that feeling of inexplicable emptiness, desolateness in the pit of my stomach.

I'm too tired to make sense of my thoughts anymore and for some inexplicable reason, a lump forms in my throat.

I swallow thickly. I don't want to cry. It's fucking weak to cry.

But my tears betray me and start falling down, and I can't stop them even when I wipe my eyes roughly with my sleeve.

Fucking hell. Stupid girl. Who told me here I was strong? They were wrong.

I don't deserve this kindness but I don't have the strength to warn them away. I'm basking in an emotion I'm not entitled to have.

Uninvited and unexpectedly, my dreams filter back into my thoughts. Memories of a past I want to forget. All was always my fault. I was always told so. The beatings, the pain. Just fists, sometimes feet. Once, teeth. I shudder when I think back to that.

The words, often shouted, sometimes whispered in my ear. Hot, moist breath against my skin.

Disgusting. Repulsing. It's what I thought of them. It's what they said to me.

And now I'm here.

Finally I feel like I'm choking with the tears I'm trying to hold back and I let go, knowing I'm alone, knowing it's fruitless to try and fight this.

Is this pure, unadulterated self-pity? Yes. But for now, I don't care.

I want to be better.

I just wish I knew how.

Footsteps behind me.

Tensing up, I wipe my face on my soaked sleeves and look over my shoulder to see who's approaching.

Edward.

Always Edward.

He does a double take when he sees my face, but says nothing. He's in sweats and a t-shirt, his feet are bare. His hair all over the place, even more so it seems than usual.

He walks around the breakfast bar without a word and picks up the kettle from the stove to fill it under the tap.

I am too exhausted even to be scared or to walk away. I just don't care anymore, it seems. Let my tears be seen. If they are not allowed, I will learn soon enough.

And I really can't stop crying. I simply can't. My tears keep on coming and blur my vision as I follow Edward's movements as he pulls two mugs from the kitchen cabinet before he picks up the roll of paper towel, which he gently places before me without a word.

I tear off some paper towel and press it against my face, just wanting to stop crying but still unable to.

I don't even care I am shielding my vision, I don't even care that I can't see what Edward is up to right now. I'm too tired, too confused to care.

Let it come when it comes.

At least it would bring me some clarity here.

Trying not to sniffle, I dry my face, but my eyes fill up immediately again before I can blink. And when I do blink, the tears fall once more. Ripping off new pieces of towel, I'm starting to wonder if this will ever stop.

Edward, in the meantime, has lifted the kettle from the stove just as the whistle started blowing, so as not to wake the rest of the house. He fills two mugs and dips the tea bags in them for a minute. Then he places one mug in front of me.

Still, he doesn't speak. He leans back against the counter, looking at me every now and again from the corner of his eye. Then he walks to the fridge and takes out a snack, which he eats slowly, calmly, as we both wait for the tea to cool.

When he picks up his mug to slowly sip from it, I do the same.

It's that same herbal tea from before, on the porch.

The tea is giving me a sense of comfort and finally, I feel the tears stopping a bit. I look up at Edward and give him a watery smile to thank him for the tea. He shrugs it away, as if it's nothing special.

When we're both half-way through our tea, Edward frowns fleetingly before he looks at me again. His voice is careful as he speaks, and very soft.

"Want to talk about it?"

I almost choke on my tea and look at him. His face shows nothing but concern, his eyes look worried. His stance is relaxed and he sips his tea, looking at me over the rim of his mug.

But I don't want to talk about it. I wouldn't even know where to start. I look away.

"I'm sorry I walked in on you, even though I shouldn't be surprised to find you here anymore. I just came for a snack. I can't sleep when I'm hungry," he says awkwardly, by way of explanation.

"But it felt bad too to leave you here without saying anything. How come you are so upset? Did something happen?"

I shake my head. Nothing in particular happened. Just a month of non-violence and you have me falling to pieces, apparently.

Edward looks at me for a long moment, finishing his tea and thinking. "Bad dreams?" he finally tries, and to this I nod.

I can't lie, and it's safer to attribute my tears to dreams than anything else. Part of my being upset was because of the memories triggered by my dreams, anyway.

"They're just dreams," Edward says softly. "They can't hurt you."

I swallow at his gentle words of comfort. He has no idea what he's saying, and still it feels so nice that he is kind with me. He's not angry that I'm crying. He's patient, and it seems he's not judging. Not looking down at me for showing weakness.

It's alien and my traitor mind wants more of it. It's a very special sense of high, to be treated so kindly for once.

To be allowed to be sad, even though he doesn't know why I am crying in the first place. He doesn't really ask and the fact that he doesn't pry and still is so nice to me, feels good. I can't deny it. I don't want to deny it.

"I guess it's a lot to take in for you, huh? Coming to live in a new house, with a new family and all that. After what happened…"

He trails off, pressing his lips together.

Why, why is he stopping? Why doesn't he continue? What is he not telling me?

I lean forward almost unconsciously, urging him to keep talking. What does he know?

Edward catches my gaze and must see my expression, but he hesitates before he speaks. "I mean, with your foster father, right? He… He tried to kill you? And that belt in the box…"

I can literally feel all the blood leaving my face and my breath halts in my throat as I hear Edward's words.

"I'm so sorry Bella, I didn't mean to upset you. We've been told not to talk about this—"

I can't hide the shock on my face and Edward stops talking when he notices it. His eyes go wide too as he opens and closes his mouth before he opens it again and speaks. "Dad told us you didn't want us to know," he whispers.

That's… the truth, actually. I had expected him to tell me they weren't supposed to talk about it because it would only emphasize how bad I am. But I did ask Carlisle and Esme to not disclose my past.

I did it in the hopes of preventing bullying.

But, he knows. Of course, I already knew he did. A bit, at least. He's not stupid. He's drawn conclusions.

Correct ones.

"Bella, I told you that your past doesn't matter to me. To none of us, I dare say. You're here now, with us. A new start, if you wish. You've given a second chance, did you realize that?"

I'm stunned and it must show on my face, since Edward chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

"You never looked at it that way?"

I shake my head, still unable to fully comprehend what he just said.

"Make the most of it," he smiles, then he looks at the clock on the microwave. "Ugh. Need to go to bed now, or I won't make it through tomorrow. See you after school again?"

I nod slowly, and he smiles back at me, a smile that reaches his eyes.

Edward is so unbelievably nice. It would be disconcerting if his body language wouldn't tell the exact same story his words are conveying. But there's absolutely no sign that he has a hidden agenda, or that he's nice out of politeness.

As he walks to the light switch of the kitchen, I hop off my stool and place our mugs in the sink, filling them with water.

Edward turns down the light and my heart skips a beat as my evil mind nastily starts to compile a list of all the things that could happen right now.

Instead, I hear Edward's chuckle before me. "It really seems that the night is our territory, isn't it?"

I nod at his observation, but of course he won't be able to see me in the dark.

He walks ahead of me to the stairs and goes up. On the landing of the first floor, he stops and turns. I can barely make out his posture in the dark hallway.

"Are you feeling a bit better?" he whispers.

He won't be able to see my answer, but I still nod.

"Good," he answers. Maybe he did see me.

"Just, ehm, I wanted to say, even though you won't ever do it I guess, but… if you ever want to talk or just have some company or anything, I'm here, okay?"

His fumbling tells me that he really means it.

It's inconceivable to me that he would offer such a thing after all he apparently knows about me, but he still offers. And after tonight, and all the other meetings I had with him, I believe that he really means it, too.

So I nod, even thought I'm not intending to ever take him up on his offer.

"Good night, Bella," Edward then whispers so softly I can barely hear it, and he turns to the next stairs to go to his room.

I stay in the hallway until I hear his bedroom door close with a soft click.

I don't know what just happened, and I have no way to describe it.

My tears have long since dried, and for some very strange reason, I find I have the urge to smile.

* * *

_Slowly but surely... She didn't even panic when Edward saw her. Also, did you notice how I made almost a week pass in one chapter? And she saw Jasper and Alice together. I think slices of reality like these will help Bella a lot in the end. _

_Leave me some love, reviews encourage me to write :)_

_Torn has made it to the second round of the Avant Garde Awards for Best Esme. I am over the moon and deeply grateful for those that nominated and voted. You can vote for the second round soon: avantgardeawards com._


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N Twilight isn't mine. **

_Thank you SO much for all the reviews - you moved me to tears. Thanks to Sherryola for her help on this chapter, which has been a struggle to no end to write. Thanks to Deb too, who in the end didn't lock me up to write but fed me wine and then more wine instead. She also gave me a hardcover edition of the story I wrote for her, so I now have my own book. Switzerland, in short, was fab :)  
_

_Sorry for the late update. Real Life... Unfortunately you can't turn it off when you're fed up with it. I hope you will like this chapter. Enjoy!_

* * *

I sit in my rocking chair for hours before I finally feel I am able to go to bed. Just swaying gently, huddled under Renée's quilt and looking into the darkness. I feel strangely neutral, and it takes me a long while to realize that I am actually relaxing. Slowly but gradually, as if consciously, I feel my tense muscles uncoil, until I am leaning drowsily against the back of the chair, my head lolling a bit with heavy exhaustion.

Edward saw me cry. I didn't care at the moment, and even now the expected mortification stays away. He didn't ignore me, didn't walk away in disgust. He didn't curse at me or lash out in any other way. It was as if he felt I was really confused and just unable to keep my cool for a moment.

He didn't judge.

Instead, he made me tea. With the kettle on the stove. Then I remember an earlier nightly meeting we had in that same kitchen. He didn't even know how to ignite the pit then. And last week on the porch, he said 'I boiled water and everything.' Then how did he make tea beforehand?

Oh my, did he nuke his water in the microwave?

I shudder involuntary at the thought. But now, he made me tea, twice. And he boiled water and everything. For me.

Breathing in and out deeply, I decide not even to try to make sense of it all. I don't know why he would be nice to me like this. There must be some sort of catch.

Honestly, there's no such thing as altruism.

When I can't keep my eyes open anymore, I set the alarm on my phone and get ready for bed. It still feels almost unnatural to wear satin pajamas and slide in between cool sheets, knowing there's a good chance I will be able to sleep undisturbed.

It's unbelievable.

Sleep washes over me like a thick blanket and for the first time in a very long time, I sleep deeply, without dreams.

The next day starts as usual, but different. I sit up in bed and listen to the household getting ready for the day, as I often do. But this time I am rubbing my face, feeling disoriented and groggy with the heavy remnants of sleep that won't seem to leave my body, my head. I feel fuzzy, and strangely alive.

It has been ages since I had such a good night of sleep. Usually I am more alert and wake up several times during the night. But last night, I didn't. I don't think I even dreamed.

I step out of bed and stretch languorously before I shuffle into the bathroom to get ready for my day.

Not even the tight anxiety over the upcoming meeting with the principal that looms can pull me from this fuzzy state of mind.

Arriving in the kitchen, hot coffee and a newspaper await me, as usual. I fix myself some cereal and sit down at the table, eating and reading, and feeling strangely relaxed.

I don't even startle that much when Esme steps into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Bella," she smiles. "How are you this morning?"

I give a slight smile and a nod to let her know I'm okay, and then point at her with the hand that holds my spoon still.

"I'm good, thank you. Did you sleep well? You look tired."

I smile to myself, not sure if it shows on the outside or not. Of course I look tired. My eyes still feel tiny and my body still feels like it's half asleep. But contrary to what Esme thinks, I slept very well.

And this makes me feel so content I look up at Esme and smile at her with my half-closed eyes, a dreamy look certainly still on my face.

"Oh," Esme says, breathing out a laugh as she speaks, "I take it you slept very well?"

I nod at her now, and Esme smiles. "It's such a wonderful feeling to wake up after a really good night of sleep. I'm glad you slept well. Let me put some laundry in the dryer while you finish breakfast, and then perhaps we can talk a bit about the meeting with the principal?"

I nod in confirmation, although I'm not sure what Esme would want to discuss.

I finish my breakfast and rinse out my bowl before I put it in the dishwasher. Then I pour two mugs of coffee and wait for Esme to return so we can talk.

She returns shortly after and looks pleasantly surprised when she sees the steaming coffee waiting for her. "Thank you, that's sweet of you."

She produces a notepad and pen from a kitchen drawer, which I follow warily with my eyes as she walks to the table and sits down with me.

I pull my sleeves over my hands and wrap them around my mug as I wait for Esme to start talking. This conversation can go into a thousand directions and about 999 of them are bad, so I will myself to sit still and listen.

"You're tense," she observes. "Take a deep breath."

I do as I'm told and as always I'm surprised that it actually helps to calm me down somewhat.

"Do you want to tell me what you are nervous about?"

My gaze fixed at my coffee, I shake my head in tiny movements.

_Please don't make me say it. Please don't get mad because I am tense. _

Stefan would get so angry when he noticed I was more tense than usual. It would irk the shit out of him. Which he would act out on me, of course.

"Are you nervous about going to school?"

Not exactly, no. I'm nervous about the new people.

"Talk to me Bella, please. I'm on your side in this. I want to help you, but you have to let me."

Sighing in annoyance, I pull the notepad towards me and write three words.

_First day jitters._

Esme smiles, but it's a half-hearted one. "I think you are more than a little bit nervous about your first day. But that's okay. That's why we are doing it this way. Now, please try to tell me if there is anything you want to say?"

Chewing my lip, I try to think of a way to tell Esme I don't want attention. I just want to move under the radar and follow my lessons. Studying, in itself, to me is pure bliss. As such I really want to go to school. Six hours a day of gathering knowledge, and having a sense of purpose in doing my homework. Six hours a day of being away from the house, of minding my own business. Six hours of relaxation.

After the novelty wears off, that is. I doubt that starting school here will be easy in terms of attention.

After long moments of thinking I manage to write something down for Esme. I guess it's nice of her to go talk with the principal before I start, but I have to be clear about this.

_I'm not a special case._

Esme looks at the paper and I swear I can see a disagreeing look flit over her face before she composes herself.

"Do you mean you don't want any special attention?" she asks neutrally.

I nod.

"Considering you don't speak, I'm not sure how this will work," Esme says softly, honestly.

I reach for the paper again, touched by her concern but annoyed all the same.

_Managed fine in Phoenix._

"That you did," she agrees. "But it mustn't have been easy for you to start there, right? Or did you start class at the beginning of a semester?"

I shake my head. I started school in Phoenix in the middle of the semester. I can barely remember how that went. Plus, it was a big school, with crowded classrooms and overworked teachers. Within a week, they learned to ignore me and they certainly couldn't complain about my grades.

"Bella, please. You may find it hard to accept, but I am worried for you. I understand you want to go to school, but I also want you to be at ease there."

She waits a moment, probably to see if I understood her words.

"What will you do if you get a panic attack?"

My eyes fly up to hers and I can see the worry etched on her face. Why would she care if I panicked at school or not? Would it embarrass her if that happened?

I shrug, a bit upset by that evil thought, not knowing how to answer her question.

Besides, _if_ I get a panic attack at school, I'll just slip into an empty classroom to sit it out. It really is that simple.

Esme sighs softly, not in an exasperated manner but more as if she doesn't know what to say anymore.

"I don't want to push you, Bella. I'm really just trying to think along with you."

This time, I write.

_I'll be fine. I just don't want attention._

"If you say so. I think the attention bit can be hard though in the beginning. Students and teachers alike will be curious."

I nod. I know. I'll get over it.

"Please know that you can come to me anytime Bella, if you have any questions or if you change your mind."

I nod, but I know Esme knows full well I'm not planning on asking anything.

"Do you understand why I want you to meet the principal first?"

I nod slowly. In my view, it's more for Esme than for me, but alas, she seems insistent so I'll tag along. It's better to be cooperative. It always is.

"Very well. Let's go then. Perhaps we can arrange that you won't have to introduce yourself in front of the class," Esme says by way of joke, but then she sees my hopeful face and smiles.

"I'll tell him. Any other things?"

I shake my head, biting my lip again. I still have one big sorrow but I don't know how to voice it. I'll deal with it when it comes, I guess.

Esme leads me to her Ford in the garage and I look out the window as we drive, still amazed at how _green_ everything looks around here. I try to keep my worries at bay and take on a distant demeanor, knowing full well that if I panic today, Esme will never let me go to school.

"Just so you know," Esme interrupts my thinking as we pull up in the parking lot of the school, "I won't blame you or think badly of you if you decide after today that you don't want this. It's okay if you're not ready. Just let me know and we'll arrange home schooling, or you can just relax for a while longer. No consequences, okay Bella?"

I nod at her words, but I find them hard to believe.

Esme nods back at me, her eyes looking searchingly into mine as ever, and exits the car. "Let's go."

I'm nervous, and try to swalow some tension away.

The lot is as good as deserted and considering the hour I'm guessing a new period has just started. Esme guides me inside the main building of the school, walking purposefully through the empty hallways.

I follow her, looking around and taking in my surroundings. It's just like any other school, except perhaps smaller. The same type of dusty floors, blank walls, dull light. Nothing special.

We stop at the administration office and Esme walks in without knocking, holding the door open for me.

"Mrs. Cullen," the woman behind the desk greets her. She's middle aged with a round face and looks up over her half-moon glasses. "You are here for your eleven o'clock appointment?"

"Yes," Esme nods.

"The principal will be ready momentarily. Take a seat."

Esme steps back from the counter, then turns to me. "All well?"

I nod, although I must say I'm more tense than I'd like.

"You sure?"

I do a double take at Esme and a smile twitches at the corner of my mouth. She's very right, of course.

Esme smiles in return. "Remember, you're the one in charge here. If at any moment in time you decide you don't want this, just let me know."

I nod at her. I really hope I will be able to pull this off. I don't like to have to give up on things and it would be nasty if it turned out I couldn't handle it, when I have asked for this myself.

No. I can do this. I will have to.

Just as I finish that thought, the receptionist looks up at us. "Mr. Greene will see you now," she says kindly.

Esme nods, smiling, and turns to me. "Are you ready?"

No.

Let's do this.

She opens the door for me and lets me walk into the principal's office first. Mr. Greene stands as we enter, tugging on his ill-fitting jacket. He's middle-aged, balding. I shy away from him instantly, hesitating just past the doorway and waiting for Esme to come into the room with us.

"Mr. Greene, how nice of you that you would receive us," she says, walking forward, hand outstretched in greeting.

I believe I get to see some true Cullen charm in action here.

Mr. Greene extents his hand in return and Esme shakes it briefly. Then the principal reaches out his hand to me, but I'm still against the back wall and as I don't come closer, his hand hangs suspended in mid-air for a moment until he frowns, clears his throat, tugs on his jacket again, and gestures to the two chairs in front of his desk.

"Have a seat."

Esme dons her coat and sits, then turns in her chair. "Come, Bella. Come join us."

Her look is almost pleading and I know that if I want to be able to try school, I will have to go and sit down in that chair and face this meeting.

But oh Lord, I don't like that man. Don't ask me why, I just don't like him.

Ick.

Ugh.

Clenching my jaws, I undo the buttons on my coat and sit down next to Esme. I want hide my tension but I know it must be rolling off me in waves. It's like everything depends on this meeting. Esme has told me repeatedly that she won't mind if I decide to not go through with this, but I'm not so sure about that and that's apart still from the fact of how disappointed _I_ would be in myself if I wasn't strong enough to pull this through.

I hope Esme will be nice and not try to warn the principal against having me as his student.

"So," Mr. Greene says, "you must be Isabella?"

I wince at the sound of my full name — I can't help it. Esme notices, and comes to my aid.

"She prefers Bella."

"Bella," Mr. Greene repeats. "Very well, Bella. And you want to go to school here?"

He looks at me now, his expression blank, uninterested.

I look at Esme quickly, taking in her encouraging smile, and then nod.

Mr. Greene sighs. "But she doesn't speak." His words are directed at Esme now.

"She doesn't," she says calmly. "But she communicates quite effectively."

Mr. Greene's eyes flick over to me before he looks at Esme again. "Really?" It doesn't even sound like a question.

"Really," she repeats, undisturbed. "She went to school in Phoenix and that went perfectly well, as you can see in her school file. Bella doesn't need any special care," she continues when she looks at me, and I realize she refers to my note from earlier.

"All there is to it, as that she likes to be left alone. You just need to take into consideration that she doesn't speak and I can assure you that this does not have to pose any problem."

"Mrs. Cullen, I have a hard time believing that. How do you know her muteness not plain stubbornness?" He's unimpressed and I think he does what I've encountered often before —by trying to irk me indirectly he wants to get me to say something.

"It's not."

How Esme keeps her patience, I'll never know. Then again, I've wondered about that before, haven't I?

Mr. Greene exhales slowly, hiding his annoyance behind a professional mask. "What do you expect of me?"

As Esme begins talking, I take a moment to look around the office. It's a standard office, filled with mementos from the man's personal life. He's a grandfather. Pictures of his grandkids stand proudly on his desk.

Esme speaks as Mr. Greene asks some questions. I listen as I look at my hands, carefully keeping my emotions numb.

"It's really not much, Mr. Greene. Bella is very bright, you've seen her grades from her school in Phoenix. She just wants to be able to follow lessons."

"What makes you think we can offer Bella all she needs?"

For once, Esme is taken aback. "Needs?"

"Yes, needs. My teachers won't have time to pay extra attention to her, to treat her differently."

"But she doesn't _want_ to be treated differently," Esme says calmly. She seems very convinced of her point.

"Then you tell me how you think she will participate in a class without speaking. I'm sorry Mrs. Cullen, but I'm afraid we won't be able to accommodate Bella here."

"She participates in our family just fine," Esme says. "Mr. Greene, I don't think I understand you. We talked about this on the phone and then you were willing to cooperate."

"Yes, Mrs. Cullen, but that was before I knew the scope of her needs. Surely, a girl this traumatized would be better off when home schooled?"

There it is again. Traumatized. I can't make any sense of that concept.

Mr. Greene continues talking. "Or perhaps a more specialized school? I really do feel that her not talking can become a problem."

"I can assure you it won't," Esme says. "Her not speaking has never been a problem ever since she arrived with us. Bella has asked repeatedly to go to school, and I really do believe it would do her good to do so. She loves to study, it's what makes her happy. She can take care of herself. Besides, there are five children in this school who know her too and who can help her should that be needed."

She's referring to her other kids. Would they really help me? Best not expect too much of that.

Mr. Greene hesitates. Esme pounces.

"Why don't you ask Bella what she wants?"

The principal blinks, then looks at me. "Do you really want to go to school here?"

I nod, uneasy under his scrutinizing gaze.

"And you think you can manage it? Because we don't have time to run after you and assist you."

I shake my head as he talks, hoping to make clear this is not the case. The only thing I want is that teachers won't let me answer questions in class. But surely, back in Phoenix it all worked out just fine. I really don't understand why this meeting is needed.

I look at Esme, frowning, trying to see if she happens to hold a notepad in her lap. I wouldn't put it past her anymore.

Interpreting my searching look right, Esme opens her purse quickly and starts to rummage through it.

If I wasn't so wired up I'd smile.

Esme hands me the notepad and pen and I write, trying to ignore the two sets of eyes on me.

_I want this. I won't be any trouble. I don't need anything special._

With a shuddering breath, I give the notepad to Esme, who reads it and gives it to the principal.

The man reads it, then looks at me with a surprised look on his face.

What, did he think I couldn't write?

"See?" Esme says. "Bella can communicate excellently."

"So it seems. So you just write things down when you want to say anything?"

I nod.

"And this works for you?"

I nod again.

"So you will cooperate in communication when asked to?"

I nod. No need to tell him I only answer questions that are worth answering.

"And my teachers won't have to learn to read sign language?"

For a moment I'm appalled at his question, but then I see the tiny sparkle in his eyes.

I shake my head, with conviction this time, confused at his change in demeanor.

This is why I never understand people. Their moods shift like leaves on a tree in the wind.

"Very well," Mr. Greene exhales, and Esme looks at me with a victorious smile on his face.

For the next hour, we talk about school schedule, school rules, code of conduct. Mr. Greene keeps asking what I need, how teachers should approach me. Esme keeps repeating that I'll do fine in written tests, and that teachers should not ask me questions in class.

The principal is worried. He's not saying it out loud, but I know he thinks I'll be trouble.

They talk some more. Mr. Greene rarely addresses me and refers to me as 'she.' As she has her books already, she should be able to start next Monday, should she want to.

She wants to.

Outside of the office, lunch hour starts. I try not to cringe when I hear the crowds in the hallway, but I don't think Esme misses it. The woman notices _everything_.

We talk about aggression. Esme makes a point of telling Mr. Greene I am not violent in any way. I think she's purposefully not mentioning the glass incident. But I'm not really violent. I'm too chicken shit to really fight back.

The talk moves on from future ambitions (Esme doesn't know them and I claim to have none yet) to subjects, and Mr. Greene buzzes his secretary and asks for a print of my timetable. The woman comes bustling into the office shortly after, all business, as she hands me a sheet of paper.

Esme looks along as I hold the paper up so we can both see it.

I already know my subjects, of course. English, Government, Trig, Spanish, Biology and Gym.

_Gym_.

Holy sweet Jesus fuck. I knew this would happen, but to see the word on the timetable makes my throat constrict.

Not now, Bella. Not now. Deal with it when it comes.

Around me, the meeting draws to a close. The atmosphere in the room shifts and as Mr. Greene clears his throat, Esme turns to me. "Do you have any questions?"

I shake my head. I'll be fine, once the novelty wears off. I'm more afraid about the other students than about the teachers, really. Mr. Greene has promised to notify all the teachers of the fact I don't speak, so that might be a nice head start. It will be less weird if they find out while I am already in their class.

That happened in Phoenix. It wasn't pretty.

In the school, the bell rings. Lunch hour has ended.

"All right. Listen, Bella, I need to discuss some other things with your foster mother," the principal says. "Here's a thought. Why don't you go to a class in the meantime? I'll give you a note for the teacher."

This is a test.

Apart from the alarm I feel, not knowing what they are going to discuss about me, I realize this is a test. Mr. Greene doesn't think I can handle this.

By sending me to class unexpectedly, he's either trying to get me to opt out, or seeing if I can suck it up and go through. And he thinks I will refuse. Or make some scene that will vouch him refusing me at his school.

He's so very wrong. I'm pretty sure I will be able to manage one period. I could assess the other students, see how the teacher is. If it's bad, it will be over soon. If it's good, it will be easier next Monday.

I'm worried about what Esme and the principal will discuss. Why does he want me gone?

I wouldn't know how to ask that. So, I nod and we all stand.

Mr. Greene hands me the note, but I can't accept it from him. I completely block, unsure how to fix this. Esme doesn't blink twice as she accepts the note from the principal and hands it over to me. The principal narrows his eyes, not speaking but very much willing to, I think.

Esme follows me as I walk to the door. I'm so, so hot in my winter coat, but I still don't dare to take it off.

The woman behind the desk looks up as I exit the office, smiling briefly before she looks back at her ancient computer screen again.

"Mrs. Cope?" Mr. Greene asks from inside his office, "would you please guide Bella to her class?"

Mrs. Cope appears from behind her desk, apparently unphazed by this sudden turn of events, and looks at me, smiling. "Bella, right? Come, let's go. Did I remember right you have Biology now?"

Her voice is warm and I'm immediately more at ease around her than I was around the principal.

Mrs. Cope introduces herself, then guides me out of the office. I halt in the doorway and turn to Esme, unsure.

"Go," she smiles. "Come meet me in the parking lot after?"

Her eyes are so kind and a warm feeling washes over me. All this trouble, and just for me. I hope she won't tell the principle about my past, but then again she told me she wouldn't do that.

Perhaps she will talk about her other children with him. It's not that far-fetched. And, not everything is about me. I do realize that.

I follow Mrs. Cope through the empty hallways. She chats away while she shows me around on the go.

"Don't worry dear, I think you'll be just fine here. I saw your grades of course when I was processing your file from your previous school, and you can be proud of yourself! If you ever have any questions, just come and find me, okay?"

We arrive at the classroom and she halts outside the door. "Can you do it alone from here?"

I swallow thickly and nod.

I can do this, I will have to.

Mrs. Cope beams at me and then, mercifully, she turns and leaves. Her heels tap curtly on the linoleum floor. I wait until she rounds a corner, then take a deep breath and mentally take a step back into the retreat of my mind.

What chance do I have that there is a Cullen in this class? Do I want a Cullen to be here? Or don't I?

Not that I have any say in it, now do I?

I scramble to remember who else does Biology in the house, but my mind is completely blank. No use trying to get myself to thinking about such things right now.

Steeling my resolve, I knock on the door once before I open it.

Twenty sets of eyes fly to me. It takes everything I have to not step back and run for dear life. Instead, I retreat further into my mind and look around the classroom quickly. High lab tables, three rows wide, seven rows deep. Windows all along the far side of the room.

My eyes fall on the teacher and he takes me in. "Can I help you?"

I swallow thickly once more. My throat is suddenly very dry. Clenching my free hand into a fist, nails digging into my skin, the pain a comfortable anchor to reality, I step inside the classroom and walk towards the teacher, who is sitting behind his desk.

Placing the note before him, I step back and wait while he reads. The memo contains a basic introduction; new student, my name, my lack of voice. No books for now.

The teacher is obviously beyond confused and I mentally curse Mr. Greene for doing this to me. Of course this is the real test. Does the man not realize he's testing his own teacher, too? Or was he just trying to find out just how mute I actually am?

"Bella, right?"

I nod, once.

"Very well," he says. "Welcome to my class. I'm Mr. Banner. There are two empty seats left, so take a pick."

He doesn't mention my muteness. He doesn't ask if I don't speak. He doesn't ask me to introduce myself in front of the class. He's either very considerate or he simply didn't read the note carefully.

In any case, he doesn't make me speak and doesn't seem to mind my silence.

But I need to find a seat. I've been holding up this class long enough already. Turning in the deafening silence, I try to ignore the eyes on me as I look over the tables.

The first empty place I spot is next to a guy with blue eyes and blond hair. He's curious, but the look on his face makes me shudder. I know that look. It's an appreciative look.

When I meet his gaze, I have the feeling he knows who I am, but how would he know?

Swallowing, I push my vision through the white noise of my half-closed mind, towards the back of the class.

And there sits Edward.

Alone at a table, he's next to the second free spot.

So, there is a Cullen in this class.

As I meet his gaze, he simply, calmly, slides his books to his side of the table. The slight nod of his head is almost imperceptible, but I see it.

He's inviting me.

When I take a hesitating step forward, he smiles, his eyes crinkling and one corner of his mouth turning upwards. It's a real smile.

He doesn't mind if I join him.

He's clearly not different around me after my breakdown last night.

Looking at the creepy blond guy in the front once again, I make up my mind.

I walk to the back of the class and slide on the stool next to Edward.

I'm tense, barely breathing and close to hyperventilating. Mr. Banner resumes his lesson like nothing has happened. At least ten sets of eyes are still on me though, having followed me on my trip towards the back of the class.

After a few endless minutes, Mr. Banner finally calls for attention and several heads whip forward again. The blond guy is last to turn.

I don't like him. Not at all.

Exhaling, I struggle to process it all, wringing my hands underneath the table.

Then, finally, I glance to my right, just as Edward turns to look at me.

"Hi," he whispers, and his smile is as wide as I've ever seen it.

Surprised by his kind look I blink, stunned.

He chuckles soundlessly. "What, can't I say hi?"

I shake my head, then nod, then frown, as I don't know how to explain that of course he can say hi.

He laughs at that, making sound this time, and of course some people turn to see what is happening. Mr. Banner glances over at us but doesn't stop talking. I hunch in my seat and look down at the table until all faces are looking forward again.

Edward rearranges his books so I can see what bit of theory Mr. Banner is talking about. I've already done this back in Phoenix, I realize.

"You good?" Edward then asks.

I nod slowly, looking at him from the corner of my eye.

"Good," he says.

He's so relaxed, and again he strikes me as disarming. A month ago he scared me out of my wits but we've come so far since then. He's never been nasty with me. He doesn't act differently around me while obviously he knows much more about me than I originally thought.

He carried me.

I remember hearing his heartbeat.

I made me tea when I was a bawling mess.

I shake my head a little to rid myself of all these memories. There are more important things to focus on. Being in a classroom full of people, for instance.

Yes, Biology. I try my best to listen to the teacher as he talks about the lab we shall do this lesson.

As if on a cue I must have missed, from every table one student gets up to get a microscope from the closet in the back of the room.

I look up for a short moment, wide eyed in shock, then focus on the table top again.

Please don't notice me. Please don't talk to me. Please.

"Be right back," Edward announces, and then he's up too, walking to the back of the class.

I remain sitting, my gaze locked on the table, trying to ignore the rumor around me. People are looking, lingering around the table, I can feel their eyes on me. Of course they would be curious. I clench my teeth and try to swallow some tension away.

"All right," Edward says as he plants the microscope on the table.

My eyes go wide as I take it in. It's as old as time.

Edward sees my gaze and chuckles. "Guess they had better equipment in Phoenix?"

Mr. Banner walks around the class with a tray and places specimens and a form on every table. When he reaches us, he smiles gently at me.

"Just try to see what you can do, okay? I'm sure Edward here will help you out."

"Will do, Mr. Banner," Edward replies.

When I look at Edward, I can see him smiling.

As Mr. Banner leaves, Edward's smile turns into a smirk.

"What was on that note?" he asks, incredulous.

Following his train of though easily, I can't help my own smile and shake my head. Edward slides a piece of paper towards me and a pen, a hopeful look on his face.

With shaking hands, realizing full well this is the first time I am ever communicating with him in this way, I take the pen and write exactly what was on the note:

_Bella Swan. New student. Doesn't speak. No books for now. Memo follows._

Edward reads and scratches his head. "Jesus. _You_ use more words when you communicate."

I breathe out a laugh at his comment and his face lights up as he smiles in return.

"Let's get this lab going. Do you know what we're supposed to do?"

I nod. I think I've done this lab before, in Phoenix.

"Good. Ehm, ladies first?"

Edward slides the prepared microscope towards me and watches as I adjust the lens. Without much effort, I identify the contents of the slide.

Reaching for the form, I write down: 'anaphase.'

"Mind if I look?" Edward asks, and I shake my head. He pulls the microscope towards him and looks briefly before he nods.

"Anaphase."

In my mind, I laugh out loud. He knows his stuff too. When I see him smirk at me from the corner of his eye, I am pretty sure he is thinking the same.

"How are things working out here?" Mr. Banner asks as he approaches our desk.

"Good," Edward replies.

I realize now Edward has not in any way made clear that he knows me. Why not? Would he be too embarassed to do so? Then again, why would he invite me to sit next to him? Does he want me to acknowledge him, or does he expect me to act as if I don't know him?

These thoughts flit through me in less than a second, and the teacher's voice continues, unaware of my thoughts, interrupting them.

"Very well. Bella, mind if I ask you some questions?"

I shake my head, but I can feel the muscles in my back tense up. Still, the man has an easy demeanor. He's pretty young, and he doesn't come across as your stereotypical teacher. I like him better than the principal, that's for sure.

"Forgive me for asking, but the note said that you don't speak?"

I nod. I expected this question to come first.

"How do you communicate? Sign language?"

I shake my head, hoping he'll realize soon that yes or no questions will work fine.

Beside me, Edward changes the glass under the microscope, but I can tell he's listening in.

"You just nod or shake your head?"

I nod again, glad he seems to be catching on.

"Very well. Ehm, are you getting along with your lab partner here?"

Edward finally speaks. "Mr. Banner, I know Bella. She lives with my family as a foster child. She's been with us for about a month now."

Oh, so he _does_ acknowledge me. Why this is such a relief to me, I can't really grasp.

Mr. Banner's face lights up in understanding. Around him, I can see how most students have stopped working on their lab assignment and are looking at us now.

"No wonder you seem to work together so comfortably. Such luck for you Bella, to have Edward here to assist you in class. He's one of my brightest students."

"I'm pretty sure she outdoes me," Edward mumbles, and my head whips around to look at him.

Did he really just say that?

Mr. Banner seems to have heard, because he laughs. "Afraid of a little competition, Edward?"

Edward chuckles and slides the microscope towards me again. "Not at all. At least I finally got someone to help me explain Trig to Alice."

Their easy conversation baffles me, and if I'm not mistaken this is the second time in under a minute that Edward paid me a compliment.

I'd almost think if he was up to something by being so nice about me.

Mr. Banner throws his head back to laugh. Apparently Alice's struggles with Trig are well known in this school.

More eyes on us, now. I frown and jerk my head involuntarily, suppressing the urge to either run or shut down. Instead, I scrape all my strength together and look into the newly prepared microscope, my nerves exploding as I focus on the lens and leave myself unguarded for a moment.

Glancing at the form I see that Edward is still holding his pen. I hold up two fingers and Edward writes down the right term on the form. He doesn't ask to check on my answer, this time.

It's the easiness of this exchange that nearly undoes me. It's unsettling, to say the least.

But Mr. Banner smiles widely. "So that's how you communicate. Listen, Bella, I need to pay my other students some attention too, but just to be sure, you'll be in my class from now on?"

I nod, deciding in that moment that yes, I will do everything I can to be able to go to school here. Already it feels incredible to be in a school bench again, looks and whispers be damned.

"Very well. First of all, welcome, of course, and second, let's try to meet up after your classes sometime next week, so I can work out with you where you were in your classes at your old school, and perhaps get to know you better, find a way to communicate?"

I blink, then find myself able to nod. Every hair follicle on my body rises in high alarm and I can feel the blood draining away from my face.

Mr. Banner nods, smiling, and turns away to tend to his other students.

He wants to see me after class.

My breathing becomes shallow and I grip the table edge, feeling my knuckles whiting and the muscles in my hand protest. Deep down, I know there's no reason to panic. Rationally, I know he really just wants to talk with me.

But my traitor mind spits venom in my ears, wondering what will happen next week when Mr. Banner has me alone.

"Are you all right?"

Edward's voice is soft, worried.

I can't say yes, and I can't say no. Instead, I try to prevent my breathing to turn into hyperventilation. I can practically hear Edward thinking beside me.

"Um, Bella? Don't panic. Nothing happened, right?"

I actually manage to make myself nod, but my muscles are stiff with exertion.

"Oh shit, don't panic, Bella. I really wish I could put an arm around your shoulders right now. Honestly, there's nothing to worry about. What would you worry about?"

Still breathing erratically, I turn my head to look at him with wide, pleading eyes. _Please don't ask_.

Not understanding me, a hand goes to his hair, grasping it. "I don't know what to do," he says softly, honestly.

Around us, the students are still focused on their lab. My ragged breathing is covered by the noise in the class.

"Is there anything I _can_ do?"

I shake my head. This is my own battle. I just need to get my breathing under control.

Oh Jesus Christ, I hope he won't call for Mr. Banner or anything.

It takes me a few long minutes, but finally I calm down again a bit.

Shaking with exhaustion, I struggle to get my breathing under control again.

"Better?" Edward asks softly. He's finished the lab while I was too busy panicking.

Shit, I should have done my part. Now I'm obliged.

But I nod, to answer his question.

"Okay. Well done, by the way. Must have been a battle to calm down like you did."

Yeah well, it would be better if I didn't panic in the first place, no?

I sigh and frown, upset with myself.

"Hey, just so you know, I didn't call out to you when you stepped into class because I didn't want to startle you. But when Mr. Banner came, I really thought he should know you live with us. I hope you don't mind?"

I look up at him and shake my head. Of course not. Did he really not say anything because he though _I_ would mind? That's the world upside down, isn't it.

"Anyway, ehm, I finished the lab."

I want to make clear I'm sorry, but he shrugs it off. "Don't worry. Next time, you can help me out."

He smiles gently, and I feel the tight ball of nerves in my stomach uncoil a little again.

Just then Mr. Banner announces the end of class, and I can finally exhale fully. Around me, students get up like they're bitten and hand in their forms at the teacher's desk as others clear away the microscopes. During the commotion, the bell rings and the first students walk out the door immediately.

Edward remains seated beside me and calmly waits for me to get my breathing under control once more.

"You okay?" he asks.

I nod slowly, realizing the class is empty but for the two of us and Mr. Banner, who is sorting the handed in forms into a stash. He's not looking at us, but I know he's paying attention.

"I have to go to Spanish, but I can skip if you want me to stay with you," Edward says softly.

The worry and concern in his voice are palpable and they touch something deep inside me.

I shake my head though. I don't want him to miss classes because of me. It wouldn't be the first time, even. I don't want that on my conscience. What would Esme think, or do, if she found out?

"Are you sure?"

I nod, my heart still hammering but my breathing at least somewhat calm again.

"Okay. I'll hand in the lab results. He won't know I did most of it. Are you going to your next class now?"

I shake my head, and the relief of Edward telling me he won't tell the teacher of my lack of work does not go unnoticed by me.

I have to ask him while he's still willing to stand up for me. It's incredibly dangerous to ask for favors, I know, and I will perhaps pay for it for a long time, but this is so important to me that I have to try.

Underneath the note I wrote Edward earlier, I write something else.

_Please don't tell Esme__ I panicked._

Edward reads and his brows furrow in confusion. "You don't want mom to know you almost panicked?"

I nod, hoping he will understand, thinking furiously of ways in which I can repay him.

"All right," he says, still unsure. "I don't think it's that big of a deal. But I do think you should tell her, though."

Ah, let that be my own decision to make.

"Edward, Bella, I think it's time for you to go to your next class," Mr. Banner says softly.

Nodding, Edward gathers his books and I slide off the stool, only now noticing I never took off my coat. My back is slick with sweat after what happened, and it doesn't feel very comfortable.

Edward goes to hand in the form as I pick up the microscope to put it back in the closet in the back of the class. I can hear him speaking softly with Mr. Banner, but can't make out the words as I'm half hidden behind the closet door.

"Oh, thanks," he says when I emerge from the closet again. "So are you going home now?"

I nod.

"Mom picking you up?"

Yeah.

"Okay. Do you think you can find the exit from here?"

I nod again. There are signs everywhere in this tiny, tiny school. There's very little chance I will get lost.

Edward smiles down at me, but his eyes are sad. "Come on then," he says and he holds out his arm in an inviting gestures as he turns towards the door.

I walk after him, out of the room. Edward walks with me until the first corner in the hallway.

"You good now?"

I nod. I didn't want to panic. I hope I didn't annoy him with it. Oh crap, why do I only realize this now?

"Okay. Shit, I really have to go. Talk to you later? You're home tonight, right?"

I nod, confused by his question. I mean, where would I go?

"All right. See you later, bye!" He rounds the corner and leaves me standing in the deserted hallway, utterly blown away by his easy kindness.

I am _so_ confused.

* * *

_Edward... Biology... I _had_ to do it. Tell me what you think?_


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N I don't own Twilight**_  
_

_Hello all. You continue to stun me with your lovely reviews. I cannot thank you enough. Thanks to Sherry for helping with those nasty mistakes. Thanks also to Sherry, and Deb, for being there for me. You are my rocks._

_Torn did not win an Avant Garde Award. Still thanks to those that voted! Torn is nominated for a Shimmer Award - Best Tragedy. Go vote for me or your other favorites at http:/ shimmerawards . blogspot . com!  
_

_Bella is a bit all over the place in this chapter. I do realize. Her old thought patterns no longer hold and she's trying to make sense of the world around her now. _

* * *

Esme greets me with a big smile when I approach the car in the parking lot. She leans over to open the door for me and I slip into the back seat, pulling the door shut.

"Hi," she beams over her shoulder. "How did it go?"

I look at her, at the expectant look on her face, and I nod with a small smile, to let her know it was okay.

Of course she doesn't buy it.

"Are you sure?"

I nod again, but somehow a lump catches in my throat and I have to swallow.

"Let's talk about this later," she smiles reassuringly as she starts the car and drives us home.

I'm chewing my lip, frowning, thinking. Somehow, Edward got stuck in my head and now he won't get out again. Why is he so nice to me? What does he expect, what's in it for him? What does he want from me?

My breath catches and my heart skips a beat before it starts crashing out of my chest.

Oh, God, what does he want from me?

There's no such thing as altruism.

I can feel my frown deepen as I turn away from Esme, making as if I'm looking out of the window but in reality hiding my face from her gaze through the rearview mirror.

I have to fix this. Even though the notion of Edward being like Laurent or Stefan sounds surreal to me, I have to fix this. Work it out, confront him. He has been _so_ nice to me and I can't deny that I have been basking in it. But if he expects something in return, I better find out soon.

I barely register what I'm seeing but it seems as if fall has started overnight. Would be logical too, since it's the end of October.

Esme stays quiet until we arrive home. Then she announces she'll make tea so we can talk about the day. I have to focus. I will have to deal with Edward later. I want to go to school and as such I cannot fuck this tiny evaluation up.

I slip into the downstairs bathroom to splash some water in my face and to try and ease the sickening nerves that have settled in my stomach.

Focus, Bella!

I walk back to the kitchen, to find it empty.

"In here," Esme calls and I go to the living room. She is sitting on the couch, two mugs of tea and a plate with some cookies on the coffee table.

"Have a seat," she says gently.

I do as I'm told and sit down in the winged chair I've used so often here now.

"So, how was it? Really?"

I nod to let her know it was good. She doesn't need to know about the near panic attack. It's bound to happen more often and I can deal with them. Honestly, I'm used to take care of myself.

"Something is bothering you," Esme then states. It's not even a question.

I frown and chew on my lower lip again. She's too damn observant. A sigh escapes me before I can stop myself.

"Is it something that happened in school?"

I shake my head, impatient.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head again. Please let it rest, Esme. I need to figure this out myself.

"Very well," she concedes after a moment of silence. "Let's talk about school then. I wanted you to know that I felt I needed to tell Mr. Greene some more about you."

I sit a bit straighter, immediately on guard.

"Don't be alarmed. The only things I told him were that you don't like to be touched and that you suffer from panic attacks."

I look at Esme, disbelieving. How dare she tell these things about me.

"No," Esme says firmly. "Let me explain. I know you don't like this Bella, but you have to understand that at least the teachers need to know how you react to being touched, and what they need to do when you have a panic attack."

I almost stand up to find a notepad and tell her the truth. Almost. Instead, I can feel the angry set on my face, eyes wide, lips pressed into a tight line, body rigid. I can't believe this.

"I did this because I care about you, Bella. I told Mr. Greene that he will probably never need the information, but I thought he needed to know. I don't want you to be startled because somebody oversteps your boundaries, unknowing."

I'm too angry to really hear her words. She told me she would not talk about me with Mr. Greene after I had left.

"I told the principal that the school can call me if anything happens. Please listen to me Bella. I understand you are upset and maybe I should have discussed this with you beforehand. But I would have spoken to the principal about this anyway and I didn't want to do it with you present, because I knew how uneasy it would make you feel."

I just glare at her. Deep down, I am amazed I even dare to do so. Must mean something, but right now I don't give a rat's ass.

Did she really think it would be any _less_ uneasy for me to hear about this _after _it happened?

I stand up, no longer caring that I'm unreasonably angry. All the stress of the day is wearing out on me and I have too much to think about, too much to work out and too much to arrange in my mind before I can even start school next Monday.

Esme looks at me, but she doesn't tell me to sit down. "Please think about my words. We want to do what's best for you, and that will sometimes behold things you don't agree with."

That does it. Her words sting too harshly, too deeply. Again, what's best for me. The last time she told me this, it was after they gave me pain meds that knocked me out cold. I had been very clear then in what I thought of that, or at least I thought so.

I'm not going to throw a glass this time. But I am very much done with this conversation. No longer caring about the consequences, I stalk away, up the stairs and to my room. Too chicken shit to slam the door, I do lock it behind me. I grab Renée's quilt and let myself fall into the rocking chair, which sways precariously under my weight.

I pull the quilt over my head and sit in the dark. Tears come before I can stop them and I curse myself for my weakness. I can't hide it from myself anymore. And I know it's no use.

Because deep down, I know she is right.

I just hate to be cared for like that. It's such a foreign concept to me and I'm not used to it. I don't like how they decide things for me behind my back, because it's best for me. Just let me mind my own business. Let me decide what I do, let me see how the dice roll. Let me handle what comes my way.

It always went like that.

But here, all is different. They take things out of my hands. They do things behind my back. Hell, they all but force me to buy expensive clothes, and they want to know how badly I'm hurt when I burn myself, which was my own fucking fault to begin with. They were very forthcoming when I was sick with the flu, too.

I don't understand a world in which you don't have to pay back for the things you get. I don't know a world where actions don't have consequences, and mistakes are met with patience instead of retribution.

And still, I know Esme won't even be mad at me right now. She probably won't even come after me and she will wait until I am calm again. Then she will try to talk about this with me again and she will be understanding about my reaction.

I honestly thought mother figures like she only existed in movies. The kind of movies I tend to avoid because they simply don't make sense.

Sighing deeply, I become more and more angry with myself for my overreaction. I have to apologize to Esme. Then again I also want her to know I want to be involved in what she tells others about me, even though I do realize she is my guardian and is allowed by law to care for me in the way she feels is best.

And so far, I only have gotten the best. Because honestly? I do realize that I should thank whatever God on my bare knees that I was placed here, and not someplace else where history would have repeated itself on me again. Even though I know I probably deserve it.

Gah, I have to stop this thinking loop. Below, I hear the Cullens entering the house. Shortly after, a car exits the garage again. I stand up to look out of my window and I see Rosalie's convertible driving away. I can't see how many people there are in the car.

It occurs to me how nice it would be to have a car, to be able to drive. To leave the house at leisure. God, what a sense of freedom that would be.

But, being at school for six hours a day is a nice place to start. However, Edward will be next to me in Biology every day. Unless I switch seats and go sit with the creepy blond guy.

Oh for fuck's sake, I'll just have to fix this, and quickly so. I'll confront him this weekend. Ask him what his game is.

My throat constricts when I think of what would happen if he showed a side I haven't seen before. If my evil mind is right and he wants something from me.

_Of course not_, my rationale whispers faintly, carefully. _He just wants to be nice to you. People can be like that, you know. _

But not to me. Why ever would anyone be nice to _me_?

There's the thinking loop again. I shake my head to get rid of it and with a deep sigh, I steel myself to go down and see if I can help for dinner.

Esme doesn't mention the earlier incident when I enter the kitchen, apprehensive. She's cooking, sizzling sounds filling the space, accompanied by the most delicious scents.

I set the table for seven and then glance at the pans to see how long until dinner.

"Fifteen minutes," Esme says, interpreting me correctly as usual. "Are you calm again?"

I look up at her, caught. Then I lower my eyes and nod. I'm embarrassed.

"You had every right to be upset, but I hope you will understand why I did what I did."

However deeply unhappy this makes me, I have to nod to affirm her words.

"Listen, Bella," Esme says as she focuses on stirring some sauce, "I know you don't feel like you need any special care. And in this family, perhaps you don't. But you come with certain ground rules and I felt the school needed to know them. In the end, it will benefit you." She finally looks up to meet my gaze. "And I think you realize that, too."

I nod, flushing bright red under her gaze even though she's not judging. She's merely telling the truth.

"Good. What I did not get to discuss with you earlier is that there is an individual education plan for you. You must know this from Phoenix already. It mainly means more written assignments for you."

I nod, to let her know I understand. It's nothing new. I will probably not even notice much of it, except that I won't be called for a turn in class. This relieves me immensely. Perhaps it's a good thing Esme has taken care of me in this way.

"Will you have dinner with us, or rather in your room?"

I barely suppress a sigh at this ever repeating question. Let's take it upstairs then. Even if I wanted to try to stay here to eat, I know it wouldn't work and I'm not even sure how I could ever ask for it to begin with. I didn't set the table for enough people, even.

Besides, I don't think I want to.

As such I eat up in my room once again.

After dinner, I bring my tray down as usual. The ground floor of the house is deserted, which is unusual for a Friday night I should think. I think I heard Carlisle go up to his study earlier, but I have no clue where the rest are.

Ah, well. I guess when they're not here, they can't want anything from me, either. I clear away my stuff and go back upstairs, planning to read some or watch TV in my room. Perhaps reply to Renée's email. Enjoy the quiet.

Alice bounces up to me just when I reach the top step.

"Hi," she beams.

I look at her, skeptically. She _so_ looks like she wants something from me.

"Want to come into my room for a bit? I'm going to this Halloween party tomorrow and I want to show you my costume."

Hm, okay? I follow Alice to her room, leaving the door open behind me. Soft music is playing, but I hardly register it as I take in the rest of her room. It looks like a bomb exploded in here. Clothes and accessories are _everywhere_ — on the bed, her desk, her chair, her couch… Even on the floor.

Her vanity is cluttered with make-up and all sorts of hair styling equipment.

I thought she said the party was _tomorrow_?

I take in her room and can't hide my shock.

Alice giggles. "Yeah, it looks like a tornado came through here, I know. Mom hates it when I do this."

I meet her gaze and she laughs again, dimples appearing in her cheeks as she does so.

Hey, Emmett has those, too.

"Anyway," she announces with a grand gesture towards the mannequin in the corner of her room. "Ta-daa!"

On the doll is a black nun's habit with a white collar. The fabric is not plain cotton, I notice as I look closer. There's a light shimmer on it when it catches the light and as such the outfit has almost a glamorous appearance.

"Do you like it?" Alice asks.

I turn my head to look at her and see her hopeful face. I never cared much for Halloween, but I can totally imagine Alice in the habit. I nod my head to answer her question.

"I've these earrings to go with it," she says and she holds up her open hand in which two different earrings lie — a catholic cross and a pentagram. It's subtle and I nod appreciatively.

"This chain goes around my waist," Alice points at the silver colored accessory on the bed. It looks quite heavy, and the chain is certainly bigger than what normal nuns would wear, but I guess that's the point.

"And those are my boots."

I breathe out a laugh when I see the boots Alice is talking about. They're black, with three-inch high spiked heels. The boots must reach to below the knee, with laces and hooks all the way to the top.

"You like?" she asks hopefully, again.

I nod once more.

"Good! I went as a play bunny last year but that stuff gets old pretty quickly. I wanted to do something a little more… unexpected."

Well, I think she'll succeed by going as a nun all right.

Alice pushes some clothes away on her couch and invites me to sit as she sinks down on her bed.

"Didn't you go to school today?"

Her question surprises me but I nod nevertheless.

"How did it go? Edward told me you were in his Biology class."

Nerves explode in my stomach at the mention of his name and I am once more consumed by the urgent matter of finding out what he wants from me.

Alice looks at me searchingly, but doesn't ask. Instead, she speaks. "He said he really liked to see you in school and he told me you handled it well?"

Her words form into a question, but she doesn't elaborate and I'm not going to volunteer any information about that class.

"So, did you like it? I mean, did you like going to school? Do you think you can do it?"

I nod to answer all her questions.

"That's… Well to me it's weird to hear but I'm happy that you want to go."

Silence falls and stretches and finally Alice gets up to change the music to something with a more pronounced beat.

Suddenly, she turns to me. "Did you want to come with us? To the Halloween party tomorrow?"

My eyes go wide. No, I don't. Absolutely not.

"Because we can arrange a costume for you and of course you would be more than welcome to…" Taking in the look on my face, she lets her words trail off. "No?"

I shake my head.

"Too crowded for you?"

I nod, deciding this reason is as good as any.

"So, ehm, you won't feel excluded when we all go tomorrow?"

I shake my head slowly. The pang of sadness I feel has nothing to do with feeling excluded, but with the disappointment I feel with myself for not being able to participate.

I've never wanted to be part of such things.

Then why does it bother me all of a sudden?

"Just let me know when you change your mind, ok? You can borrow one of our old costumes and just tag along. We'd all be very happy to take you."

I nod, but we both know I won't take her offer.

A soft knock on the door alerts us both and as Alice looks up, I turn to see who's there. Jasper is standing in the doorway, holding a movie in his hands.

"Ready?" he asks.

Alice stands and looks to me. "I planned on watching a movie with Jasper. Want to join us?"

I shake my head. I don't want to mess up their alone time.

Unbidden, the memory of Jasper holding Alice to the ground comes to my mind and I'm pretty sure I'm blushing.

I'm very hot all of a sudden, at least.

"Okay. Let's watch in your room," Alice chuckles when she meets Jasper's gaze again, oblivious to my sudden discomfort. "Also, can I sleep in your bed tonight?"

Jasper's gaze wanders around the room and he smirks. "And here I was thinking you wanted to sleep with me for _me_. I'm appalled."

Alice laughs and walks to the door. "You are just added benefit," she smiles.

I follow Alice out of her room and as they disappear into Jasper's room, I slip into mine.

Undisturbed, I spend a couple of hours alone in my room, reading in the rocking chair. Thinking. When my thirst gets too strong, I go downstairs to make some tea.

Of _course_ Edward is in the kitchen.

The need to confront him makes itself known, but I find I don't have the courage to do it. Flashes of images flit into my mind. I shake my head to try and get rid of them, but I find I can't. The memory of Stefan over me, pinning me to the bed with his weight, is replaced by the way Jasper lay over Alice and how Alice wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him closer.

Laurent's voice whispers in my ear. _You are a worthless waste of space. Let me show you what's best for girls like you._

I shudder at the memory and swallow the sudden lump in my throat away. I can't reconcile my own memories with what I've seen happening here. I'm confused, but when have I not been in this house?

Edward looks at me questioningly, but I avoid his gaze and instead of making tea, I opt to just take a glass of juice. I don't want to be here with him, right now.

Forthcoming as always, he steps aside when he notices I want to go to the fridge. He's not saying anything and simply looks at me, which makes me all the more uncomfortable. I'm pretty sure my hands are shaking when I fill my glass with orange juice, but I try to keep my face composed.

When I'm done, I flee the kitchen like it's on fire, not looking back at Edward.

He still hasn't said a word.

Back in my room, I lock the door and lean back against it with my eyes closed.

Fucking excellent, Bella.

Honestly, way to go.

**~O~**

The next day Esme finds me in the kitchen while I'm having breakfast and she asks me if I want to go somewhere today. I shake my head. I slept horribly, disturbing dreams with changing faces in wrong contexts filling my head and waking me up every other hour.

Esme comes to sit with me at the kitchen table and looks at me for a long time before she speaks.

"Something is bothering you," she observes. Again. Still. Whatever.

No shit, Sherlock.

"Is it something I can help you with?"

I shake my head and look away. Leave it already, Esme. This is my own battle and it's about time I man up to face it.

Esme sighs softly. "I don't like to see you so distressed. Please know you can talk to me."

I half shrug and frown.

Esme opens her mouth again, but is interrupted. "Good morning!"

I look up and see Carlisle stepping into the kitchen.

"Good to see you, Bella. I feel like I haven't spoken to you in a long time. Work has been crazy lately."

I look at the man, not knowing what to reply. I have a feeling that he knows as well as I do that I have been carefully avoiding him.

"So, are you settling in a bit? I hear you tried school yesterday and that you want to start next Monday?"

I nod carefully to answer both of his questions.

He beams at me. "That's good to hear. I think it will be good for you to start a somewhat regular schedule again. How is your throat? I think the pain is gone now?"

To my left, Esme gets up somewhat inconspicuously and starts to busy herself in the kitchen. As if on cue, Carlisle sits down in her seat so he's at eye level with me.

I nod to let Carlisle know the pain is gone.

"And your eyes? Have you checked them lately?"

He's asking after the tell tale red spots that often appear in one's eyes after strangulation. I haven't checked them lately, but I know they can take up to six months to heal. I shake my head, feeling guilty and wondering if Carlisle will be upset that I didn't look.

It's just that I don't like to see myself in the mirror.

"As long as they're not bothering you, it should be fine," Carlisle smiles reassuringly.

Okay, so he's not disappointed or anything.

"How is the burn on your hand? Can you show it to me?"

What is this, a general check up?

Reluctantly, I hold up my left hand. The skin is as good as healed and honestly, I care little for physical pain like this.

Carlisle leans in to look at my hand, then nods. "You should have told me the skin broke. I could have given you something for it."

I pull my hand back and hide it inside the sleeve of my new black sweater as I look away.

"And, most importantly, how do you feel? Are you at ease? Well?"

Eh. I'm neutral, I guess. I shrug and nod. Stupid communication.

"So, any plans for today?"

Tiresome. I shake my head, answering Carlisle's question and secretly telling him I really don't want to have this conversation with him.

"If you want to go anywhere, just say so," Esme reiterates. "Or ask Alice, for example. I'm sure she'd be happy to oblige."

"With what?" Alice asks as she comes into the kitchen. She beelines to the fridge and pulls it open, presumably in search of food.

"Taking Bella somewhere, should she want to."

"Of course," Alice replies, smiling as she closes the fridge again. "Why, do you want to go out?" She looks at me, her face open and patient.

I shake my head. No, not today.

"Okay, just let me know. Hmm, I need some food."

"Ah yes, I could use some lunch, too," Carlisle says.

"Why don't we all have lunch together?" Esme asks. "I can make some scrambled eggs?"

"That sounds wonderful," Carlisle replies. "Will you join us, Bella?"

His question catches me off guard and I blink in surprise. I do like scrambled eggs, but I don't want to eat with so many others around.

Unconsciously, I look over my shoulder at Esme for help.

"Too much?" she asks gently.

I swallow and have to force myself to nod, to admit that I can't and to accept that I'm disappointed about it.

"I'll make enough for us all, and then you can eat where you want, is that all right?" Esme asks.

I nod again and get up to start and help Esme to cook.

"That's the last chore," she says as I pull out the eggs from the fridge. She's referring to the chores I bargained to do in exchange for the clothes I got. I'm surprised she actually kept count, but she's right. This is the last one.

"Hey, good to see you are helping out now," Alice observes lightly.

I do a double take at her as I realize what she means. When I first got here, I would have been very tense to be in the kitchen like this. And I'm not at all relaxed right now, but I am willing to help out to make dinner. As long as Carlisle stays at the table, that is.

The four of us share a moment in silent realization and even I find myself smiling slightly.

Then I shake my head and focus on chopping some green pepper to go with the eggs.

"Alice, would you mind asking if the others would like to eat, too?" Esme asks.

Alice saunters over to the staircase and takes a deep breath, but Esme interrupts her with a pointed look: "in a civilized manner."

Alice mutters something and goes upstairs to get the others. When she comes down again, she announces Edward will join us too, and Esme breaks some extra eggs into the pan. As she adds the vegetables I chopped, I move to get plates and cutlery for four.

Placing them on the table, I feel uncomfortable with Carlisle so close by, but he has started to read the newspaper and is not looking at me.

"Jasper, Rosalie and Emmett not coming?" Esme asks softly.

"Jasper was up early and ate already. Rose and Em still snoring," Alice shrugs. "Didn't want to wake them. You know how Rose gets."

"What time were they home last night?" Carlisle asks without looking up.

"I don't know. I didn't hear them coming home."

"Who? Morning by the way," Edward asks as he steps into the kitchen. He's in sweats and a tee, and his hair is literally all over the place. He yawns and stretches lazily, raising his arms above his head and standing on his toes for maximum effect. From the corner of my eye, I see a patch of skin on his abdomen where his shirt is lifted by his outstretched body. A trail of hair disappears into his pants.

Blushing for some inexplicable reason, I look away, busying myself with getting glasses from the top cabinet.

"Rose and Emmett," Esme asks. "Did you hear them come home?"

"Yeah, did," Edward says, combing his hand through his hair.

"At what time?" Carlisle presses.

Edward lowers his hands to look at his father. "I don't know. Didn't check the time."

Even I know he's lying to protect his brother and sister. I hold my breath to see what Carlisle will do.

He doesn't get angry. He just looks at Edward for a moment before he speaks again. "Very well. Any plans for today?"

"Nah. Play for a bit, I think. I want to finish that song, Clair de Lune. Oh, that reminds me Bella, I have a CD for you with that music, if you want?"

There's that kindness again. I _have_ to confront him, and soon.

I realize I want the CD, too.

In my utter confusion, I can't help but ignore Edward's statement. My thoughts start to feel fuzzy and apparently my mind can shut down in situations like these, too. I hurry to fix myself a plate of food, cutlery clattering loudly on the porcelain when my shaking hands lose their grip and then quickly leave the room without a word, vaguely realizing I'm not even as concerned about the consequences of my actions as I should have been.

"That was weird," I hear Alice say through the fog in my mind. "Edward, did you upset her?"

"Not that I'm aware of," he answers.

I cut off the rest of the conversation by shutting the door of my room.

The food that would have been so delicious tastes like cardboard, but I do my best to eat it.

I'm in a bad mood. I hate that I'm so nervous, I hate that I'm so confused. I hate that I am who I am and that I cannot function properly in a family. I hate that I'm dependent on the kindness of others and I hate that I can't even appreciate it fully.

But I left Stefan. I was the one who fled him. I was the one who set this all in motion.

Renée didn't send me back.

There's something in that, but I don't know what. She could have sent me back and never think twice about me again. Instead, she told me she was going to make some phone calls and within a couple of weeks I was on a plane to Seattle, on my way to Forks, Washington.

She didn't send me back.

She sent me here, and all I've met here was kindness. So far, at least.

In a sudden surge of determination, I boot the laptop and open my email program. Ignoring the new message that's waiting from her, I create a new one.

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Renée Dwyer  
Subject: (No subject)**  
Thank you.

.

I click send.

**~O~**

I'm through my homework and I feel cooped up in my bedroom. I'd like to go to the library, but I can hear Edward playing the piano and that means I'd have to pass him first.

Frowning, I berate myself. There is absolutely no reason to act like this.

Clenching my teeth, I go downstairs.

Edward has made a lot of progress on the song. The notes flow easily and I find I am slowing my steps as I near the piano, just to listen to the music. When he stops to replay the last bit, I pick up my step and walk past him with lowered head, to slip into the library. I close the door behind me with a soft click, exhaling in relief as I hear the piano sounds continuing without pause.

I can't concentrate on my reading. Instead, I listen to Edward play until he stops. The song is distracting. It reminds me of better days, of the time when my mother was still kind and forthcoming. When she would pull me into bed with her and wrap her arms around me.

Things changed when Laurent came. Things started to be my fault and as far as I know, they were always right.

I sigh and shake my head to get rid of the memory. They seem to come up more often lately, especially at night. I wake up in terror, afraid that my stay at the Cullens has been a dream and I'm back in Phoenix, fighting for my life as strong hands constrict around my throat.

A soft knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. I sit up straighter in the window seat and watch as the door opens and Edward steps in.

"I have that CD for you," he says so softly I can barely hear him on the other side of the room. "Can I come in?"

Why could he not? It's not like I have any say over this place, have I.

Nerves explode however as he steps further into the room and closes the door behind him. He walks to me and places the CD on a table before he sits down in the rocking chair.

He's quiet for a long time, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and looking at the floor.

Finally, he sits up a little, facing me.

"Did I do something wrong?"

I blink at his question as it catches me off guard. I'm surprised he has been so quick to notice my changed demeanor around him.

"Because I didn't mean to," he continues. "I just feel like I did something to upset you."

I shake my head uncertainly.

"Then what is it?" he presses softly. "Because I thought we were getting along okay?"

His insecurity radiates off him and the look in his eyes is almost pleading.

All of a sudden, it feels so stupid to have thought he would change. But that still doesn't answer the question why he is so nice to me.

And I need to solve this. Suck it up and get it over with. Hell, I was never afraid to trigger Stefan when I could feel the tension building up. The sooner he relieved it on me, the better.

So why am I so reluctant now?

_You're afraid of disappointment_, a voice in the back of my head whispers, and my shoulders sag when I realize it's the truth.

"Will you talk to me? Yesterday was okay, in Biology, right? Even though you almost panicked? I didn't tell Mom about that, just so you know."

He's still looking at me and I swallow as the tension in my body builds.

Finally, I break away from his gaze and I focus on my hands, fidgeting in my lap.

"Hey," he says softly. "If you want me to go, I'll go, but I'd really like to know what I did wrong. So I can be more careful the next time."

His kindness, his sincerity… It's uncanny. And scary.

For some weird reason, a lump comes to my throat. He is so nice to me, and I'm affected by it. Much more so than I'd like to admit.

When he moves, my eyes dart back to his form in the rocking chair, to see that he is pulling his phone from his back pocket. He fiddles with it, then offers it to me.

I regard his outstretched hand, wary.

"Please," he says and again his voice is so soft. "Talk to me."

Reluctantly, I reach out and accept the phone, avoiding touching his skin. When I look at the screen, I see he has started the notes application. He wants me to write something down.

However, I don't know what to say.

It's weird how my mind is trying to warn me, trying to raise my guard and to push Edward away, to protect myself and to keep my distance, when my body is telling me a different story. Now he's around me, my fears seem silly almost.

It seems I'm just relaxed around Edward. The nerves I felt earlier are completely gone.

"Just spit it out," he says. "I won't get mad, I promise."

Taking a deep breath, I decide this moment will work as well as any other moment in time to confront him. Too bad though the door of the library is closed. Then again, it will always remain the question if someone would come to my aid should things turn bad.

Best to not let my thoughts linger on that.

I type.

_Why are you so kind to me?_

I give the phone back to him and this time it seems as if he is careful too to avoid physical contact. I'm not sure if he doesn't want to touch me, or if he is respecting my wish to be left alone like that.

He reads the text on the screen and his brows pucker as his entire face seems to furrow in confusion.

"Why would I not be nice to you?"

He obviously doesn't understand. And I know I won't be able to clarify. I sigh, frustrated. I shouldn't have tried this to begin with.

Edward is not giving up however, and he holds out his phone for me once more. "Please, explain?"

Taking the phone, I think for a long moment. Edward sits still, a look of patience clear on his face. For a moment, I recognize Esme in him.

I think there's only one way to deal with this. I've to be quite literal with him if I want to sort this out.

_What do you want in return?_

I look at the screen for a long time before I have the guts to show it to him. Tentatively, he accepts the phone back from me and as he reads, a hand goes to his hair, tangling his fingers in it as his eyes stay focused on the words on the screen.

My heart is nearly crashing out of my chest as the silence stretches between us. Finally, he looks up and I startle visibly as he meets my gaze.

"I'm not even sure I know what you mean," he says. Why is his voice so hoarse?

"I don't expect anything, Bella. I just want to be nice to you, just like you've been nice to me. Maybe I've been very wrong in my perception, but I thought you liked our impromptu meetings too."

I swallow heavily, audibly.

He likes them, too.

"I don't expect anything back. Did I do something to make you think otherwise?"

I shake my head, trying to process his words in the chaos of my mind. He's not mad. He's confused. He's trying his best to choose the right words and all the while I can tell he's insecure and sincere.

I know sincerity. Not that I've seen much of it before, but I know when somebody is lying. As such, I know when somebody is honest, too.

And Edward is being honest right now.

"I can stop seeking you out, if that's what you want," he says after a long moment of silence.

I'm shaking my head before I realize what I'm doing. I don't want to lose the contact I have with Edward.

Even if he's a man. Even if I don't know what will happen later.

Because there is something there, something that makes me want to spend time around him, if he'll let me.

_Careful, Bella…_

He sighs deeply, but it's more in a way of relieving tension than to show exasperation. "I guess you can't tell me why you are so distrusting, huh," he states. His words sound light, but there's a world of meaning behind them.

When he meets my gaze again, I shake my head minutely. I'm breathing slowly but heavily after all the tension that built up in me during this conversation, and my heart rate picks up once more at Edward's referral to my past.

"I told you before, I don't see you any differently now I know some more of you. And I don't expect anything in return for my being nice to you."

I just look at him, unable to complete a thought anymore.

He looks back at me for a moment before he looks away and chuckles, shaking his head in what I can only perceive as a look of disbelief.

"Know what?" he says then, "I'll text you my email address. Send me some words when you feel like it. Will that work?"

Well, no, probably not. I shrug to let him know it wouldn't really matter, but he looks at his phone and is pushing buttons right away.

"Should be on your phone right now." A beat. "Can I have yours, too?"

I blink at him.

"You do have an email address, right?" he asks suddenly.

Do I see a tinge of red in his face? Is he actually _blushing_?

I nod however, to answer his question. Did he really think I don't have an email address? On the other hand, I'm a complete techtard and I won't be surprised if that hadn't gone unnoticed.

"So, can I have it then?"

As on the one hand I can't help but wonder, _why_?, on the other hand I find I'm thinking, _why not_?

Edward hands me his phone again and I give him my email. Honestly, if his messages bother me I can just ignore them, can I not?

Right?

Right.

When I give Edward his phone back, he stands. "I'm hungry. Want to go and get a snack or something?"

I check my watch and see it's already four o'clock. As per my four meals a day diet, I might as well get something to eat.

But I don't want to eat around Edward.

Seeing my hesitation, he opens his mouth to speak. "Or you can eat later. Just join me now? To keep me company?"

Eh, ok. Let's give in. I'll just have to brace myself for when this ends, I think. Doesn't mean I can't indulge now.

And I can eat after him.

Hm, this eating thing might become a problem when I go to school, come to think of it. It's a small school I saw yesterday and it will be hard to seek out a place where I can be alone to eat.

Also I still don't know how the other Cullen kids will react to me being in the school.

Edward acknowledged me easily however, which was nice. And now this is out of the way, I'm less nervous about being with him in Biology again. That is, if he still wants to sit with me Monday.

Maybe I should ask him that before school starts. I like to have clarity on these things.

Sighing without a sound, I mentally curse myself. I don't know what's wrong with me lately. I'm all over the place and where I've been confused here before, the world has started to make less and less sense to me altogether.

Nothing here goes as I expected.

And to be honest, that shoe is taking an awful long time to drop indeed.

* * *

_Slowly, slowly... As ever, let me know what you think? :) _

_You will have noticed I updated late again. I am sorry for this delay. I lost my job last week :( . Please be patient with me while I try to get my life back on track. I endeavor to update every two weeks, ok?_ _Love!_


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N I don't own Twilight. I do own a sore hip and some serious pain medication.**

_1600... You guys rock my socks. Seriously! No words. _

_Thanks to Sherryola for being my beta and being there for me as my life is toppled upside down. Thanks to Deb for coping with my mood swings. I think I beat Edward in this department._

* * *

As I make coffee and Edward munches on his snack, he says something completely incoherent about 'just trying stuff', and to not think about it too much. He tells me that Carlisle has given him that advice before, too, since Edward has the tendency to over think things. Edward tells me he thinks it could be liberating for me if I just tried stuff without being so scared.

Because, he says, there really is no need to be scared here, after all.

I get the feeling he is implying that I stay this tense and afraid of my own volition.

It irks me that it's very well possible that he is right.

After dinner, I want to lock myself into my room and listen to the CD Edward gave me. But I am intercepted by Alice once more when I reach the top of the stairs, and with Edward's advice in mind, I now find myself sitting on Alice's bed as she is trying to fix her hair for the Halloween party.

She chatters away happily, clearly excited. When Rosalie trails into the room, I make to leave, but one look at her face tells me she doesn't expect me to go.

I don't really like Rosalie, but I like one thing about her: she's exceptionally clear.

"Hey, why don't you get your stuff in here to get ready too? And can you help me with my hair?" Alice asks her sister.

Rosalie nods, smiling, and disappears.

Alice turns to me. "It's always more fun to prepare for a party together, you know," she replies. Then she bounces to her stereo to put on some music that I think should get her in the mood.

Moving to the music a little, she scurries around her room to pick up and put down various things. I have no idea what she is trying to achieve, but I am long past assuming and just sit here, as per Edward's advice, to 'just try stuff.'

Rosalie comes back, her arms full with undecipherable things. She drops them on the couch unceremoniously, then checks her watch. "Might as well get dressed, too."

She extracts something white from the pile she just left on the couch and leaves the room again.

"You know you can come with us, don't you?" Alice repeats her question from the night before.

I know, Alice. But I really don't want to.

She walks over to her vanity and plops down in front of her mirror, fussing with her hair.

"This is _impossible_," she complains. Her gaze shifts to me. "If I had hair like yours, I would be able to make something fabulous of it. As is, there's little I can do, now is there? What would you do?"

She beckons me to come to the vanity and reluctantly I get up so I can look over her shoulder in the mirror, where she meets my eyes.

"What would you do with hair like this and my costume? I think a Mohawk won't work, do you think?"

I shake my head. I agree with her. Also, spikes would not really work. I do have an idea for her, but I'm pretty sure she'll find it ridiculous.

"Say it, Bella. I can tell you're thinking of something."

I shrug. It's not important.

"Please?"

Alice's eyes are wide as she meets my gaze via the mirror. "I need some inspiration?"

I deliberate for a moment, then decide I have very little to lose. Now to find a way of showing her what I mean.

I bring my hands up to my own hair, but Alice stops me with her words. "You can show it on me. I really don't mind."

Blinking, I look at her via the mirror.

"Really," she says softly. "Or does the no touching mean that you don't touch others, either?"

I nod slowly, still stunned by the notion of her asking me to touch her. Why would she do that?

"Then show it on your own hair," Alice finally says. "Maybe I can see what you mean then."

I swallow thickly and once more bring my hands up to my own hair, parting it off center and pulling it tightly back over my head.

"Like this?" Alice asks as she copies my gesture.

It's not exactly what I meant, but how to tell her?

"Just show me, Bella," Alice says. "You can do it."

Her voice is gentle, coaxing. Do I dare? I don't like it, that's for sure.

Still, I step forward gingerly, all the while gauging her face as I bring my hands up to her hair. I part it and gently sweep it back over her head.

She doesn't flinch, or gives any sign of discomfort. She's sitting very still, but she's relaxed. Curious, maybe. A little hopeful?

She's not afraid.

Her hair is soft but it feels uncomfortable against my hands, like thousands of needles are pricking my skin. Alice looks at my face before she shifts her gaze to see herself in the mirror, see the way I hold her hair back from her face.

Then I let go of her hair, finally, and pick up the hair gel I've seen lying on her vanity. Showing it to her, I hope she knows what I mean.

"Pull my hair back?" she asks, uncertainly.

I nod at her, but I can tell she's not sure what I mean. She picks up a brush and holds it up to me.

"Show me." Her voice is so soft, so encouraging. Why is she trying to make me do this?

I shake my head, feeling the panic start deep in my backbone. I don't want to. I touched you once already. Don't make me do this. Please.

"It's okay," Alice says quickly. "Really, don't worry. Just tell me what you mean?"

"I think she means you should part your hair to the side of your head and slick it back," Rosalie says.

My head whirls around to look at her standing in the doorway.

"Like, really flat?" Alice asks, but I barely register it as I'm still getting over my shock. I hadn't seen her standing there.

"Yeah. Right, Bella?" Rosalie asks.

I nod, still incoherent.

"I don't know," Alice says, looking at her reflection in the mirror and holding her hair back.

"And then black lipstick," Rosalie adds. "Or dark purple. Yeah, maybe that's better."

I look at Rosalie. She's dressed up as the angry princess and the image is pretty disturbing. Her short white wedding dress is torn to shreds, spotted with dark red stains like blood. I swallow, telling myself the blood is fake and not hers.

Taking in my gaze, Rosalie poses for me, one hand on her hip. "You like?"

I nod again, and finally remember to close my mouth.

"Is it scary enough?"

I nod once more, with more conviction this time. Rosalie laughs and walks further into the room. I step back as she goes to stand behind Alice.

Without a word, Alice hands Rosalie the brush and Rosalie combs Alice's hair back, exactly like I imagined it.

"See?" she asks. "And then slick it back, so that it's all shiny. Dark make-up, and you're good to go."

"Oh, I'm beginning to see it," Alice smiles. Then she turns to me. "Thank you Bella!"

I blush fiercely at her words and look away. That wasn't so special, was it?

"So what will you do with your hair?" Alice asks Rosalie.

"I don't know yet. Mess it up a little, I think. I don't know if I'd put that fake blood in my hair too. It would be awesome, but a bitch to get out."

"I really like your costume," Alice beams. "And I think you're right about the blood in your hair. It won't get out of your clothes either, and chances are it'll leave a discoloration in your hair too."

"Ew, no. Just messed up hair then. Do you have hairspray?"

"Oh man, I bought like three new cans," Alice laughs.

As they are talking, I slowly make my way to the door, not sure if I'm welcome here.

When Alice turns to turn up the music, still laughing, she looks over at me. "Where are you going? Please stay with us? I really enjoy your company, you know."

It's her words that do me in. I don't know what got into her but she's coaxing me into doing things I've never done before, and she makes me _want_ them, too.

"Sit down, Bella. We need your opinion on this," Rosalie says. Her voice is harder, almost flatter, than Alice's, but not unkind.

What has caused this sudden shift in her behavior? She wouldn't even look at me not so long ago.

"Yeah, and you have good taste," Alice tells me via the mirror as she slicks her hair back, just as I proposed.

It emphasizes the heart-like shape of her face and her eyes appear even bigger than they are.

Wait, did she just say I have good taste?

Alice admires herself in the mirror and Rose looks along.

"Good," she says, moving a little to the music playing. Then she picks up a brush too and starts combing her thick, long blond tresses. She truly has beautiful hair.

Which is why it shocks me a little when she starts moving the brush in the opposite direction, messing her hair up tremendously. Copious amounts of hair spray are used until she looks absolutely feral.

"Nice," Alice says, smiling. "I hope you'll get it untangled again though."

"I have conditioner," Rosalie says by way of explanation.

Alice snickers and turns back to her vanity, picking up various items of make-up and deciding on a few items I don't even know the names of.

I watch, mesmerized and almost forgetting I am sitting here, observing two members of my new family. I like to observe, I like to watch others interact with seeming ease. It makes me sad sometimes that I will never be a part of it, but being able to watch it like a movie is as satisfying as it can get, I think. The fact that Rosalie and Alice have explicitly asked me to stay her makes it easier, too.

When their make-up is done, they look both stunning and frightening. Alice's eyes are lined thickly with black and her lips are dark purple. Rosalie has extremely smokey eyes against a ghostly white skin and has made it appear that her mascara is smudged and running down her cheeks. Her lips are blood red. She's beautiful even with this horrendous make up and it's remarkable that she doesn't seem to have a problem looking like this.

Alice surprises me by thrusting her phone in my hand, asking me if I would make a picture of her and Rose together.

Hesitating, I do as I'm asked and I capture them on the screen of the phone. When they see the result, they thank me profusely.

"This is perfect, Bella! Thanks!"

I blush and look away once more.

"Hello ladies," I then hear Jasper's voice in the doorway. "All set to go?"

I lower myself on the bed slowly, hoping to be overlooked. It's getting crowded in this room.

"Almost," Alice beams. "I need to put on my jewelry still."

She bounces back to her vanity and puts on her earrings.

"Nice outfit, brother mine," Rosalie says as she looks him up and down.

Jasper is dressed as a detective, with tweeds, oxford and blazer. In his hands a real, old-fashioned pipe. Thick, bone rimmed glasses adorn his face and to my surprise compliment him.

Jasper smiles a half smile in acknowledgment. "You look… nice, too," he smirks, and Rosalie swats his arm.

"I'll come haunt you," she jokes, and Alice chuckles along.

"Oh, so here's all the fun," Emmett states.

I shrink to a possible smaller pose on Alice's bed when he appears in the doorway. He's so tall, I can't get over that.

Stretching his arms above his head, he grips the doorframe and leans into the room a little. "What time do you want to leave?"

"Around eight? Then we should be there around half past."

"Good," Emmett says.

He's dressed as a vampire, complete with white ruffled blouse and long black cape with high collar. His skin is pale against the dark cape and his black hair. It's the contacts in his eyes however which are disconcerting, making one iris completely white, and the other fully black. And his gaze locks on me.

"Oh, fresh blood," he says darkly, licking his lips in anticipation.

I gulp as he comes towards me, slowly. Not knowing what to do, I sit still on the bed, deer in headlights. Surely, he's joking, but what does he want? Does he expect me to run? To fight? To sit still? What? All I know is that I don't want him to come near me.

Alice sees it happening and she gets up, in mock slow motion, exclaiming a long, drawn out 'nooooo!' She jumps, still in slow motion, in front of Emmett before he has taken two steps into the room.

Emmett plays along and looks down at his sister, then wraps his thick cape around her, making a low humming sound of appreciation. Alice disappears completely underneath the heavy fabric and they both come to a standstill.

"Help," Alice says softly, comically, after a long moment and it's only then I realize that Emmett must have his arms around her.

He doesn't move and takes a breath to speak, but then uses his air to yelp, which is so funny I can't suppress my grin. Emmett jumps up and releases Alice from under his cape. She looks utterly pleased with herself as she walks back to the vanity to fix her hair.

She tickled him. Judging by the laughter of Rosalie and Jasper, it's a known fact this can be used as a secret weapon against him.

"Not funny," Emmett grumbles, but his eyes are alight with mirth. "This asks for retaliation."

"Oh no you don't," Alice warns him, but Emmett gets to her at lightening speed and I tense up fully as he attacks her from behind, locking her in his arms and tickling her sides.

Alice wheezes, squirms, and struggles to get away from his grip, helplessly laughing as he continues his assault.

I can sense my alarm as I see her being held against her will. But in the back of my mind, I know they are playing.

A strange urge of what, jealousy? courses through me as I recognize the liberty they feel. They seem to know no fear. Alice didn't even flinch when Emmett locked her in his hold and even though she's obviously not enjoying the tickling, she is still laughing and not at all alarmed or afraid.

When Emmett finally lets go, Alice catches her breath and goes back to the vanity to fix her hair. Emmett is smug, ducking just in time to prevent Rosalie smacking the back of his head.

I'm on such overload already I can't even begin to process all I have just seen and heard.

"Oh, hey, Edward," Jasper then says as the last of the Cullen siblings walks by the door, book in hand.

Full house. Fifty points. And a heart rate of 250 with so many people in such a tiny space.

"Hey, I've got something for you!" Alice exclaims when Edward pokes his head around the door in greeting.

"Oh yes!" Rosalie adds. She reaches into the pile of fabric that is still on the couch and plucks out a doctor's coat, which she holds up for him. "In case you wanted to go?"

"I'm not going, Rose," he says softly.

"Ah, you boring boy. Why not?" Alice persists. "Here, try the coat?"

Being a good sport, Edward puts on the coat. It fits him, of course.

"Turn around," Rosalie says, and when he does, I can read the print on the back: 'Trust me, I'm a doctor.'

They all laugh and Edward tries to look over his shoulder to see what's the fun about.

"So, why don't you go? Because of Jessica?"

"Yes," Edward replies, starting to shrug out of the coat. Alice stops him with a hand on his arm and then reaches for Jasper's glasses. She puts them on Edward, his protests ignored. Then she pulls him in front of the mirror and smiles happily.

"See? You're good to go," she says.

"I'm not going, Alice. Thanks for doing this, but I'm not going."

"You're a wuss for letting Jessica have that much influence over your life. How long has it been now, a month?" Emmett, as ever, isn't very tactful.

"Almost, yeah. I'm sorry guys, I'm just not in the mood to party."

"Or to have Jessica humping his leg. Yeah, I think I can understand," Jasper says.

"You are no fun," Alice pouts.

"I'm not going to be a fifth wheel," Edward says decisively, shrugging out of the coat for real now.

From several mouths, fierce protests follow. Edward will have none of it.

"Seriously. Enjoy your party, while I enjoy the quiet."

His eyes flicker over to me when he speaks, the first time he even acknowledges I'm in the room. My breath catches, but I think nobody noticed.

I hope so, at least.

As the girls finish up and the guys wait for them, first patiently and later not-so-patiently, I look on. Edward disappears, shaking his head. When they all make to leave, I follow them down the stairs, trailing along as I bask in their happy mood.

With them are all gone, I find myself back in the living room with Carlisle and Esme. Esme has kindly asked me to spend the evening downstairs with them, and I do not refuse requests like these. The movie The Green Mile is on, one I've seen often. I don't mind, I love the movie.

During the first commercial break, Esme gets up to make some popcorn — salt, as I prefer salt and she asked me — and Edward joins us in the living room.

He talks with Carlisle, softly, about random things. I don't really listen to their conversation, but I find I like to listen to the cadence of their voices. They talk in such a relaxed, hushed manner, with frequent, easy pauses. I think Edward got his quiet, pensive nature from his father.

Esme returns with the popcorn, setting it on the table and giving me my own small bowl to hold on my lap.

I think it takes me almost an hour to realize I am actually eating it.

**~O~**

It feels weird, to have eaten with others present. I didn't even notice it. Lost in the movie I know like the back of my hand, at ease with the others in the room, I must have dropped my guard.

The moment I realized what I was doing, my throat closed up and I almost choked on the popcorn I was still chewing on. I barely managed to swallow it, leaving the rest of the snack for what it was.

I don't know if the others noticed and I didn't dare to look at them to check. We watched the movie in silence and when at the end credits both Carlisle and Edward got up to use the bathroom, I hurriedly brought my bowl to the kitchen and retreated to my room.

I felt Esme's eyes on me as I slipped past the living room, but fortunately she didn't say anything.

Working to calm down a little and to suppress the nagging nausea that churns in my guts, I boot the laptop and check my mail. There is still that unread one from Renée but I've a good hunch of what that will say, so I leave it untouched. She replied to my 'thank you' though, I see.

.

**From: Renée Dwyer  
To: Bella Swan  
Subject: Re: (no subject)  
**Why, you're welcome, Bella! But can I ask, what are you thanking me for?

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Renée Dwyer  
Subject: Re: (no subject)  
**For sending me here, and not back.

.

It's all I can squeeze out for now, and I hope she'll understand. Then again, Renée has showed time and again that she knows what I mean even if I use very few words to express myself.

Sighing, I close the laptop again. There is nothing to do and it's getting late, too. I wonder what time the other Cullen kids will be home again. Esme said she wanted them in at 1 am, and I wonder if they will actually heed her directive.

Looking around the room, I think of the CD Edward gave me, the CD with Clair de Lune on it. I fetch it from my closet and open the jewel case. Inside, there's a piece of paper with a typed list of songs that are on the CD. Underneath is written;

_If you like Clair de Lune, maybe you will like some of the other songs I put on here. If you want more, just ask. I'd be happy to share. __~Edward._

My breath catches again and my heart beats heavily. I never knew he would make an actual play list for me. That is ridiculously sweet and it counters what remains of the suspicions I had — of him wanting anything back from me by being nice. It's one thing to say 'hi' and 'bye.' It's another entirely to take the time to put together a list of music that resembles Clair the Lune. There's somehow too much effort in that to expect something back.

My gaze wanders over the listed songs. Some have an accompanying comment, others are just titles with artists. I see Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven, The River Flows in You by Yiruma (_'This is what I was playing when you got back from doing groceries, remember?'_) and Song for Viola by Peter Bradley Adams, and some music from the soundtrack of The Hours by Philip Glass (_'If only for the titles'_). Seeing the title I'm Going to Make a Cake, I think I can understand what Edward meant when he wrote it down.

I put the CD in the player and turn it on, on a soft volume. I don't want to bother others with my sounds.

It starts with Clair de Lune and as soon as the first notes drift into the room, I close my eyes and let them wash over me. I sink down into the rocking chair and wrap my quilt around me as I listen, memories flowing into my head. I let them come, and don't try to hold back my tears when I remember my mother holding me tight.

**~O~**

"Bella?"

Sunday afternoon, it's raining as usual. Alice knocks on my door and says my name at the same time, much like she always does. When I open the door for her, she beams at me.

"Hey you, how are you? I haven't seen you all day."

True. I have been downstairs for hours this morning, but Alice was still sleeping then. I was back up in my room when she finally got up.

I wonder if she had fun at the party yesterday. Her eyes are still tiny with sleep and her hair is, for once, not meticulously done. I have a feeling she did have a good time.

Now, how to ask her?

"We had such a blast at the party yesterday," Alice answers my unspoken question. "It really was fun. We missed you, of course, and Edward, too. But we had so much fun. People really liked our costumes."

I find myself smiling as her entire face lights up as she speaks.

"Anyway, I was wondering if you want to come downstairs with us? We want to talk with you about something."

My heart constricts at her words. What did I do? What's going to happen, why is she coming to get me here and who are 'we'?

"Don't worry, nothing bad," Alice says, frowning at my worried gaze. "Come on. Please?"

There's no way but through, and so I follow her downstairs, into the living room. _Every_ Cullen sibling is there, including Esme. I come to a halt immediately and take a step back, shocked by all these eyes on me.

In their faces I see surprise, annoyance, or compassion. Only Jasper looks neutral, almost understanding.

Carlisle is not present, much to my relief. Whatever will happen now, he will not be involved.

Unless they want to warn me about him.

I push the thoughts away before the can fully cloud me and look at all the people in the room, clenching my fists to prevent my arms to wrap themselves around me in such an obvious show of weakness and fear.

"Okay," Emmett says as he leans forward on the couch. Rose sits on the armrest next to him. Edward is in the love seat, and Esme and Jasper are on another part of the couch. Alice sits in between them, smiling expectantly.

"Bella, why don't you sit down first?" Esme interrupts Emmett.

I look from her to the winged chair and then back to her, shaking my head. Things like these I'd rather bear standing up, I should think.

Esme nods in understanding, and then gestures for Emmett to proceed.

Why Emmett?

"Okay," he says again. "You are starting school tomorrow. So, we need a game plan."

I blink at Emmett, unsure what he means.

"He thinks you need assistance at school," Rosalie says flatly.

"He means we want to help you," Alice corrects her softly. "If you want to."

"Yeah, because you don't speak," Emmett continues, helplessly pointing out the obvious. "And if you get questions, you won't be able to answer them?"

His observation is a question, and I hate to admit that he is right. When I started school in Phoenix, it were a few tense weeks, until Renée wrote a letter to the school, explaining the situation and helping me out.

It's difficult to explain I am not physically mute and therefore have never learned any form of sign language. It's even harder to explain I simply refuse to learn to use any other method of communication, which I know exist. I know there are gadgets that say out loud what you type. I know there are cards or devices which help you form sentences quickly. But for me, the problem is not the inability to communicate.

It's the unwillingness to. And that unwillingness is so strong it had become a form of inability.

Try to explain that however to impatient teachers or annoying students.

Especially when explaining, in my book, is unnecessary and should be avoided at all cost.

"So, we thought that we could help you," Emmett continues, unaware of my train of thought. "If you want, of course."

I look from him to the others in the room. What do they think they can do? And more importantly, why would they even take that effort? What's in it for them?

I can't suppress my frown and involuntarily shake my head. I don't want them to help me. I've always managed just fine before.

"Bella." Esme's voice is gentle, but demands attention. "You don't have to do this alone."

I look at her, as her gaze pierces through the fog that has accumulated in my mind.

"You can count on us," Alice says. "And we really want to help you. We don't want to coddle you, but wouldn't it be nice if we showed you around, introduced you to the teachers and all that?"

"We would do the same for anybody," Edward says suddenly. He's been quiet until now, and my eyes fly over to the corner he is sitting in. "It's a new school, with new students. We can show you around. The only thing that's different is that we can be your voice if needs be. Unless you want the good Mrs. Cope to help you around."

His eyes sparkle with mirth as he says this, and I know he is referring to Biology last week.

I fidget, leaning my weight on my other foot, not sure what to do.

"See? I told you she wouldn't want it," Rosalie says, getting up. "She can manage fine on her own. She's not a toddler, you know."

"We just wanted to help," Emmett says apologetically. "We want you to know that if there ever is anything, just come to any of us. We'll help you."

I frown again. I'm not used to asking for help. I'm not used to getting it, either. It feels alien.

But underneath, I have to do a double take as I take in the looks on all their faces. There is nothing but kindness there. They look almost hopeful. No tension in this room, no narrowed eyes, nothing that indicates they will want something back, or look down at me when I do want their support.

My shoulders sag a little as realization kicks in.

They _really_ want to be there for me. Just to make starting school easy on me.

"Don't be afraid to accept help, Bella," Esme says, catching my gaze. "Would you do the same for one of us?"

I swallow. And nod.

"See? So, let us help you. We won't take your hand, don't worry," Alice grins, and then she winks at me.

I can't help my smile in return, as so often has happened with her before now. She actually joked about my no-touching policy, and she did it in such a non-offensive manner that I can even enjoy it.

"Excellent. So, what can we do to make this easy for you?" Emmett says, all attention once more.

Esme gets up quietly and slips from the room, and I realize she's been here as a buffer, to see how this all would go before she left me with her kids.

"I think that maybe one of us could walk with her to the administrations office before school tomorrow," Alice starts, then looks at me. "I think you'll get a slip that each of your teachers has to sign."

She pauses to think for a moment. "You were already there last Friday — do you know if the teachers will know about you?"

"Mr. Banner got a memo," Edward says, and my gaze wanders over to him again. "Said something about her not speaking. I guess the other teachers will receive something similar."

"Let's hope so," Alice says. "What else? Where do you want to spend lunch?"

I shrug at her question. Somewhere outside and quiet, I hope.

"How did you do it at your old school?"

I look away, uncomfortable with this turn in the conversation.

"She can't speak if you don't get her something to write on," Rosalie says, then gets up and returns shortly after with notepad and pencil. I take it from her, once again baffled by her directness. Still, I can't get a read of her. Her behavior is not unkind, her words are not unkind. I have the distinct feeling she dislikes me, yet she has been very forthcoming on several occasions.

"So, where did you have lunch?" Alice repeats. I write down I never ate at school at all, and show her the note. My handwriting is barely readable, I'm shaking so hard.

Communicating like this, with so many onlookers, is very tedious for me. My jaw clenches involuntarily and my stance becomes rigid. I'm tensing up at rapid speed.

"That should change," Alice says. She looks at me studiously, taking in my stiff body, my tight face. "Will you not sit down?"

I shake my head, gesturing for her to continue.

"You can sit with us at lunch, of course. Or one of us could go somewhere quiet with you so you can eat?"

I shake my head. I don't want them to bother. I've never been bothered about before. Just leave me be, I'll manage myself. Besides, I can handle missing a meal. Or two.

"But you need to eat!" Alice exclaims, clearly trying to get through to me.

"Drop it, Alice," Edward says softly. "We'll find a way on the go."

I don't look at Edward but I am immensely grateful that he is standing up for me. I can't decide right now how I will manage such an unimportant detail as is eating. It's not important, anyway.

"So, do you want us to walk you to class or something? What is your schedule, anyway?"

Not for the first time, I notice Alice's persistence. It is for the first time however that she, in her enthusiasm, is barging over my boundaries. She doesn't notice I am very much willing to leave this room. I don't want to answer her questions. I don't know what she wants to achieve with this all.

Frowning, I start to fidget. It would be rude to just walk away, wouldn't it? They are still willing to help me, God knows why, and if I walk away I may lose that chance. Not that I want their support, or need it, for that matter, but it would be nice if they would not be _against_ me in school.

"Know what?" Rosalie says just as Alice opens her mouth to speak again. "You'll drive with me to school tomorrow. I'll take you to the administrations office and drop you off at your first class. From there you should be able to find your way. If you need us, send a text. After school, come meet us in the parking lot and you can drive home with us. Deal?"

Listening to her business-like speech without breathing, I can only nod when she is done.

"That's settled then. As for lunch, do what you want. I sure as hell will not stand outside in the cold somewhere to keep you company. Your not eating is your problem, not mine."

I blink at her harsh words, but she's telling the truth. Alice balks however, gaping at Rosalie.

"Rose!" she gasps.

"What?" Rosalie asks. "I won't."

"You could be a bit more forthcoming," Alice grumbles.

Rosalie raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow at her sister, but says nothing. Finally, she gets up. "I'm done here," she mutters, and leaves the room.

"Baby!" Emmett calls after her. When no reply follows, he looks at me. "Sorry, I hoped this would go differently. Just know that you can count on us, okay, Bella?"

I nod at Emmett, but I'm confused. I wonder why everybody is so upset about what Rose said. Every word was true, and she's the only one who gave me clear directions on what she wanted me to do tomorrow. None of the others have done that.

Honestly, I don't see any problem here.

"Yes, that's it basically," Jasper says. "I know you probably won't come running to me when you need anything, but we have your back."

His eyes are wide, honest. He's being carefully calm, I can tell. He's as scared of frightening me as I am of being startled by him.

What an impasse.

"Yes," Alice nods, glad she has a way to put her wants into words again. "We have your back. You're our family now, and we help each other out."

"By knowing when it's time to leave," Jasper adds, taking in my now utterly tense appearance. "Thanks for hearing us out. Appreciate it." He gets up and leaves the room, and Emmett follows after him with a soft greeting.

That leaves Alice and Edward. Edward leans back in the seat, pulling up his legs and wrapping his arms around him.

Alice sags, looking frustrated, and sighs. "That didn't go how I thought it would."

"What did you expect?" Edward asks.

I wonder how long it will take for them to forget me standing here.

Alice shrugs. "I don't know." Her gaze shifts to me. "I'm sorry. Did we overwhelm you?"

A little, yeah.

From the corner of my eye, I can see how Edward reaches for the remote and turns on the TV.

"We'll get you through this," Alice says. "Let's go over your schedule together later, so we can see when you'll be in class with one of us. Would you like to sit next to us if possible?"

I don't know. Would they want to? Would they not mind?

"As long as you come sit with me again in Biology," Edward says playfully.

I turn my head to look at him and I see his happy smile, the way his eyes crinkle as the corners of his mouth lift up.

"That is, if you want to, of course."

This time, I nod.

I want to.

**~O~**

After dinner, Esme intercepts me when I bring my tray back down to the kitchen.

"I don't want to meddle, but I want to talk to you about eating in school. I don't want you to skip any more meals. You are still losing weight — don't think I haven't noticed," she says almost sternly when I want to protest. "Would you try using the fluid food you had before? Just one, during lunch hour? Then you won't go too long without nutrition. I know you don't like it, but it's a quick and maybe more easy way to get some food inside of you."

I frown at her suggestion. The fluid food is vile and I wish I would never have to deal with that again.

"Bella," Carlisle says as he steps into the kitchen.

My head whips around to look at him. Just back from his shift at the hospital, I can tell he's tired, even though he looks as immaculate as always.

"Listen to us. You are underweight and malnourished. You have deprived your body from proper food for too long. Please try to eat something. It doesn't have to be the fluid food, but you need to eat. You're more prone to illness if you don't eat properly."

I take a deep breath, feeling how my heart beats against my chest and how my entire body is shaking. I don't want to get sick because I can't eat. Then it would be my fault. Yet again.

"Anything you want," Esme placates. "You can eat anything you want, just as long as you try to eat. Alice will be more than happy to help you find a quiet place to have lunch."

I bite my lip and then suck it — my lower lip is continuously sore from the worrying it receives time and again.

"Think about it," Carlisle states as he moves past me to the fridge. "I would hate it if we had to put you on other supplements."

That notion alone is alarming enough to make me want to eat more.

But they are right. I am still losing weight. Although I should be on four meals a day, I have found it is easy to skip either lunch or a four o'clock snack. Also, it's easy to forget them. I'm not used to eating on such a regular basis and I'm very rarely hungry. I can't get used to eating four times a day.

I don't care about the weight thing though. I don't care about my body, at all.

Finally, finally they let me go again and I am allowed to retreat to my room. I made it clear to Esme I will set my own alarm and I will make sure I will be ready in time to go to school.

I am packing my bag when Alice knocks on my door.

"Can I come in? I thought we could compare schedules."

I open the door for her and let her into the room. We place our timetables next to each other and check when I am in class with another Cullen. I should have Trig with Alice and Biology with Edward.

So, two out of six classes, a Cullen will be there. Alice assures me she will arrange with the teacher that I can sit next to her in Trig.

"You can explain it to me. I'll have my very own personal tutor," she beams, and I smile in return.

She sits down on my bed and looks at the stack of books on my desk.

"Are you nervous for tomorrow?"

I press my lips together and nod carefully. There's a tight ball of anxiety in my guts and it has been growing steadily throughout the day. I'm trying not to think too much about tomorrow and just take it all as it comes. There's little else I can do, and I really want to go to school.

"You can do it," Alice says. "And anyone trying to get to you, will have to go through me first."

She forms her hands into claws, which is so funny it again makes me smile.

"But seriously, you'll be the object of interest for the first couple of days. You think you can handle that?"

I shrug and move to my desk for a piece of paper.

_Done it before._

"Yeah, that's true," Alice says, chewing her lip as she looks at the note. Then her gaze shifts back to me. "Do you need anything? Want anything?"

I shake my head. I'm good. And I would really like to be alone before the mayhem starts.

"Have you figured out what to wear yet?"

Of course Alice would ask something like that. I point to my new black hoodie that lies over my desk chair and Alice nods.

"Might as well wear something you feel comfortable in, huh? I'll ride with Rose and you tomorrow," she then announces. "We'll be there for you. Good night, Bella." And with that, she leaves, being her old perceptive self once more.

I spend the rest of the evening making sure I have all the things I need for school. Then I put on the CD Edward made again, skipping the first song however to prevent a buffer overflow of emotion.

Nobody disturbs me. It's an unknown bliss I can't seem to get used to. If only I could trust this calm, I could really appreciate it.

I prepare myself for bed slowly, but my heart is beating heavily and my entire body is coiled up with nerves I can't seem to get rid of. Slipping in between the sheets, I set the alarm on my phone and turn off the light.

In the darkness, colors play before my eyes, dancing along and following my gaze as my eyes wander about the dark room.

This is hopeless. The silence is oppressive and I know I won't be able to sleep. I'm not even worried about being tired tomorrow in school. I know I can easily skip a night and then still make it through the next day. If I have about three hours of sleep and some good strong coffee in the morning, I can muddle through all right.

The only thing that does worry me is that I won't be able to maintain my habit of napping after school. I used to catch on to sleep, or homework, or food, or whatever, before Stefan would come home from work.

Thank fuck the man had a job.

But here, I don't think it will be possible to nap. I don't think it would be appreciated. I am scared to ask Esme permission to sleep during the day. I have seen Edward doing it once before, but it's not a habit of the people in this household.

I bite my lip and turn to my other side.

No, I don't think I will be able to go to sleep.

Sighing, I slip out of bed and into my clothes. I need fresh air. Once again I've not been outside all day. It's going to be a problem to get out of the house here at all. I don't have any means of transportation and Forks does not have city buses.

Drat.

I make my way down the stairs and into the hallway, where I quietly put on my coat. I slide my feet into my shoes and walk out to the porch.

The door is not locked, but I don't think twice about it. The Cullens live far out, there's little chance of anyone coming here.

When I step outside, the crisp night air hitting my face, I get the shock of my life when I hear a voice.

"Hi."

Edward. Always Edward.

I gasp audibly and my breath escapes in a rush as I grip the door to gather my bearings again.

"I have a knack of startling you," Edward's voice sounds in the dark. "I'm sorry. I would have left a light on if I knew you were coming."

A tiny light flares up and I see that Edward is holding up his phone, the lit screen casting a faint glow on the porch to guide my way.

"Come sit with me," he says softly.

I hesitate. There is no light here. I won't be able to see what he's doing. I swallow, my mouth suddenly completely dry.

"No need to be afraid of me." It's almost a whisper. "Don't you know that by now?"

He's right. It's my ingrained instinct that warns me, because reasonably I know he's not luring me into a trap.

Shuffling forward, Edward lights up the screen of his phone again and again to guide my way. Finally I can see him shifting to the left and I sink down on the porch steps on the right, twisting slightly so I can lean back against the banister.

"Couldn't sleep, huh?" Edward says in the dark.

Yeah, I can nod now, but that won't really work, now will it?

I'm not really surprised when Edward holds out his phone to me. "Talk to me."

I look at the phone, not knowing what to say. Finally, I type.

_Thanks for the CD. The songs are wonderful._

In the faint light of the phone I can see Edward's bright smile.

"Happy you liked it. I have more music, come have a look someday."

I think we both know chances I'll do that are slim.

"So, are you nervous for tomorrow?"

_Yes_

"I would be too. But we meant what we said today. We're here for you, even though it seems you find it hard to believe that. We won't… turn on you or anything."

I swallow thickly and I'm mortified to notice that the sound of it can actually be heard in the silence outside. It's almost completely windless, there's just the faintest rushing in the trees.

Edward is quiet for a moment, thankfully not asking why I find it so hard to believe him, his family. I think he's fiercely loyal.

I also think he's never been truly disappointed before. His trust has never been betrayed.

"Can I ask you a question?" he then asks.

Well, he's going to do it anyway, isn't he. I wait for him to speak again.

"That song, Clair de Lune. It does something to you when you hear it. I saw your entire face change when you were listening to it. Will you tell me why it's so special to you?"

I chew my lip until I can taste blood as I look at the phone in my hand. The screen lights up, then dies down again. I let it light up, until it dies down again. Do I tell him?

What do I have to lose?

He gave me something, too. He gave me his music. Maybe I should give something back.

Or maybe I simply _want_ to tell him. _Want_ him to know why the song is special to me. I know it by heart — even if they took the CD away from me again I could play it over and over in my head, and nobody can steal away my memories.

No one.

I hold my breath.

_It reminds me of my mother_

Edward does not speak, but I know he has read the text. Instead, I am fairly sure I hear him swallow.

"I'm sorry," he says finally, so softly it's a rough whisper. "Do you miss her?"

His question catches me off guard so much I sit back abruptly. I frown and shake my head a little, but his words have reached my brain and now they are being dissected, stored, and wreaking havoc in a dormant part of my emotions.

"I'm sorry," Edward says again. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry, I should have kept my mouth shut."

But I'm typing.

_No_

"You… You don't."

I show him the screen again. I don't miss my mother.

I don't allow myself to. She left me for good reasons. I made her so angry…

No. Don't go there.

Edward exhales and even in this darkness I can see how he rakes a hand through his hair.

"Okay. I'm sorry to have pried."

I shrug. It's okay. He didn't know. And I was prepared for him wanting to know why that song means so much to me.

A cold gust of wind reminds us both we are outside and getting cold.

"We should go to bed," Edward says softly, as if he regrets it. "I swear, when I grow up I'll take a job where I can work night shifts."

He yawns and stretches, then gets up and waits by the door for me to join him. We go inside and hang up our coats, still engulfed by the darkness in the silent house. Then we go upstairs, me following him. I don't want him behind me. My throat constricts at the thought alone.

At my bedroom door, I halt and turn to offer him some form of goodnight.

"If you need anything tomorrow, just contact me," he says softly so as not to wake the others.

I nod, knowing he can't see me. When I turn to reach for the doorknob, Edward speaks again.

"Oh and Bella? Thank you, for confiding in me tonight."

Stunned, I nod once more into the darkness and slip into my room.

He thanked me. What does that mean? Why would he do that?

And still, underneath, I find I'm happy I told him. Somehow it feels like my burden is a tiny bit lighter, now I am no longer the only one that knows.

He sad he saw it in my face. I wonder what he sees in there. I'm as ugly as the night — I'm amazed he would look at me in the first place, let alone notice differences in my appearance.

I sigh, lock the door, and try to go to sleep.

**~O~**

I wake early, startled by the alarm on my phone and disoriented for a moment. The realization of what today will behold crashes down on me and I have to hurry into the bathroom to make it to the toilet in time.

I grit my teeth when I'm done, trying to swallow away the severe burning of the gall in my throat.

I can do this. I will have to.

I get dressed, brush my teeth and bring my bag downstairs with me.

Esme is up and she points at a bowl of cereal on the breakfast bar.

"Eat. Have it in the library if it's too chaotic here for you. But eat."

The moment she leaves the kitchen, I pour the cereal down the drain.

I can't. I'm sorry.

The rest of the Cullen kids gather, all encouraging smiles and reassuring words.

I frown and look away. I don't want it like this. Certainly not like this.

When it's time to go, Esme hands me a package of fluid food and catches my gaze before she speaks.

"If you find you can't, or if you get scared, or if there's anything at all, text me and I'll pick you up. No repercussions. No consequences. If you find you can't do it today, we can try it again later. Okay, Bella?"

I nod, because I know that's what she expects me to do.

She's not convinced, but she lets me go. "Have your phone with you?"

I nod, and she smiles.

"Go."

The drive to school is quiet.

Well, it isn't, as Alice is chattering away and Rose is keeping a close eye on me through her rearview mirror, but to me, it's quiet.

I'm slowly distancing myself from it all. Step by step, I step away from the window to reality, until I am surrounded by a fuzzy white noise that surrounds me like a cushion. Signals will get in, and I won't miss anything, but I am prepared now.

When we arrive at the parking lot, I get out and look at the school. So many students and some are already looking at me.

I take a cleansing breath.

I can do this. I will have to.

Wrapping my arms around my waist, I hold myself as I take the final mental step back and shut myself almost completely down. I can still hear, see, smell. Feel. It's just all from afar now.

In my peripheral vision, I see that Alice narrows her eyes at me.

She noticed.

Fuck.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N I don't own Twilight. I own a fresh new batch of pain medication though ^_^**

_You stun me with your wonderful words. Thank you for reading and for keeping Bella company on her journey. _

_Thanks to Sherry and Deb for their help, both for this fic and in my rl. You both know what you mean to me._

_So, Bella's first day at school... I'm nervous about posting this, because I know you have high expectations. I hope to be able to meet at least some of them._

* * *

As promised, Rosalie walks with me to the administration office. She even holds open the door for me and waits near that same door as I walk forward towards Mrs. Cope.

The receptionist greets me with a smile and gives me a slip I have to get each teacher to sign. At the end of the day, I have to bring it back to her.

Oh, shit.

Mrs. Cope also hands me my locker number and the lock combination, and a note I can show the teachers, 'in case they forgot about the memo.' The note provides the same basic information Mr. Greene wrote down last Friday, only with a bit more words used and a 'please welcome Bella to your class.'

I am sincerely grateful for this note and I bow my head in thanks.

"I think your siblings will guide you to your classes, dear, but here's a map of the school."

She hands me a piece of paper, on which she has conveniently pointed out the classrooms I will need for my subjects. I nod again, and then Rosalie escorts me out to my first class of the day — English.

She stops outside the door, staring down curious students and focusing solely on me.

"I'll leave you here. You okay?"

I bite my lip and nod. I have to be strong.

"Text me if you need anything," Rosalie says. She looks around me, seeing the other students craning their necks. Then she meets my eyes again. "You're a big girl. I can hardly tell you to kick some ass, but don't take any shit, okay?"

I nod at her words. I don't think Rosalie really likes me, but in her impatience she's very clear and that I do like.

"Very well. Can you make it to your next class from here?"

I nod again. I'm a big girl, just like Rose said.

I can do this. I will have to.

Rosalie bids me goodbye and saunters off, hips swaying in that perfect runway walk of hers. I take a deep breath and turn to class just as the second bell rings.

Armed with the note from Mrs. Cope, I walk up to the teacher. He reads it, introduces himself as Mr. Mason and signs the slip. Then he tells me to find a place in class.

I exhale softly in relief. That's one hurdle overtaken. The man doesn't even look at me.

I look over the tables and notice to my utter relief that in the back, there is a completely empty table left. I walk to the back of the class, ignoring the eyes on me, and slip into my seat.

So many new faces… Even though I couldn't care less about them, I know that by the end of the week I will know at least some names. And some of them will know mine.

The creepy blond guy I saw in Biology last week is in this class too. He's looking at me with unguarded curiosity and I know it will be a matter of time before he will come up to me and talk.

My phone, which I have on me for once, buzzes in my pocket. It's a text from Alice and I read it under the table just before the teacher calls the class to attention.

_Good luck! You can do it!_

Yeah, Alice, I know I can.

But I do realize it's the gesture that counts, and the gesture, I know, is sweet and well meant.

I let the teacher's words seep through the fuzzy fog I have conjured in my mind and find myself oddly relaxed as I finally enjoy some education again. I make notes as we discuss a book I've read before on a voluntary basis — Wuthering Heights. Don't ask me why, I just like the book.

And I do have my very own copy of it, thanks to Esme.

The hour passes more quickly than I expected it would and when the bell rings, I brace myself again. I pack my bag quickly and want to get out of class as soon as possible, but just by the door I am intercepted by a black haired guy that looks faintly Asian.

I step back from him to create more space between us, but he doesn't even notice.

"Hi, I'm Eric, Eric Yorkie," he says, smiling brightly.

I just nod, there is nothing else I can do.

I want to leave.

"You're new here, right? Isabella Swan? I can give you a tour of the school? I'm kind of the eyes and ears around this place."

I shake my head, trying to indicate that a tour is not necessary.

"So, ehm, I work for the school paper too, so you deserve a feature. Can I interview you? Also, if you ever need anything, like a map, or a shoulder to cry on…"

"She's really more the suffering in silence type of girl," I hear Rosalie say. "Ready to go, Bella?"

Hey, we never agreed she would pick me up here?

"Bella, okay," Eric says, obviously confused but fortunately picking up on my preferred name. "Well, nice to meet you. Just let me know if you need any help, okay? I'm here."

I look at this Eric, unmoving for a moment, before I step around him to meet Rosalie. Best to ignore these efforts. They'll step down quickly enough.

"I told you not to take any shit," Rosalie scolds, but she's not angry. "Come on, what's your next class?"

Why she is doing this, I don't know, but I will have to thank her properly as soon as I get the chance.

With Rosalie as my guide, or guard, nobody comes up to me to ask or introduce. I wonder what her reputation is around this school.

She drops me off at Government and then hurries away with half a greeting, almost late for her own class.

See, I don't want that. I don't want them to inconvenience themselves in any way. If Rosalie is late, it will be my fault.

In Government, I am once more without other Cullens. The teacher, Mr. Jefferson, looks doubtful when I hand him the note and give him the slip to sign, but he doesn't say anything. He, too, orders me to find a spot and I'm disappointed to learn that I will have to sit next to somebody here.

My eyes search the room, scanning faces as they push through the white noise in my head. Finally, a girl with long, dark, shiny hair looks at me through her glasses. She smiles kindly at me and it's the first gaze I meet that is not burning with curiosity, but simply with kindness.

And she's sitting alone at a table. The only free spot left in class.

I make my way towards her, careful to see any signs that would indicate she doesn't want me there, but instead she slides her books to her half of the table and greets me with a smile when I sit down.

"Hi."

I nod back, focusing on the tabletop.

"I'm Angela," she says.

I nod again.

Her name rings a bell. From a century ago, when Alice sat on my bed with me and told me about the goings on at school. Wasn't Angela one of the names she then used? And what are the chances that this would be the same Angela?

But why does everybody have this uncanny urge to make conversation? It would be so much easier for me if people just didn't address me. In Phoenix, I was pointedly ignored.

"So, ehm, who are you?"

I look at the girl, at her confused but kind face. Either she's not the Angela I think I heard about, or the Cullen kids have never mentioned me at school. She doesn't look like she wants something to gossip about later however, but what do I know?

Finally, I sigh and decide to just give her the note Mrs. Cope gave me. People are bound to find out, especially if the Cullens have not told anybody about me. That wouldn't surprise me, though. I wouldn't tell others about me, either. I would have liked it though if it had taken a bit longer for my story to be known here. I'm enough of a novelty as is.

Half the people here are looking at me as if I'm some shiny new toy they want to play with.

Yuk.

I slide the note from Mrs. Cope towards Angela on the table. She reads it and her eyes grow wide.

"You're Bella? You live with the Cullens, right?"

Okay, so she _is_ the Angela I heard about in Alice's stories. I nod, slowly.

"And you don't talk?" she asks softly.

Well, kudos for her for not shouting that one out.

I shake my head in confirmation of her question.

"O-kay," she says slowly, obviously lost for words.

With a half shrug and a nod I try to convey that it's really nothing special. Not that I would care what she thinks, but she seemed nice enough and even if I can manage her not turning against me, it's all worth it, isn't it?

"Well, welcome to Forks High. Don't let the grandeur blow you away," she says with a gentle half smile.

Mentally, I smile back at her.

The teacher calls the class to attention and I focus front, trying to get into this subject I thoroughly loathe.

After a few minutes, Angela slips a note my way across the table.

The fuck?

_If you need any help around school, just let me know_

Oh dear, here goes my non-communication policy. I can't just ignore her, can I? I mean, I do know some social rules and all. I write back.

_Will do. Thanks._

Angela smiles at me and then focuses on the teacher again, and I huddle deeper into the blanket of fluff that is surrounding me in my mind.

Strangely, I am happy that the creepy blond guy, nor Eric Yorkie, are in this class.

When we're halfway through, another note is slid towards me.

Hmm, this Angela is a bit too talkative to my taste.

_You just moved here, right?_

Ah yes, I should have seen this coming. And perhaps she _does _know about me then. I chew my lip, trying to decide how much I can tell. Then again, it won't be long before people find out, right?

_I came here a month ago._

Angela reads, then leans in to whisper, carefully keeping an eye on the teacher.

"Alice mentioned you a few times, but she didn't say you don't talk… Are you a foster child?"

I should have lied. Or kept my mouth shut. Fuck.

But, she _does_ know about me.

Still, I nod, blushing for God knows why and looking away.

"It's okay," she whispers so softly I can hardly hear. "I won't tell anyone if it makes you uncomfortable. Alice and the others haven't put attention on it, either. Alice just mentioned you once or twice, nothing special."

I have to look at her to see if she's honest. Her eyes are big as she takes me in and suddenly I realize there's a lot she can deduce just from the fact that I live in foster care.

Oh no, this was _not_ supposed to happen.

I look front again, frowning. This was not how I had imagined this would go. I was going to stand back and let all this shit go past me, just follow classes and ignore everyone until they wood ignore me. It would only take a few days until most of the curiosity would wear off.

And now I am in what I could call a conversation with a girl on my first day of school.

I like it not.

"Hey," Angela says softly, to get my attention again.

I can't move to look at her. If she spills, all will be ruined. Gah.

_Fuck_.

We sit through the end of class and the tension between us is almost tangible. With just a few more minutes to go, one final note slips my way just as we open our journals to write down our homework assignment for the next day.

I make a point of not reading it until the bell has rang and students are getting up. Some linger in the class, shooting me glances, but I focus on packing my bag meticulously. When the class is almost empty and Angela is gone, I read the note.

_Sorry if I upset you. I only meant to be kind. If you need a friend, I'm here. ~Angela_

That's… Unbelievable.

I shove the note in the back pocket of my jeans and ignore it. Because it really is unbelievable.

As if anybody wanted to be my friend.

I exit the classroom and am met by a happy looking Alice.

"Hey you! Come spend break with us? We found a quiet little spot."

Her voice breaks through my haze and I respond to her words just a fraction of a second late.

Already too weary to fight her, I follow her as she weaves us through the nearly empty hallways. We stop by my locker, but I make clear that I don't need to use it.

With Alice guiding me, people do not approach me. Alice does not stare others down, like Rosalie did, but with somebody alongside me, I am left alone.

I should have realized this earlier. I am marked territory as long as I am not alone.

I wonder if the Cullen kids realize this.

Alice brings me to a quiet corner indeed, although I suspect they would not be hard to find in a tiny school like this one. In my view, there really are very few students. I am used to dodging crowds.

Somehow, this is much scarier. I can see _every_ pair of eyes on me because _everybody_ here knows who I am by now. And _everybody_ is looking.

Edward is waiting in the 'quiet corner,' together with Rosalie. Jasper and Emmett are nowhere to be seen. I don't mind, although I do wonder fleetingly if they just don't want to be seen with me. Which I would understand.

I am greeted with Edward's tentative smile and Rosalie's scrutinizing gaze.

"You good?" she asks.

I nod, even though the coil of nerves in my stomach is as tight as ever. I can't really smile at her, not that I want to. To show emotions like that would mean coming out of my haze and I don't want that.

"So, everything went well so far?"

I nod again. School in itself really is not such a struggle for me. Nosy teachers and annoying students are, unfortunately.

Surrounded by three foster siblings, I take a minute to compose myself and catch my breath again. I feel now how my muscles have tensed up over these last two hours.

It's all part of the game. I know.

Edward and Rosalie stand in front of me, chatting in soft voices about nothings. Alice and I stand behind, almost hidden but not locked in. It's almost as if they are standing guard and for a long moment I wonder if they are shielding the outer world for me, or if I am shielded from the outer world. What if they really don't like to be associated with me in the school?

Then again, even my evil mind has to agree, then they would not have done everything they have done so far to accommodate me, to help me.

Pressing my lips together in resolve, I realize there is only one real way to find out if they are sincere. And I should push through with that now. Get it over with, so I know what I am dealing with.

I reach into my bag and pull out a bloc note and a pencil. Then I write down two simple words.

_Thank you_

Alice's face lights up like a Christmas tree when she sees the note and her eyes go wide and almost seem to shimmer with something… what, tears?

"Thank _you_, Bella," she says and I swear I can see her lower lip quiver.

Edward and Rosalie stop talking for a moment to see what is going on. Alice gives them the note and as Edward's face splits open in a breathtaking smile, Rosalie's tight-lipped grin is nothing but victorious.

I used all of two words?

However, their reaction does show my words are appreciated. They don't do this because they are embarrassed. I think I can be sure about that.

Right?

Then the bell rings and this time, Alice walks with me to my next class.

She's in Trig, too, and she smiles reassuringly as she walks up to the teacher, Mr. Varner with me.

I give the man the note and the slip to sign, and then step back as Alice starts to plead her case about having me sit next to her in Trig.

What I didn't know, and what I only learn now, is that Alice is sitting next to Jessica, Edward's ex girlfriend, in this class.

Even I can imagine Alice would rather sit next to me than to Jessica.

But Mr. Varner does not budge and I have to sit down next to another student, fortunately a girl who does not speak to me and who makes sure there is as much space as possible between my chair and hers, all the while pointedly ignoring me.

I don't care. I actually like that she leaves me alone.

Mr. Varner is a no-nonsense teacher and he sets his class to work on an assignment, announcing that he will come by to collect homework in the meantime.

I produce the homework from my bag and place it on the corner of the table, so the teacher can collect it.

"You did the assignment?" he asks, and the surprise almost stings.

I nod in answer.

He nods slowly, and keeps on nodding as his eyes scan my work. I'm pretty sure I did well on this and as his gaze turns from doubtful to appreciative, my nerves are eased a bit.

Trig, to me, is certainty. I wouldn't like it if I failed that now.

"We'll see how you get along here," the man says dismissively. "Don't expect me to go easy on you."

There's always a teacher who is annoyed by my silence. I think I have found one in this school, too.

Luckily I don't worry too much about Trig. Chances that I will ever have to ask a question here, are slim.

I work through class with vigor. It's important to me that the teacher knows I mean serious business. The one time I look up to seek out Alice, she's looking at me, too, and winks and smiles.

I can't wink, so I won't try. I wish I could smile back or give any other sign but to make eye contact, but it's simply not possible. It's a wonder I can make eye contact at all in this haze, come to think of it.

I hope she will understand. A notion that in itself confuses me. Since when have I been worried about upsetting or disappointing her?

I frown at the thought and immediately pull back further into my mind. Showing emotions is very dangerous right now. Frowning means I am losing my grip on my guard. Just a few more hours to go.

Mr. Varner leaves me alone for the rest of the hour, but I have the feeling he'll be true to his words and test me again and again. I hope he won't make me work out answers on the chalkboard in front of class. He seems like just the man to do such a thing.

After class, Alice walks me to Spanish. She looks into my eyes searchingly, and I know what she is looking for. I avert my gaze, uncomfortable. She is worried, I can tell.

Fortunately, she leaves me with a final well wish and I can prepare myself for my next subject.

Spanish, with a teacher whose name I can't remember for the life of me, could become a problem. I can't talk, so I can't do the verbal part of the class. There is something about this in my education plan though, I recall.

The teacher comes to find me as soon as she has set her class to work and takes the seat beside me. Here, too, I have the luck to have a table to myself.

This tiny school means classes that are not overly full. I never foresaw this benefit.

"I got the memo this morning," she says. "Since you can't speak, we'll have to find a way to get you through this class. I'm thinking you can do extra written exercises instead. This will fit your IEP too."

I nod, relieved that she is forthcoming.

"Very well. Come meet me after class and we'll set you up."

I am speechless. No pun intended.

Almost everything is going over so smoothly — I was prepared for a lot of struggle. The teachers here however, unlike Mr. Greene, the principal, don't seem to have much trouble with my silence. Except for Mr. Varner, that is.

During class though, my high is brought down with force. As soon as the teacher is occupied with other students, a vile looking girl with pale blond hair and hard eyes walks up to my table, towering over me as I lean back a little to gain some space.

"I'm Lauren," she says. "Who are you?"

Never mind not being able to speak — with her, I'm not willing to.

"Talk to me," she spits. "Who are you?"

I look away, bored already with her demanding air. Heidi, back at Stefan's, was a thousand times worse. This Lauren, who I can guess is very popular, doesn't frighten me in the slightest.

Then, from somewhere behind Lauren comes a voice I would recognize anywhere. A voice I would walk away from, everywhere.

"She doesn't _speak_."

Jessica's words are loud enough to attract the attention of the entire class.

You fucking bitch.

Lauren whirls around to look at Jessica.

"What?"

Silence rings through the class and enhances the rush of the white noise in my ears.

"She doesn't speak. She's like, mute."

Dear God girl, if you so much as hint at my past, like you did in the Cullen kitchen three weeks ago, I will rip you to pieces.

Lauren turns back to me, hand on her hip.

Around us, students are looking at me, at Lauren.

The latter does a once over, taking in my tired hair, my black oversized hoodie, my books on the table and my sloppy handwriting.

"You don't talk?"

I shake my head, slowly. No need in denying it anymore, now is there?

"What, because you can't?"

I roll my eyes at her. I don't answer senseless questions.

"Are you even fully sane?"

At this, I look up at her, incredulous, quirking one eyebrow at her ridiculous statement.

"She lives with the Cullens," Jessica adds.

This close. I am this close to lunging over my table and attacking her.

Lauren stares at me, looking me over again. Then her demeanor swiftly changes. "The Cullens? Really?"

I nod once. Damn this. I want out.

"Ladies, please get back to your assignment," the teacher says sternly.

Lauren casts me one last look, then goes back to her table with Jess. When they start talking, I am pretty sure they are not discussing the weather in Spanish like we're supposed to do.

The teacher looks at me for a long moment, her gaze unreadable. I bend over my books, letting my hair fall around my face like a shield, shutting out the lingering curious glances from the rest of the students.

I _know_ this is not over yet.

And now everybody in this classroom knows, and before lunch is over, the entire school will know.

I want to sink down into a black hole and disappear.

The teacher is now finally looking up and calling her class to attention once more.

I bend over my desk, letting my hair fall like a shield around my face, and retreat further into the safety of my mind as I sit out the rest of the lesson.

**~O~**

Edward notices my stress as he picks me up at the door after class. Although we never agreed on these things, it seems as if the Cullens have agreed on guiding me through my day and although I thought I would never want it, I can't deny that I like not having to do this alone.

They're there for me, much like they said they would be yesterday.

That funny warm feeling erupts again in the pit of my stomach, and as it has been before, once more it is accompanied by a certain feeling of emptiness, like I am missing something.

But above all, I am upset over what took place in that classroom.

Edward waits with me until the worst thrum of the students has moved passed, as if he's never done differently.

He ignores Jessica and Lauren, who linger around him. Jessica sneers at him while Lauren greets him pointedly. He barely gives either of them a glance before he looks back at me as I finish packing my bag.

I only make my way over to them when Jessica and Lauren are finally gone, looking over their shoulder at me one last time.

"You okay?" Edward asks as I approach him, a tiny frown puckering between his brows as he tries to catch my gaze. "You look tense."

I shrug it away. I don't want him to know, and I don't want him to bother.

"No, what happened?"

As he ducks his head to look at me, I turn my head away, letting my hair fall around my face again. Don't do this. Please.

He stops walking and goes to stand in front of me to block my path. In automatic reaction, I step back, unable to prevent the hiss that escapes me. My hands come up to protect myself in case of need.

"No, not like that," Edward says quickly, shocked. "You know that. But please tell me what happened."

Damn he's persistent.

_Your ex girlfriend happened, is all_, I think harshly, but I can't vocalize myself and I really don't feel like writing it down.

After a long moment of silence, he sighs. "Okay, let's go then. Do you want to go to the lunchroom or somewhere else? We can find a quieter place again if you want to?"

I shrug. It doesn't matter. I won't be able to eat, anyway.

"Tell me where to go, Bella," Edward says again, clearly expecting some answer from me.

I sag my shoulders in a sign of defeat. I don't know where to go, Edward. You decided to herd me around today, well, herd me to the next place then. You're obviously not going to leave me alone so I can hide out in the library or something.

I'm tired, and getting grumpy. My reactions are all a fraction of a second late because I am so far withdrawn in my head and it takes a lot of effort to actually stay in touch with the real world.

"Okay, cafeteria it is then," Edward decides, and he guides me through the halls towards the lunchroom.

It's so big that even with all three hundred students, it doesn't look really crowded.

However, like a gong has sounded, all eyes are on me and I freeze, looking over countless anonymous faces until I meet Alice's sparkling eyes.

She bounces up and hurries towards me, weaving around the tables with easy grace.

"There you are!" she says. "Want to sit with us? Or want to go outside for a bit?"

The room is spacious, but too full. There are too many people here. However, if I leave now, the curiosity will not wear off and the sooner I am through that, the better.

On the other hand, if I seek refuge now, people might learn I like to be left alone and they will leave me alone.

It's an impossible decision.

"Edward!"

No. No, no. Not her. Please no.

"Jessica."

His voice is tense, I hear it immediately. Alice's face looks as if she has eaten something sour.

"So, your new sister has finally decided to come to school with us?"

She's smiling, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Her blond hair is pulled back tightly in a ponytail and as she bounces up to us, I wince at her proximity.

"Yes, she did. Now if you will excuse us…"

"Welcome to Forks High, Bella!" Jessica says with her high, sharp voice.

Huh… what?

I don't hide my disbelieving look and from my peripheral vision, I see how Edward is looking from Jessica to me.

"If you get fed up by your family, feel free to join us," she says, then she points at the table where she sits. "There's Mike too, and Lauren. She's really nice, you know."

Yeah, whatever, _Jessica_. Did you really think I would buy this shit? Do you really think I am too stupid to go along with this?

"I think we're done here," Alice says flatly. "Come on, sister, let's go get some fresh air outside."

**~O~**

Alice noticed I was panicking up. I didn't. But as soon as I am outside and breathe in the crisp autumn air, I notice that my heart is hammering and my muscles are coiled.

"Relax, nothing happened."

"I think Jessica happened," Edward comments as he steps out of the building after us. "Let me guess, she wasn't as nice to you in Spanish?"

He's dead right and I look down, trying to hide my blush. I don't need them to know how people treat me. It isn't the first time and it won't be the last.

Alice mutters a curse under her breath and because I am looking down, I can see how Edward balls his hands into fists.

I step back immediately, alarmed to my core. Will they blame me for what just happened?

"She'll never stop," he spits, frustrated. "Was she very mean?"

No, maybe they won't blame mean then. I shrug and shake my head to answer him. Honestly, nothing really happened. I do know now she's a two-faced bitch and I need to be careful of her. Not that I wasn't, already.

But I'm wary of Edward's hands and when he follows my gaze to where I am looking at so intently, he immediately relaxes, holding his hands op in an apologizing gesture.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I'm so sorry. That's twice in ten minutes. I'm so sorry."

Alice narrows her eyes at him, but I can't look up to meet his gaze. I focus on the wet cobbles in front of me on the floor, counting them to distract myself from that deep, deep fear that was boiling up.

We stand in silence.

"Are you calmer again?" Alice asks after a while, and I nod.

"I'm sorry," Edward says again, but I frown and look away from him. Stop talking already.

"How is the rest going?" Alice then asks, and I have the feeling she is trying to distract me. "Is it okay? How are the teachers, are they treating you normally?"

I nod, still surprised at how easy it all seems to have gone.

"And the other students?"

I nod slowly. I really didn't form an opinion of them yet.

"You're not really in the mood to talk, are you," Alice smiles, and although I understand her joke, I am too weary to acknowledge it.

She steps up closer to me then, and I look up at her in surprise. "Don't think I haven't noticed what you are doing today. It's really wicked that you can do that, you know?"

Somehow, I _know_ she's referring to my half-aware state of mind. Or, actually, I am hyper aware of everything, but it all has to push through a sort of noise to register in my brain. It's hard to explain. I've not shut down my senses… I've just cushioned my response to them perhaps.

"You need to eat," Edward says softly on my other side. "Mom asked us to make sure that you eat."

I can't eat.

And you can't make me.

"Do you have the fluid food? Or do you want anything else? I can buy you something in the cafeteria," Edward offers.

I shake my head. That's not necessary.

"You have to eat," Alice says pleadingly. "You can't go an entire day without food."

I shake my head with more vigor, eyes going wide now in fear. Don't make me eat. Please.

"Rosalie can," Edward says dryly.

Alice shoots him some daggers. "Not helping."

Edward shrugs and looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. "Remember when we had our first day here, Al? I remember vividly how you weren't able to eat for nerves."

Alice sighs. "But Bella is too thin. She needs her strength."

"I think, at this moment, it helps her more to let things do her way. If she doesn't want to eat, she doesn't want to eat. It's such a struggle for her to do it at home already. Why make this harder on her?"

I'm standing right here, but alas.

"Mom is going to kill us," Alice mutters.

This gets my attention. I look up at Alice, surprised. If my not eating gets them into trouble then I have to fix it.

To my left, Edward shrugs. "Mom will live and let us live. She'll be more glad to know that Bella got through her day." Then he turns to me. "Promise you'll eat when you get home?"

I nod, taken aback by his sincere eyes.

"I don't like it, Edward," Alice pouts.

"Tell mom to come to me then. Tell her I thought it was better to not force Bella to eat."

Alice sighs, but finally gives in. Before I can stop myself, I breathe an exhale of relief.

"You okay?" Alice asks for the umpteenth time. "Not too cold?"

I shake my head. I'm good. Jeez, stop fussing over me already. You make me nervous.

"Excuse me for a moment while I get some food inside. Want some, Alice?"

"Some yoghurt, please. Can I pay you back later? My wallet is in my locker."

Edward rolls his eyes, smirking. "Sure."

He's gone then, and Alice and I are alone outside.

"You're doing great," she says reassuringly. Then she produces her phone from her pocket and starts texting somebody. Jasper, perhaps. Or Esme, telling I'm not willing to eat?

"Just telling Jasper all is well here," she says smiling. "He was worried when we walked from the lunch room."

Jasper, worried?

Huh.

Edward rounds the corner to where we are again, and to my surprise Emmett, Rosalie and Jasper are with him. Rosalie smiles when she meets my gaze.

They all come to a halt around me, and I feel suddenly very small.

They all look equally worried.

In my fragile state of mind, I do the only thing that will save me from a panic attack or breakdown.

I shut down completely.

**~O~**

I come to my senses again somewhere halfway through Biology. I blink my eyes a couple of times and stretch my back, stiff from having sat hunched over for so long. I glance at the clock and see we have twenty minutes left.

Such an easy way to get through the day.

"Are you back again?" Edward asks softly beside me.

I look at him, at his face that holds a mixture between worry, curiosity, amazement and fear.

"Are you… Are you aware again?"

I nod slowly, still hazy. I've been fully out, going through all the motions and registering everything, but not really processing it. It's hard to explain.

"That was scary. You were doing nothing out of the ordinary, but I just knew you weren't there."

I look away, not knowing what to reply to this.

"Sorry you panicked though. Was it too crowded for you?"

I look back at Edward, frustrated suddenly with my inability to explain myself.

"We'll figure it all out along the way," he whispers, smiling reassuringly. "We just want to help you."

I nod, acknowledging this. Still, I wonder if this ordeal would have been easier had I been alone.

Then I think how the Cullens have guided and guarded me, and I have to admit, even to myself, that no, it would not have been easier had I been alone. These guys have been truly wonderful, even if sometimes nosy and meddling. I will have to accept that they mean the best. They truly want to help, even though I can't for the life of me understand why.

Class goes by quickly, and afterwards Mr. Banner asks me if I have a moment so we can set up a schedule.

After my initial panic attack last week, I am no longer afraid to be with this man. Besides, when he asks me if I have another class after this, he gives me the most marvelous way out. Ever.

So I remain seated as the class lets out and wait for Mr. Banner to join me. We go over homework and I show him my journal, where I have jotted down everything Edward had, too. I also give Mr. Banner the big assignment I spent so much time on. The deadline has gone, of course, but the teacher still thanks me with a big smile and promises me he will grade the assignment for me. He praises me for my effort and I look away, uncomfortable.

His gaze lingers, almost as if he is seeing something in my face that I'd rather hide for the outside world to see.

Then he dismisses me and I walk through the empty hallways until I reach the library where I hide out until the end of the hour.

I meet Edward, Alice and Jasper in the parking lot after and as Edward and Jasper go in the front of Edward's Volvo, I sit with Alice in the back. I'm withdrawn still, not wanting to come out and not planning on doing that anytime soon. I am beyond exhausted — this day has been much more draining than I was already afraid it would be.

The others talk about their day in the car, and more than once Jessica's name is mentioned. I look out the window and hold myself together with my arms wrapped around my midsection. I really, _really_ would like some time alone soon.

When we arrive at home, the others go to the kitchen immediately to get something to drink and a snack. Esme comes up to me, beaming but worried, and asks how my day was.

I don't want to talk. I just want to be alone. Nap, possibly. Could that be done? I used to sleep after school with Stefan.

"You look positively drained," Esme says motherly, concerned. "Why don't you take a nap in your room, if you want to? I've never seen you look so tired."

Again, I can't believe my luck.

"You have to eat something," Alice says meaningfully, and at this moment, I don't like her.

"That can wait," Esme says. "I think some rest is more important now."

"But," Alice starts, but is stopped by Edward, unseen by Esme.

"Go to bed," Esme says. "I'll wake you in a couple hours."

She doesn't have to tell me twice. I go upstairs, lock my door and collapse on my bed.

I hope to God Esme won't learn I have skipped Gym.

But I won't do it. I can't.

I wish I had the guts to tell her, though.

* * *

_Do you know the saying 'the calm before the storm'? Yeah..._  
_Please tell me what you think :)_


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N Twilight is not mine. **

_Hello all. Thanks for the response once again, you never stop to amaze me :) You were all very worried about what storm was supposed to come. I want to stress this: most of the demons Bella struggles with are in her own head. Please keep this in mind when you read her story :) Some of you have also asked if and when Bella will start therapy. This will be dealt with in the next chapter. Patience, it's a slow burn..._

_Thanks as always to Sherry and Deb for their endless support and patience and for just being as awesome as they are._

* * *

**From: Edward Cullen  
To: Bella Swan  
****Subject: Hey**  
Hey,  
How are you? How did you like the second day at school? Already looking forward to the holidays?  
PS, let's see if you gave me a correct email address ;)  
E.

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Edward Cullen  
Subject: Re: Hey  
**I'm ok. School was ok, too. Just no fun to start at a new place.

.

**From: Edward Cullen  
To: Bella Swan  
****Subject: Re: Re: Hey  
**Yeah I can understand that. You handled it well though.

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Edward Cullen  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Hey  
**You think?

.

**From: Edward Cullen  
To: Bella Swan  
****Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Hey  
**Yes, I do.

.

**From: Edward Cullen  
To: Bella Swan  
****Subject: Don't be so insecure**  
Did you expect differently?

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Edward Cullen  
Subject: (No subject) **  
I don't know.

.

**From: Edward Cullen  
To: Bella Swan  
****Subject: Re: (No subject) **  
I think you do know. Talk to me, Bella.

.

Dangerous ground.

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Edward Cullen  
Subject: Re: Re: (No subject) **  
I really don't know, Edward. Everything can happen when you start in a new place. There are always people who think they should be nice and people who are nasty.

.

**From: Edward Cullen  
To: Bella Swan  
****Subject: (No subject)  
**I think I can guess the ones you like best then ;)

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Edward Cullen  
Subject: Re: (No subject)  
**The ones that ignore me.

.

**From: Edward Cullen  
To: Bella Swan  
****Subject: Stupid subject line  
**I'm sorry I laughed, it's not even funny. You really feel better when left alone, don't you?

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Edward Cullen  
Subject: Re: Stupid subject line  
**I really do. I'm not good company, anyway.

.

It must be the late hour. I realize my slip after I have clicked 'send.'

.

**From: Edward Cullen  
To: Bella Swan  
****Subject: Re: Re: Stupid subject line**  
I beg to differ. I think you are excellent company.

.

I want to ask 'why.' I really do.

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Edward Cullen  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Stupid subject line  
**I'm not. I'm not good. You really don't want to have me as your friend.

.

**From: Edward Cullen  
To: Bella Swan  
****Subject: Why?  
**Why, Bella? How can you think you are not good company? You're witty, smart, insightful, patient… Why would somebody not want you as a friend?

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Edward Cullen  
Subject: Re: Why?  
**You don't know me, Edward.

.

**From: Edward Cullen  
To: Bella Swan  
****Subject: Re: Re: Why?  
**That's why I want to get to know you. Hey, since we're both still awake, why don't we sit outside on the porch for a bit?

.

I stare at the laptop screen until my eyes water.

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Edward Cullen  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Why?  
**It's late. We should really go to bed.

.

Why I am crying is beyond me. Edward was never going to be a friend. I may have come to want it, may have come to like his company, but it really is best to end it before it goes too far.

I will never be good enough.

And there is nothing I can do about that.

**~O~**

Wednesday in school is much the same. There are less staring gazes, I'm already becoming less of a novelty. Everybody knows by now I do not speak, and I can hear the rumors around as not all students make an effort to not be overheard by me.

As I expected, the stories as to what causes my muteness vary. It was the same in Phoenix. Some think I am 'retarded' and wonder why Forks High would take on a special student. Some think I must be deaf or something along those lines. Some think my vocal chords were surgically removed.

I hear one girl whisper she heard somebody else saying I don't have a tongue. The urge to stick it out at her is overwhelming, but I keep my head down and try to ignore her.

I think it will get worse if they ever find out I am an elective mute, as it is called so nicely in clinical terms. I think I should be able to speak, even though I haven't done so in ten years. I can scream all right.

I still blush when I think back at that night, and the memory is always followed by the memory of Esme hugging me, of me hugging Esme after that. The way I lay curled on her lap… It had been overwhelming. I would like to do it again, but I would never ask for it.

I don't deserve it, and why would I think she wants to comfort me like that. Besides, I'm nearly adult. Adults don't curl up on laps.

Edward keeps his distance, and when he catches my gaze he looks confused, worried. Disappointed? The Cullens still go out of their way to make sure I am not alone, that I don't have to walk the hallways on my own and that I get to every class. Well, every class but one. I skipped Gym again yesterday.

I know it's a matter of time before anyone finds out. I am already bracing myself for that moment, but I'm willing to pay that price. I won't go to Gym, and there is no amount of pain or punishment that will stop me from that.

In Government I see Angela again, and she meets me with a smile and a greeting. She tells me of the plans the group has to go to La Push that weekend. She explains that La Push is First Beach, the beach that is on the reservation. I think I heard Edward mention that once.

When she asks me if I want to come, I shake my head, no.

"That's okay," she says, but I can sense her disappointment. "Maybe some other time?"

I frown and look away, unable to answer. We focus on the teacher for the rest of class and I am relieved when Angela doesn't speak to me again. The silence is an easy one, however, and I can allow myself to relax slightly in class.

I'm not as withdrawn as the first two days, letting more of the outer world register. It's scary, but however tempting it is to pull back fully, it also drains me. Ironic how it seems to cost a tremendous amount of energy to reach a calm place in my mind.

After class, the guy Eric Yorkie bounces up to me before Rosalie has appeared to pick me up.

"Hi, Bella! I was wondering… We're going to La Push this weekend — want to come?"

I blink, then shake my head.

"I already asked her," Angela says softly behind me.

Eric looks from me to her, then back to me. "Why not? It will be fun. You can watch me surf," he smiles.

"She can watch you crash off the board into the water," another voice says. I recognize the creepy blond guy I've seen in Biology. Where did he come from?

"Hi, Bella? Is it? I haven't had a chance to introduce myself before. I'm Mike, Mike Newton."

I look at Mike, vaguely registering I met his mother in the supermarket some weeks ago. Babyface, blue eyes, hair in spikes. He's cocky, arrogant. Looking down at me, taking me in. I don't like him. I look away, uncomfortable, and my gaze falls on his outstretched hand.

Well, no elegant way to solve this than to just refuse, I guess.

His hand lingers in the air, before he pulls it back, confused. The silence is beyond awkward.

"I can surf," Eric mumbles, apparently unaware of what just happened.

"Sure you can," Mike snorts. "In your dreams."

"Like you're any better," Eric says, annoyed.

Mike laughs, a cocky laugh that makes me want to step away. "I never said that. I _know_ where my skills lie," he says meaningfully, catching my gaze again.

Oh God.

Oh God.

Out. I need out.

Air. Not enough air.

"Come."

It's Rosalie and she's my savior right now. Without another word, she turns and I follow her, leaving Angela, Mike and Eric behind.

She guides me outside, not speaking and not turning around to even see if I am following her. It's this steady support I need right now, and I fleetingly wonder how she knows.

It's cold outside. A light rain is falling, the kind that soaks you through without you noticing it. Rosalie, as vain as I thought her to be, doesn't seem bothered by the wet and takes me to a quiet corner, hidden from the rest of the school.

"Breathe," she says lowly. "Steady, now. Focus on deep breaths. Hold your breath for a moment if it's going too fast still."

Through the ringing in my ears I can hear her voice and I do as she says, holding the wall for support as now finally the full panic seems to hit.

Rosalie is quiet, sending a text as I breathe deeply, concentrating on my heartbeat. Slowly, I calm down again.

"I'm sorry I was late," she says as she puts her phone back in her pocket. "I wanted to prevent these things for you."

I look up at her, and see she's genuinely worried. But, what things? What is she talking about?

I guess she sees my confusion, because she elaborates. "You're bound to get attention. You're new, you're interesting. I know you don't like it. And that Mike Newton… God, I want to kick him."

My surprise must show.

"He's a pompous ass. Ignore him, if you can. If he comes on to you again, let me know. I've been wanting an excuse to put him in his place."

I pull my phone from my pocket and write in a text message.

_Why are you so nice to me?_

Rosalie reads it and looks up at me, and I realize this is the first time I said something to her.

Her eyes soften and she smiles at me. "You're my family," she says. "You're a nice girl, and you deserve some kindness in your life."

**~O~**

In Trig, Alice is very worried about me. I can see her looking at me again and again, but the teacher calls her to attention and keeps a close eye on her. I can see her frustration and finally I text her that I am okay now, that Rosalie helped me. She reads, then sighs happily and smiles. From where I am, I can see how her shoulders relax.

Jessica looks around at me and smiles, but it's more a sneer than anything. I don't know what she wants to achieve. I can't read her, apart from the obvious evil vibe I am getting from her.

Jessica and Lauren are on full bitch mode in Spanish. I make a point to ignore them as they whisper loudly. I am sure that come lunch, or come Edward, they'll be pissing rainbows again.

Edward comes to get me at the end of Spanish, pointedly ignoring Jessica and Lauren as I avoid making eye contact with him.

He waits until the class is empty and I don't know if I should leave or not. It's obvious he has something on his mind.

Which I guess is connected to the emails we exchanged yesterday.

I sigh softly and look at my fidgeting hands.

"I disagree, you know," he says softly once the classroom is empty and most of the thrum of other students has died away.

I don't look up. He knows I heard him.

"I think you are good company. And I do want to get to know you."

My mind is a haze. I wring my hands, uncomfortable. Not with his presence, but with his persistence. I don't know how to warn him away when he doesn't listen. I don't want him to know of my past, either.

"Look at me," he says softly, and the contrast in his voice is so big I do look up at him. His eyes are clear, sincere, but worried. "Why don't you let me decide for myself?"

I can't, Edward. I don't want you to know.

He sighs, seemingly understanding that this conversation is not getting anywhere.

"At least allow me to guide you to your classes?" he asks, and after a long moment I nod.

He walks me to the exit of the school, but when we reach the door, we see it's raining buckets. We can't go out in this weather, there's nowhere to take cover.

"I'm thinking you don't want to sit in my car?" he asks, and I shake my head, no. "Then I think we'll have to go to the lunch room. Are you okay with that?"

I wish I could have put that off longer, but I guess I have to go there sometime. It's not allowed to hang in the hallways during lunch.

We walk to the cafeteria, the rush of voices getting louder with each step. I tense up further with every foot closer to the entrance, but I brace myself.

"You okay?" he asks as we reach the double doors.

I nod, not looking at him.

Edward stops just before we enter the crowded room. "I'm here for you, Bella. I want you to know that. I am not going anywhere until you tell me to stay away. And even then, I'm here if you need me."

His words make me look up at him, and I can see the compassion in his face. He really isn't going away unless I tell him to. And although this makes a part of me happy, another part is pissed that he is giving me this choice. He is letting me make the decision.

And I think he _knows_ I won't tell him directly to leave me alone. He _knows_ that deep down, I don't want that.

I'll have to warn him, though. I have to be more clear with him. And I have to brace myself. Because in time, when he does get to know me better, and he will because I do share a house with him after all, he'll learn that it is indeed better to stay away from me.

And it's up to me then to make sure I won't get hurt when he finally steps back.

But right now, the noise in the cafeteria is overwhelming and demanding every ounce of concentration I have. I take a deep breath and step into the full room.

Edward walks ahead of me towards the table where the others are sitting. Jasper, Emmett, Rosalie and Alice. Angela is there, too. I see the guy Eric Yorkie, and a boy next to Angela I don't know.

Alice beams at me when I approach them, and Emmett jumps up to pull two extra chairs to the table.

"Is it raining too hard?" Jasper asks, munching on a sandwich.

Emmett guffaws. "Scared your hair got messed up, Edward?"

"Scared Bella catches a cold," he replies as he sits down, beckoning me to have a seat too.

This is a _huge_ step for me.

I walk up to the empty chair between Alice and Rosalie, standing behind it and gripping the back for support.

"You okay?" Rosalie asks.

I swallow, then nod.

"Have a seat," Jasper says softly. "Do you want to eat? Drink?"

I shake my head.

"I'm getting some lunch," Edward announces. Anyone else want anything?"

He takes some orders and disappears.

"Sit down, Bella," Rosalie says so softly only I and perhaps Alice can hear it. "You can do it. We're here."

I nod, more to myself than anything else, and resolutely take a seat.

From my peripheral vision, I see Eric staring at me, until Angela swats his arm. He blinks, then looks away.

He'll think I'm weird.

Which I am, basically.

But that's good. He'll stay away then.

To my left, Emmett stretches, his huge arms reaching above his head. "I wish the rain would stop. I wanted to play ball later."

"You have to do Trig," Rosalie says.

Emmett glares at her and to see him looking at her like that alarms me enormously. Rosalie, however stays calm.

"No need to look like that. You know I'm right."

"Whatever, Rosie. I'm working out first."

She shrugs and looks away. I guess this is not the first time they have been talking about this. But Rosalie was not at all impressed by Emmett's look. She's not afraid of him, in any way. I remember when I made the lasagna and he swatted her ass. She didn't even flinch then.

I did. I still have a scar to show for it.

Oh, well. What's another mark to proof what a failure I am?

"Bella?" Angela asks.

I look over the table at her. She has such a sweet face. She's actually very pretty, and her glasses only seem to enhance her beauty.

"Ehm, this is Ben," she says about the guy sitting next to her. "He wants to introduce himself but didn't know how, so I'm doing it for him. So, Bella, Ben, Ben, Bella."

I nod, but realize I'm frowning. It's still so confusing to me why people would want to introduce themselves to me.

Ben smiles. "Hi."

"So, Bella, do you really not want to come Saturday?" Eric asks.

"Where are you going?" Edward asks as he comes back with a tray of food. He places it on the table as the others pick out what they had ordered.

Eric looks slightly annoyed, it seems, by Edward's question.

"We're going to La Push," he says flatly.

"Ah," Edward replies. Then he turns to me. "Do you want to go?"

I shake my head at him. Too many people. I just don't want to go. Besides, it'll be cold. And I don't like the cold.

Or the wet.

"We can go there sometime," Alice says softly on my other side. "It's really very pretty there."

"Such a shame," Eric says, unaware of Alice whispering to me. Or ignoring it, which is very well possible, too. For a journalist he's surprisingly unobservant. I've yet to figure out if he chooses to be, when it comes to certain things.

"It really could be fun. And you could get to know us better," he says with a smile.

"Like you'd want to," Rosalie mutters under her breath, and I look down to hide my smile.

I look back up at Eric and shake my head again.

"You sure you don't need to eat anything? I could take you somewhere," Alice whispers then.

I shake my head at her, again. No need to. I'm used to go without food for longer periods of time. So far, it's going okay at school. I don't want to willfully add the stress of making myself eat here.

Finally, some conversation picks up around me and I can sit back tentatively, listening to the others as they talk about La Push. Jasper contemplates going, but only if Alice will come. Alice had plans to go shopping with Rosalie that Saturday, so she's not sure. Emmett has a game on Saturday so he can't. Edward refuses politely without giving a reason.

Angela will go, and so will Ben and Eric. I hear them saying that Mike, Jessica and Lauren should go, too. And somebody named Tyler, whom I haven't seen yet.

We sit through the rest of lunch. I pretend to not notice the stares of other students as I sit in the cafeteria, Rosalie and Alice like sentinels around me.

Jasper and Emmett are quite relaxed, I notice. They banter for a bit, and I'm happy to notice that none of the Cullens seems overly worried around me now. I'm not bombarded with questions of concern and I do hope they realize it really is easier for me if I don't constantly have to lie through my teeth that I am okay.

I mean, they can tell I am not, so why bother?

After lunch, I walk with Edward to Biology. We're early and sit down at our table before the rest of the class comes in.

Mike, as it turns out, is right behind us and comes up to our table as the rest of the students slowly enter the class. He leans on the table and I push my seat back and away from him.

"Are you sure that you don't want to come Saturday? I'm pretty sure we'd have a great time. You don't have to surf, you know. We could walk along the beach?"

I tense up, unable to look away from him. Never look away from danger. They prey on the weak.

"How many times does she have to say no, Mike?" Edward asks beside me.

Mike shifts his gaze to Edward, annoyed. "I don't think I was talking to you."

"You are now. Bella doesn't want to come. She said no. She doesn't want to come."

"And that's up to you to decide?"

"It's her decision," Edward shrugs. "Apparently you are too stupid to get that."

Mike glares at Edward and I tense up further. Mr. Banner asks the class to attention however and Mike has to leave our table to get into his own seat.

"Asshat," Edward mutters, looking annoyed.

I look at him, still alarmed. I don't want him to get into any trouble because of me. He doesn't have to do this for me — I can take care of myself. And if not, then still I don't see the problem, really.

Edward looks at me, his gaze searching, but he doesn't speak. Then he looks front again, and doesn't say anything anymore through the entire class.

For the first time, the silence between us is awkward.

**~O~**

I make up a shit excuse after class that I want to ask Mr. Banner something. Edward is distracted and leaves me, asking if I'll be all right as he has to go to Spanish. He's in a hurry, and I wonder if he has been warned for being too late several times already.

I hide out in the library again when I should be having Gym. I have hidden the slip I needed to have signed by every teacher in my closet at home. I'll just wait until somebody asks me for it, and then I hope I can pull off the lie that I lost it.

Because there is no way I could have the Gym teacher sign the thing.

I make a start on the extra homework I asked for Biology, feeling good to be studying again. It holds such comfort for me, it's almost exhilarating.

Just before the bell rings, I make my way to the parking lot and seek out Edward's Volvo immediately.

I put my hood up against the rain that is still falling. Too bad the Burberry doesn't have a hood. The one on my sweater will be soaked in no time.

It's not long before the rest come out of the school, walking quickly towards the car. Edward opens the car from quite some distance so I can crawl in, and I do. It's really nice of him to do that for me.

When we arrive home, I again tell Esme my day was okay. Rosalie is not home yet, and I realize I forgot to ask her to not tell about my panic attack. Do I text her for that? That's pretty forward, isn't it?

Esme asks me if I want to nap again and I am grateful for her understanding. I used to nap after school when I was still with Stefan. School in itself is not bad, but the other people are. Also, I tried to sleep whenever I was alone, since I was often disturbed at night.

I lie down on my bed, but it takes me quite some time to fall asleep, as Edward and his strange silence is wreaking havoc in my head.

I warned him to stay away.

I guess he finally listened.

It hurts me more than I thought it would.

* * *

_Next chapter will be Edward's point of view and it will be twice as long as usual. _

_Reviews are love and the only reward I get for writing this. :)_


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. The good news is _we_ can write fanfiction about it though!**

_Hello everybody. Thank you so very, very much for all the wonderful reviews. I squeal every single time, believe it or not! Shoutout to Hev99. You know why lovely. Thanks to Sherry for her faith in me and assuring me I was on the right track. Thanks to Deb, whom I will have in my arms again in four days. Can't wait to see you!  
_

_Here is the long awaited Edward's point of view. Edward is... wordy. And he jumps in time when he talks. Sorry about that. Hope you like the little insight into his mind. I've asked him kindly to talk to me more often. I've tried to not repeat too much of what happened already, so this picks up immediately after where the last chapter ended.  
_

_I have been asked a few times why no charges are pressed against Stefan (or Laurent). Allow me a bit of creative license here. It will be dealt with. Don't worry!_

* * *

**EDWARD**

I should not have done that. Should not have spoken for Bella in Biology like I did. I think if there's one thing she hates, it's to be condescended like that. And then when I caught her gaze after Mike had left, she was all wide-eyed and alarmed and I think angry, too. Her face was tight, and I can't blame her for being upset with me.

I've fucked up so much, lately.

After school I saw her in the parking lot, hunched over near my car in the heavy rain. I don't know how long she had been there, but even from this distance I could tell she was cold and must be soaked through. I pressed the remote of my car repeatedly until it reacted and the car chirped and opened, and she could climb in, which she did.

Vaguely I wondered how she could be out so early since I thought she was supposed to have Gym, but maybe she was just quick. I didn't really think about it and I sure as hell wasn't going to ask her about that after what happened in Biology.

I scanned the parking lot for any sign of that Newton boy, but he was nowhere to be found. Asshat. I could already tell that he found Bella very interesting.

Too interesting.

So when he had come to Biology and leaned over her side of the table like he owned it and asked her again if she wanted to go to La Push, I had snapped a little. Seriously, I was pretty sure she had said no at lunch and by the way Mike asked her, I could deduce that he had asked her before already.

Afterwards I felt like a condescending ass and when she didn't look at me during the ride home, I knew I had fucked up.

And what was with all the sudden warnings that she wasn't good company, the subtle warnings for me to stay away? I had thought we were going along pretty well.

Hell, she even told me something about her past Sunday night, and my heart almost burst when she put her trust in me like that.

It broke at what she said, though. She had said the song Clair de Lune reminded her of her mother. It explained how her face would go all soft and a bit more relaxed the moment she recognized the notes. She'd get a glassy look in her eyes and I could see just a glimpse of what she would look like when she would win over her fears and relax a bit around here.

So then I had asked her if she missed her mother because she obviously remembered her. Her reaction was not at all what I had expected. I had thought she would close up, or walk away, even. But instead she shook her head, her tiny face screwing up a little and then she had typed the single word that told me more than a lengthy explanation could ever do.

She had said _no_. She said she didn't miss her mother. And when I looked at her face, dimly lit by the screen of my phone, I knew she wasn't lying. She really didn't miss her.

Which I think either meant it was all very long ago — she has been with other foster parents before she came here — or that her mother had something explicit to do with the fact that she got into foster care in the first place.

I didn't sleep at all Sunday night and on Monday drunk more coffee than I ever had one single day in my life.

Seeing her struggling and fighting her way through school made me swell with pride as inside, my heart crumbled at the same time. She was trying. She was trying so hard. Alice told me she thought that Bella had shut down, but somehow not completely. I agreed with her because I had noticed it too.

It was really weird to see her like that. It was almost as if she was on drugs or something. Her eyes were a little glazed over, her movements a tiny bit slower than normal. If you called her name, she would react just a fraction of a second later and while strangers would never notice this, we could, because Bella always reacted frightfully fast to the sound of her name.

Rosalie took charge and took Bella to the administration office, which had me worried out of my mind because Rose was not the most patient of people.

But Bella reacted — almost — instantly and dapperly followed Rosalie into the school. I looked wide-eyed at how Bella cunningly dodged other students, weaving around people to make sure she wouldn't be bumped into.

I looked down at Alice and saw that she had noticed it, too.

"See? She'll live," Jasper said behind us, wrapping his arms around Alice's waist.

"I'm not so sure," Emmett said. "What if she has, like, a panic attack?"

"I think she won't have them," Alice said slowly. "Not with all these people present. She's done this alone for years. If I were her, I'd find a quiet place if I felt a panic attack coming."

"I don't buy it," Emmett persisted.

"She wanted to go to school," I said. "This was her decision and mom has made it very clear there were other options for her."

"She'll live," Jasper said again. "She's a big girl. Damn, you've seen how she has held herself in our house. High school has nothing on her."

Emmett smirked, a dimple appearing, and we walked to our classes as the first bell rang.

Jasper was sort of right. I kept waiting for the message that she had shut down completely and collapsed, like she had done when I first saw her, but nothing happened.

All of the other students were beyond curious of course, and I answered some questions, claiming not to know anything about her history.

Lots of people asked us why we hadn't told them before of this Bella girl, and we all had the same answer: we didn't know how long she would stay, and when or if she would come to school. She had started quite suddenly and then there was no time to tell people.

I found I kept quiet about Bella not speaking. It felt somehow inappropriate to tell others about that part of her and knowing Bella, she would want that detail kept silent for as long as possible.

We guided her to her classes and I was happy to find she joined us during first break.

The note she showed us to thank us was magnificent. It showed, more than anything, what kind of person was hiding behind all that fear. See, she wasn't uncaring or indifferent, even though one might think that when you saw her. No, she noticed _everything_ and by thanking us for something as completely normal as helping her at her first day at school, she showed us what a kind soul was buried deep inside those frightened eyes.

In the end, her first day at school could have gone smoother, and we all certainly could have done more to ease the curiosity around her. But, it could have been a hell of a lot worse, too, I realized as soon as I found out that Jessica and Lauren had been onto her in Spanish. Bella flat out refused to tell us what had happened.

Which to me equaled they had been their lovely usual self and had given Bella a hard time, very probably making fun of her since Jess knew that Bella didn't speak.

I was so pissed that I balled my hands into fists, which of course Bella noticed and her alarm had alarmed me in turn. I had seen her eyes. She had been so afraid of me in that moment.

Something I had sworn would never happen again. And now I was fucking it up, for the second time in ten minutes too, having blocked her just before without really intending it, and she looked at me again like I was going to hurt her.

I have long since come to the realization that Bella was not hit occasionally in her previous home. You're not traumatized this badly if you get a slap on your ass or even across your face every now and again.

I mean, it didn't happen in our home, but I knew that some of the kids at school would get the odd slap against the back of their heads when they were really far out of line.

But Bella? No, for her it was more than occasional. And that still didn't even explain all of her fear in my book, but what do I know? Hell, she's tiny. Maybe if I were her size I would be that scared, too.

I digress.

I scared Bella and I felt fucking sorry for it. I released my fists immediately and apologized to her, and hoped she could see the sincerity in my eyes.

And then Alice had to go on, and on, and on, about Bella eating something. Bella was beyond tense and uncomfortable and I was pissed with Alice for not noticing that.

So, I stood up for Bella, earning some death glares from Alice, but I didn't care. I wouldn't care either if mom would be angry with me later, because I would explain it and she would understand.

Bella was finally relaxing when nobody was going to make her eat, and then the rest of my siblings came out, wondering how she was of course.

She tensed op magnificently and then it happened — it was like a switch went off in her brain. She shut down.

"Oops," Alice whispered, looking stunned.

Bella was still with us, looking at some point on the ground before her. But she wasn't _there. _

"Do we call mom?" Emmett asked, concerned.

"I don't know," Alice said, chewing her lip. "Bella? Can you hear me?"

Bella looked up at Alice, responding at the sound of her name. It was eerie. It was like her body was there, but her mind wasn't home. It was different from the half-aware state of mind she had been sporting until now. This was a complete shutdown, but somehow she was still functioning.

"Can you give me a sign if you can hear me?" Alice asked.

Bella nodded slowly, unblinking.

I fought the strange urge to shake her to get her awake again. It was unsettling to see her like this, and we had chased her away into the safety of her mind with our concern.

Way to go.

Alice looked into Bella's eyes, obviously searching for some sign of life.

"What do we do, Bella? Do we need to call mom — Esme?"

After a second or so, Bella shook her head from side to side, in that same, eerily slow manner.

"Damn," Emmett muttered.

"Disconcerting," Jasper agreed.

"Are you sure?" Alice asked, and Bella nodded.

"So, what do we do?" I asked. "Just go to class after lunch?"

I had been addressing my siblings, but it was Bella that nodded. A horror movie could not have been scarier than this.

"Very well," Rosalie said, then she walked up to face Bella. "Can you go to class?"

Bella nodded slowly again.

"I don't like it," I said. "What if something goes wrong?"

But then the bell rang and I got this really weird feeling in my stomach when Bella just started walking towards the entrance of the school.

I promised Alice to text her if anything happened, and then I walked after Bella. I called for her to wait for me, and she slowed her steps minutely but didn't turn around. And even in her current state did she weave around students effortlessly, somehow seeing them coming with her seemingly unseeing eyes.

One time a student bumped into her and my heart missed a beat, because I _know_ how she responds to touch. But she just moved with the girl that bumped her, fluidly and more gracefully almost than she would move when she was alert, I dare say.

And then… _nothing_. She just sauntered on, her gaze focused on infinity, and she made her way to the Biology classroom when I didn't even know she already knew the route. I followed her, feeling like I had to look out for her, protect her or something.

She slid into her seat in Biology and I sat down beside her, keeping a close eye on her and texting Alice to tell her nothing had changed, but that she had made it to Biology by herself and was now pulling her books out of her bag.

It was _so_ weird and I felt torn over not calling mom for this, but knowing mom she'd be here in within minutes in blind panic and somehow that felt wrong, too.

So I just kept shooting glances at Bella and trying to focus on the lesson too, as much as was possible. Bella was looking straight ahead, not taking notes — because that would really have freaked me out — but looking at the teacher and what he was writing at the board. It wasn't until halfway through the lesson that she blinked her eyes and shifted a bit in her seat, stretching her back and glancing at the clock.

"Are you back again?" I asked, and she looked at me.

Looking into Bella's eyes sometimes feels like being witness of some sort of internal conversation. Because even though she really tries to hide what she feels and thinks, her eyes are like an open book. I saw confusion flit over her gaze, then worry, then fear, and then alarm.

She asked me to not tell mom. This is not the first time and I could tell that it was very hard for her to ask me this, like it's hard to ask me a favor.

She should realize that I'm willing to do just about anything for her, if it means she will get less scared, and more relaxed. Comparing this girl to the one I had spent time on the porch with just the night before, simply didn't compute.

She slowly came back to herself in Biology and by the time it was time for next class, she seemed somewhat calmer.

I hope for her that once she gets into the rhythm of school and she has some distraction to the never-ending worrying I am sure she does, she might be able to relax some more.

Tuesday in school went relatively calmly. Jessica and Lauren did not come up to us like they had done the day before, much to my relief. They had been pissing sugar over lunch and I was sure that stood in stark contrast with the way they had been to Bella in Spanish.

Alice too was wary of the way those girls were around Bella. She came up to me Tuesday after school, bringing me a mug of tea in my room and flopping down on my unmade bed, indicating pretty clearly that she wanted to talk.

"I don't trust Jessica," she started bluntly as I saved my file on my computer and turned to face her from my desk.

"Me neither. I don't want to know how they have been with Bella in Spanish."

"She was unbelievable in Trig. Wouldn't stop talking to me, as per usual, but now it was all about Bella. She really was fishing for Bella's past."

I frowned and sat back, crossing my arms over my chest. "Why would she want to know that?"

Alice cocked an eyebrow at me and then lay back, nestling her head in my pillow. "Sensation, Edward. If Jessica knows of Bella's past, she'll have the weapon of knowledge. If she knows things others don't, she'll gain popularity. Plus, Bella's context is juicy. We _are_ in Forks."

"She just never knows when to stop," I sighed, thinking of the last evening I spent with Jessica, when she was desperate to move further, and later when she wanted to get me back. She told everybody I cheated on her. I still get sidelong glances now and again, people wondering if I would really do that.

And then the love letters came. Tiny messages, slipped into my locker, my jacket pocket, underneath my windshield wiper. Promises, of all she'd do to me, for me, if I took her back. Things that made me wonder how on earth she even knew they existed.

Hell, I had to _google_ some of the shit she mentioned to me.

Yeah, that made me uneasy.

"I think it will get worse when Jess sees the bond you have with Bella," Alice said thoughtfully.

I blinked, confused. "What?"

Now Alice was confused and she stared at me for a moment, her brows puckering as she lifted her head off the pillow to look me better in the eye.

"Are you serious?" she asked lowly, and that was more dangerous than when her voice rose an octave.

"I don't know what you mean, Alice. What bond?"

Alice fell back on the bed and threw her arm over her eyes. "I can't believe you," she sighed. "Are you really that blind?"

"Eh," I frowned, tugging on my hair. "Apparently?"

"Next time you see her, try to notice how she is around you, and how she is around others."

"She gets along best with you," I said, still not knowing where this conversation is supposed to go.

"Edward," Alice sighed, as if I was testing her patience, "just watch her. I can't believe you haven't noticed this before."

"Is she really that different around me?" I asked, not daring to hope such a thing but knowing too that Alice would not mention it when she was not entirely sure.

"I think she is," Alice said softly. "I mean, especially when I compare it to Jasper or Emmett or even dad… I mean, I'm not even sure if she would sit out on the porch with me in the middle of the night."

Ah, so it hadn't gone unnoticed.

"I don't want to think of this as something special, Alice," I said slowly, pensively. "I just want to think of her as a normal girl, albeit quiet."

"I think that's it exactly," Alice replied as she turned her head to look at me again. "You're relaxed around her. Don't treat her like she'll break, you know? I think she appreciates that, deep down."

"That's not so different from what you do, is it? Or mom?"

"I don't know. Maybe it is. I mean, mom and I drive her insane with all our questions, to make sure she's all right. You're a guy, you ask once and be done with it." The corners of her mouth quirked up in the beginnings of a smile.

I smiled with her, looking down in a gesture to admit the truth in her words.

Alice turned to her stomach and leaned up on her elbows. "I think you should try to get to know Bella better."

I blinked at my sister, not understanding. "Isn't that what I've been doing?"

Alice shook her head. "I think you should do more. Prod her a little for information. Because I think she's dying to talk to somebody."

**~O~**

Alice's words, combined with the tiny scrap of past Bella had shared with me, made me send an email. And I got a reply. And then another one and another one. But as soon as the conversation turned into the quality of her companionship, she kind of closed down and warned me away. Then when I tried to get her out onto the porch, since I felt like I would be better able to talk with her when I could see her face for her reactions, she said it was late and that we should go to sleep.

I was confused after that, to say the least.

And now I've spent all day thinking about the bond Bella and I are supposed to have, according to Alice, and the only conclusion I can come to is that I feel very protective of her. Because she _is_ fragile, even though Alice says I don't treat her like she is.

But that protective urge made me snap at Mike for making her so obviously uncomfortable, and the reaction I got from Bella left me even more confused.

Of course, me talking for her the way I did doesn't make me much better than Mike, now does it?

I need to talk to her.

She went to bed as soon as we came home, and now I'm in my room, looking at my pc screen and wondering if I should email again or find her in her room.

I mean, I _want_ to get to know her better. I don't know, it's like this pull I have toward her. I want to be near her, want to know what secrets lie in her big brown eyes. I want to know the girl behind the fear, I want to know how her mind works. I heard mom and dad talk one day and they were mentioning Bella's sense of humor.

And, strange as it may sound, I do think she has it down there, somewhere. She's just afraid to show it, like she's afraid to show almost anything. She hides her emotions from the outside world. Sometimes I think she even hides her emotions from herself.

Apart from the time she screamed when she was so ill, I have never really noticed anything about what's going on in her mind and that's eerie, I think. Because she obviously thinks about things. A _lot_. I mean, she's traumatized, there is no doubt about that. She's been with us for only just over a month now and I'm thinking that there must be some sort of… what, processing going on?

The bruises on her throat have healed, fortunately, but what she's been through must take time to overcome. I'd be fucking depressed if somebody had tried to kill me. Alice would be over the moon she was still alive. But Bella? I wonder if she even thinks about what happened. Or is she in denial? I've seen movies in which that happened. The people who refused to acknowledge that something had happened to them and then something trivial would trigger it and they would break down.

I sigh. I'm not gaining any understanding here. Perhaps I need to talk to dad.

I find him, watching TV in the living room with mom. I hate to break into their time — dad has been busy in the hospital lately and he has been away from home a lot.

"Ah, Edward, join us," he says when I step into the room, and mom gets up immediately to make us all drinks.

"I don't want to bother," I say, flopping down on the couch and focusing on the television. Looks like a Bond movie.

"You never bother. You've been quiet lately. All well?" dad asks in his typical way. Sometimes I wonder if he knows that his doctor's voice slips through when he is at home.

"I'm good," I say, following mom with my eyes as she sets down tea for all of us. That was quick. I thank her and then turn back to my father.

"Hey, I was wondering… Ehm, about Bella?"

Dad sits forward and mom is all attention too. "Sure. Tell me," he says, coaxing almost.

"Will she ever get some sort of therapy? I mean, she obviously has been through some serious stuff…" I trail off, unsure how to continue.

"Go on," mom says softly.

"What can I say? I think it's scary that Bella seems so numb? I don't want to offend, but I'm worried."

"It's a good thing you are worried, Edward. But you have to know this is not your problem to be worrying about."

"I worry about her," I say, not meeting my parents' gaze. "And if anybody had tried to kill me, I'm not even sure if I could process all that on my own. And we all know that this was not the only thing that happened to her."

"What do you think that happened to her?" dad asks carefully.

I shrug, the gesture ridiculously incoherent and offensively nonchalant in this context. "We've been over this. I think she was beaten, at least. Yelled at, probably. Physically abused. I mean, if you just look at how she reacts when her name is being called, or how she reacted when that box came for her…"

Dad sits forward and leans his forearms on his knees, bringing his fingertips together. His silence makes me feel I have to say something.

"It's not that difficult to guess, dad. And you did tell me some about it."

"We know. And you're right about Bella needing therapy. But her old therapist and we have agreed that we wanted Bella to settle in first. It's a lot to take in for her — a new house and family, a new school."

"A new bed to sleep in," mom says softly.

Again I am overwhelmed with how this all must have been for Bella. A move to a new family alone is almost a trauma in itself, let alone what caused it all. And then there's the fact that this isn't even the first new family she has had to get used to.

Her confession that she doesn't miss her mother unsettled me.

"So she will have therapy?" I ask, wrenching myself away from my train of thought.

"She will. She can't do this on her own. But she has to be ready, otherwise it will be of no use."

"She seems so numb, sometimes. But I _know_ there's so much life and emotion underneath," I say softly, not willing to talk to my parents about this but unable to stop speaking.

"She's on guard," mom says. "I hope she'll start to feel safer soon, so she can show us how she really is and relax a bit."

"She thinks she's not good company," I blurt out to my own shock.

"Do you think she thinks that?" dad asks.

I frown, sorry for what I said. I don't want to damage Bella's trust in me, however little it is.

"You can tell us," mom says.

"I'm not sure if I can," I reply. "Not sure if it's okay."

"If you're not sure, then don't," mom amends. "But we can see you and Bella are building a form of friendship. I'm happy to see she appreciates your company."

I look up in surprise. "She does?"

"Don't you think so?"

I open my mouth, but only air escapes. "I don't know," I say finally, and then relent. "She told me she's not good company. And then when I asked her why she thought that, she said I didn't know her and basically ended the conversation."

Dad sits back in the couch and looks at mom, having a silent conversation with their eyes.

When it takes too long, I clear my throat a little. "It's like she thinks she's not good enough or something? Could that be it? Which is ridiculous, of course."

"She does not have a high self esteem. I think the only thing you can do is stand by her," mom says softly. "Prove to her you're not leaving her, or turning on her."

She snaps her mouth shut like she has said too much, but what she said is not new to me. The night when Bella opened the box and I found the belt, she had looked at me with a fear in her eyes that had frightened _me_ in turn. And although I had refused to think about it at the time, I know that she had thought I would use that belt on her.

The thought sickens me still.

So mom telling me that Bella is afraid I might turn on her is not very surprising, but unsettling nevertheless.

"How do I do that?" I ask. "Every time again when I approach her, she looks like she thinks I'm going to attack her."

"I think her fear will linger for quite some time," dad says sadly. "But every time she learns that nothing happens, is one."

"You mean to condition her into safety? Like Pavlov's dog?"

Dad smiles through his nose, looking down at his hands. "Yes, like Pavlov's dog."

"Perhaps you could play more often," mom says, smiling at me. "Bella seems to enjoy your music. And didn't you make her a CD?"

"Yes, I did. I'm surprised she even accepted it."

"Bella often feels like she needs to do something back for what she gets. It's progress that she accepted the CD from you," dad says, his tone light.

"Do me a favor, Edward?" Mom's voice is kind as always. "When Bella wants to do something back for you, whatever it is, try to not let her."

I look at my mother as her words sink in. "Why?"

"Because she has to learn to accept things. She doesn't have to do something back for all that she gets. The CD was a gift, right? She has to learn to accept that."

I nod slowly in understanding. "Okay. I'll try."

"Good. Thank you."

We sip our drinks in silence for a while, watching the violent movie with one eye as we're all lost in thought.

"When will she get therapy?" I ask when I've finished my tea.

"We'll offer the idea sometime around the end of this week," mom says. "We wanted Bella to have settled into school for a bit before we drop yet the next new thing on her. And then it's up to her if she'll take it or not."

"If she feels like you want it, she'll do it," I say absentmindedly. "I don't think she'll dare to refuse it."

"That's very perceptive of you, son," dad says. "We'll certainly keep that in mind."

I nod, standing up and stretching. "Thanks for the talk. I'm going up, need to finish something for school."

"All going well at school?" dad asks.

"Sure," I say, my arms falling back to my sides. "And I've more time for homework now Bella has taken over the task of tutoring Alice."

My parents smile in understanding. "Bella is very bright. I am so pleased to see she is willing to help Alice," mom says.

I smile and nod and return the wish as my parents bid me good night. When I turn for the stairs, dad calls out to pause me.

"Edward? Please don't tell Bella about the therapy. We'd like to tell her that ourselves."

"Duh, of course," I say, half joking and half annoyed that they would really think I would tell Bella about this. It's obviously something my parents will have to sort out with her and like they said — those things are not my problems to worry about.

But she will be getting therapy, and that, I hope, will be good for her.

**~O~**

Thursday is dreary, the world shrouded in a grey curtain of mist and rain. Jasper and Emmett are driving with me for a change, and Bella is with Rosalie and Alice. Emmett in particular is a bit grumpy about this new development, muttering about how he doesn't like to give up his time with Rosie in the mornings, even though he understands that Bella is more at ease when there are no men in the car.

"Dude, we need to go and do something fun this Saturday," Jasper says suddenly as I'm pulling into a parking spot next to Rosalie's convertible.

I look pointedly at the rain, then back to him. "What do you propose, Jazz? Call of Duty?"

He shakes his head. "I want to go out. Saturday is supposed to be better. We can go hike?" he asks hopefully.

I think for a moment, tempted by being out in the woods for a bit, but not looking forward to being soaked to my skin all day.

"Only if it's dry," I say. "Last time we went out in the rain, I was sick for a week."

"Okay," Jasper agrees, sighing. "You're such a girl sometimes," he adds under his breath.

"I heard that," I mutter, opening my car door.

Emmett chuckles. "You are, Edward. What's a bit of rain?"

"I just don't fancy it," I reply, popping up my collar against the cold and jogging towards the main school building. My brothers follow behind me. The girls are already under safe cover, watching us approach.

Bella is fidgeting, tugging on her fingernails in the Burberry coat that makes her look even tinier than she is already.

She looks at me, but as soon as I catch her gaze, she looks away.

It seems that she's holding on to her conviction that she's not good company.

Well, like I told her before, I'll decide that for myself, thank you very much.

"We can go to Newton's store and get you a rain coat before we go," Jasper bargains.

The girls look up at him, probably wondering what he's talking about.

"Jasper, let it go. The weather is supposed to be good. If it's going to stay dry, I'm coming with you."

"I don't get you, I love the rain," Emmett mocks, then shakes his head rapidly, spraying us with the water that has gathered in his hair. We duck away and Rosalie and Alice squeal, holding up their hands against the flying drops.

Bella, I see from the corner of my eye, looks at us and seems to be taking it all in like she is watching a movie. I've seen her doing this before, and sometimes I wonder if our interaction really is new to her.

She likes to observe. This is one thing I know for sure about her.

We chat for a bit more until the bell rings, and then I watch how Bella takes a deep breath and seems to hold it for a long moment, before she nods to herself and takes off to class. I'm sure she knows the way by now, but it appears that Rosalie still feels the need to accompany Bella to her classroom.

Somehow, Rosalie has changed around Bella. At first I was really worried how Bella would react to Rosalie's short, impatient ways, but it seems that Bella really takes to them. I guess if I was Bella, I would get exhausted by all the constant questions too. I would like it if somebody else took charge and told me what to do, perhaps.

Especially in places that would make me nervous, like school does for Bella.

I'd like to take her somewhere special. I know chances are slim she'd actually go with me, but I'd love to take her somewhere sometime that puts a smile on her face. She never gets out of the house except for school or groceries with mom. I don't think she has a driver's license, even.

I'll have to figure out what she likes to do. Because she's doing a good job in hiding that. It's almost like she is afraid to show us what she likes. And that again brings me back to the question of what horrors she has been through before she was placed in our house.

During first break, Jessica bounces up to me as I try to make my way to the quiet corner where we've been going to with Bella this week.

I try to hide my annoyance as she blocks my path and stop myself from looking over her shoulder, where I can see Bella standing with Alice.

Bella is looking from Jessica to me, her face carefully expressionless. Then Alice asks Bella something and she turns to my sister to give her the attention she seeks.

Again it strikes me how Bella seems to be infinitely giving, always. If you ask her attention, she will turn to you, whatever she is doing. And it's not just fear that motivates her to be that way. I think she is inherently caring.

Or perhaps I am looking too much into this.

There's more to Bella than to Jessica at least, who is now trying to catch my gaze, looking slightly frustrated as she comes up on her tiptoes to reach my line of vision.

I look down at her and try to understand how I could ever have been dating this girl for months on end. The bit of feeling I had for her back then, had faded before I even broke up with her.

"Hey, Edward," she says. It sounds like she's looking for the right tone of voice to approach me, and in doing so, she fails and her words come out absolutely flat.

"Jessica."

"So, um, how are you?"

"I'm good," I say carefully. "You?"

"I'm okay," she says, looking lost.

The silence is beyond awkward.

"So, did you want anything? Or…" I trail off.

"Eh, no, just wanted to know how you were."

I don't believe her for one second.

"Okay. Well, we've established that I am, in fact, doing good, so if there's nothing else?"

"Well," Jessica hedges, chewing her lip. God, it's just annoying when she does that. Not when Bella does. Because when Bella does it means she's thinking of what she'll say.

Well, it means the same when Jessica does it, but usually it's not all that interesting what comes out of her mouth then. With Bella, it is. Well, not out of her mouth literally, of course but —

"How is Bella doing?"

Jessica's words are so sudden that I need a moment to process them.

"She's okay," I frown. "Why?"

"Oh, I was just curious, Edward," Jessica says, but there's a sharp edge to her tone.

"Really," I reply, not even really asking.

"Yeah. Because she's been through a lot, you know…"

Oh, so this is where this is going.

"She's okay. Anything else?" I don't have it in me to spend any more time with her. I'm so done with her, with her games. She always has a hidden agenda.

"You can tell me, you know," Jessica says. "Her secret is safe with me and I'm sure she could use some friends."

I fight to hide the horror that's about to show on my face.

"Her story is not mine to share," I reply through clenched teeth. "And if Bella needs friends, it's up to her to make them, not us."

I wish I could call her out on her behavior around Bella in Spanish class, but I've not been there to witness it so I'm not even sure what happened. The fact that Bella never has denied something happened and absolutely refuses the talk about it however is a clear enough sign to me that Jessica has not been very nice to her.

"Jesus Edward, no need to be like this with me. After all that happened…" She's referring to our relationship. If you can call it that.

"Like what, Jessica? How am I supposed to react _after all that happened_?" And I am referring to the fact that she told everybody I cheated on her, to the love notes she left, to the shitstorm she put me through simply because I didn't love her enough to keep her.

She looks properly taken aback by that, and bites her lip again. I fight the urge to roll my eyes at her and wait until she speaks again.

"Okay. Um, I have to go."

She skits away and I look after her, the surprise probably evident on my face still when I walk to my siblings.

"What did she want?" Jasper asks, looking over my shoulder to a Jessica who now is in crisis meeting with Lauren probably.

"Nothing," I reply, not wanting to relay my conversation with Jessica when Bella is present. I'm pretty sure it'll freak her out when she hears somebody has been asking about her past.

"Okay," Jasper nods, letting it go for now.

"Everything all right here?" I ask, looking at Alice before my gaze wanders to Bella. She's looking at the floor, but if I compare her stance to last Monday, she's infinitely more relaxed.

It looks like she's no longer in that half-aware state she was in earlier this week, and I think that is a good sign. From what I've seen and from what Alice told me, the teachers are okay around Bella too, and I'm glad they're not giving her a hard time.

Bella has been through so much, I'm happy that for now at least school seems to be going relatively easy.

She's quiet today, though. She's not making eye contact with us and she gives minimal answers to questions. No paper and pen are involved and even Alice seems to feel that Bella wants to be left alone.

I wonder if something happened to make her act like this, but perhaps she's just having an off day. We all have those, once in a while. I wonder if there is something I can do to cheer her up.

I wonder how she will react to the notion of therapy. How would that work, anyway? She can't really talk, can she? Would online therapy perhaps not be better for her? I mean, she can type. Maybe it's easier for her to write things down like that.

Maybe I should ask dad about this.

I move through third and fourth period, making notes and trying not to yawn too much. I really should go to bed earlier, but I've been lying awake again last night, worrying.

At lunch, it's once more pissing down and I rush to intercept Bella at her Spanish classroom. When I round the corner, I see that Bella is surrounded by two blond-haired girls.

Oh for the love of all that's holy.

I don't even want to listen to what they are saying. All I can see is that Bella is looking highly uncomfortable and tense. I walk over to them to save Bella from the Bitch Club.

Bella spots me first, looking up at me with wide eyes in a tired, pale face. Jessica and Lauren follow her gaze and turn their heads to look at me.

"Ready to go?" I ask Bella, ignoring the other two.

She nods quickly and moves to follow after me.

"If you keep hauling her away like that, she won't make any friends here, you know," Lauren says suddenly.

I raise my eyebrows at her, but then Jessica speaks.

"Or are you trying to hide her away?"

What the flying fuck?

Do I even reply to this?

I think fast. "I am not. Bella, do you want to stay here, or do you want to come with me for lunch?"

Much to my relief, and not to my surprise, Bella resolutely steps forward and away from Jessica and Lauren. I follow her towards the cafeteria and see Alice's appreciative gaze when she sees Bella preceding me.

Emmett jumps up to get her a chair and Bella sits down without hesitation, smiling a little as Alice greets her enthusiastically.

Whatever Jessica and Lauren have been trying to achieve, it looks like they are not succeeding.

This makes me happy indeed.

But I worry. I am worried that Jessica and Lauren are trying to plant seeds of doubt into Bella's mind. I just can't understand why they would try to make her feel unwanted by us.

I decide to bring it up to her when we are in Biology. We are once more working together on some assignment that is ridiculously easy, and not in the least because Bella really knows her stuff and she does the majority of the exercise without blinking.

I really wonder what she _knows_. I've seen her reading astronomy books I wouldn't even think of trying to comprehend, and yet she seems to be immersed in them completely. She's scarily good at math, and I wouldn't be surprised if she was proficient in languages too.

Yet, when it comes to social interaction, she sometimes seems to be lacking. Not because she acts antisocial, at least I think not because she _does_ communicate if you ask her the right questions, but because she can look on and watch others with rapt attention and fascination.

Especially when we are bantering. There is something in that she can't get enough of observing, it seems.

She's a spectator to life in so many ways.

However, we need to talk. I haven't even really apologized yet for the Newton incident. Thank fuck the guy didn't come over again, but the weekend has not started yet.

"Hey, Bella?"

She looks up at me and not for the first time I see a flash of dread in her eyes before she masks her gaze and faces me fully, letting me know she's listening.

"So, ehm, sorry for yesterday. I shouldn't have spoken for you like that."

Bella frowns a little, then shrugs and looks down.

"No, I really am sorry. But I heard you'd said no before, and…"

She looks back up at me, and there are so many emotions in her eyes I can't begin to name them, but sadness seems to be the clearest one I can decipher.

"Anyway, I guess I feel a bit protective over you. I'm sorry, it was condescending of me."

I look away in my petulance which is unfortunate, since I can't see Bella's reaction now.

When I look back up after a long moment, Bella has turned and is focusing on the lab assignment again. We're almost done and we've not even hit half time.

"Bella?"

She turns to me again, her face carefully neutral.

With an overwhelming sadness I realize that if I were to call her name fifty times, she would turn to me fifty times. And I'm willing to bet money on it that not once would she show me her frustration, which would undoubtedly start to grow. She's such an expert in hiding her feelings, but I _know_ she has them.

In fact, I think she's a very emotional person. It's just as if she doesn't allow herself to feel or show others what she's feeling. That night in the kitchen when she was crying and she let me stay, allowed me around her and still didn't stop her tears, was huge for me. For her.

Alice's words drift back into my mind. Is my bond with Bella really that different from the others?

Bella holds my gaze and waits for what I'll do, and her brown eyes pull me back into the present.

"Jess and Lauren have made introductions, I saw," I say incoherently, realizing too late we already discussed this last Monday and she knows I know she knows them.

Bella nods, obviously wondering where this is going.

"So, do they want to be your friends?"

She thinks for a long moment, either about the answer or about the fact if she should answer, I don't know. Then, slowly, she shakes her head, a calculating look on her face.

"They didn't?"

To my utter surprise, Bella writes.

_They say they want to be friends._

I look at the note, then invite her to go on. It takes her a long time to continue writing. I can't even comprehend how it would be if it was such a struggle to give words to others. What happened to make her like this?

But she writes.

_I don't trust them._

This coming from Bella is so exceptionally alien, since she obviously doesn't trust anyone, but I do think I know what she means.

And I must say I am happy to see these words because she is right and it means she won't fall for her tricks.

"Why don't you trust them?" I ask, just to keep the conversation going. Besides, it will look bad if I warn her away from them, especially after they implied I was keeping Bella away on purpose, albeit for different reasons.

_Bad vibe. They're not honest_

She doesn't tell on them. She could have written down they had been nasty with her, because I _know_ they have been. But she doesn't give me any real armor against them.

That's… impressive.

"About what they said when I came to get you earlier… I hope you know that is not true."

The look on her face tells me she's not sure what I'm talking about.

"About us hiding you from others. I'd love to see you make friends besides us. Just be careful who you befriend, okay? Not everybody is nice."

And then she does something that surprises the shit out of me. She snorts.

She _snorts_.

She actually makes a sound and it's a scoff in reply to my warning that not all people are nice.

I'm so shocked by her reaction that I throw my head back and laugh. Hard.

**~O~**

We finish Biology in silence and I have to work hard to suppress chuckles every now and again when I remember Bella's face in reaction to my laughing. She'd been incredulous and obviously not sure why exactly I had laughed so hard that the entire class, including Mr. Banner, had looked at us to see what was so funny.

Bella had hidden behind her hair and focused on the assignment, her face so red I thought it might explode.

Of course I realized way too late what her reaction _actually_ meant. The nausea lasts until the end of class and I find it impossible to speak to her again.

I wouldn't know what to say.

After Biology Bella lingers at her table, seemingly having trouble to get her books into her bag.

"Can I help? We have to go," I ask, a bit nervous to be honest because I have Spanish right now and I've been scolded before for being so late in class. If I come late again, I will get detention. When I tried to explain the teacher why I was late, she scoffed and told me that my new sister was a big girl and would have to find her way around school by herself.

Okay. Best to get to class in time then.

Bella waves me away and fusses with her bag, her hair falling over her hands so I can't really see what she is doing.

"Can you find your way to your next class?" I ask. Come to think of it, I've never walked her from this class before. I'd guess she can find her way by now.

Bella nods and gestures for me to go to Spanish already. I greet her quickly and leave the classroom, not thinking about it anymore as I am still late for Spanish and pretty sure that will mean detention on a Friday afternoon.

I'd rather not want that, actually.

**~O~**

When we get home, Bella steals away to sleep. She has done this every day so far and I'm guessing that school is costing her a lot more energy than she lets on. I'm glad mom is forthcoming and as such Bella often sleeps until dinner, until mom calls her.

Bella then reappears, always a little rosy from sleep, her hair ruffled and her eyes often tiny as she tries to wake up again. She helps with cooking when she can and then shuffles away again holding a tray with food, up the stairs and to her room.

I wonder how that must be for her. To not be able to eat with others around and as such to be forced to eat in solitude. Does it bother her? I already know she won't just eat if you ask her. It's like the one thing I've found so far she won't do when asked. Yet when I made her a sandwich and kind of made her feel like I was ignoring her, she ate.

Has she eaten with anybody else yet? Yes, with mom, I know. And I could have sworn I saw her popping popcorn into her mouth the other night.

But with anybody else?

I don't know. I'm pretty sure she hasn't.

In the evening, Alice gets Bella to join us in homework. We _never_ did this before, join at the kitchen table and do homework, but with Bella around, this suddenly seems like almost a normal thing to do.

Bella helps Alice again with Trig and I watch through my lashes, in utter awe, as Bella explains Trig to Alice in a way that Alice gets. Where I would have huffed in frustration, Bella tries a different angle to make it clear. Had I walked away, Bella is clearly thinking for different ways to make it even clearer for Alice.

I try to engage Bella in conversation when Alice is finally working by herself on Trig, but it's stilted. It's obvious Bella is not in the mood to talk. I hope it's not because of my inappropriate reaction in Biology.

Another thing I would have to apologize for, it seems. But I don't want to do that with everybody else around and I don't want to do it by email.

However, when I knock at her door, not five minutes after we've all gone upstairs to get ready for bed, she doesn't respond even though I know she is in her room.

I have to respect her wishes and her boundaries. So I step back and go upstairs, where I shower quickly and collapse in bed.

Staring in the dark, I know I won't be able to sleep. Too much is happening and I don't even know what it all is, let alone put my finger on it to label it. Alice's words haunt through my memory, but in all honesty I don't think that what Bella and I have is all that special.

Besides, it's obvious she is pushing me away.

Best to step back then until she has sorted out what she is struggling with.

Sighing, I turn to my stomach, the friction in my groin giving me an idea that will help me sleep. My hand snakes down my loose pajama pants and I palm myself, welcoming the pleasant feeling but once more disappointed I have nothing to connect it to.

In my mind, I conjure a nameless, faceless girl and imagine what we could do. I have no experience to bank on and I just try to imagine what her skin would feel like against mine, how it would feel like to be on top of her, or to have her on top of me.

It does get me to a release eventually, but as I start to fall to sleep the emptiness lingers. And then, in my last moments of conscious thought, I realize that the girl I imagined had brown hair.

Huh. I usually don't prefer brunettes.

**~O~**

Winter seems to have started overnight. A cold front has settled over Forks and temperature has dropped significantly. I shove my hands in my pockets when we arrive in the parking lot, seeing my breath escape in white puffs.

"Damn," Jasper mutters, rubbing his hands together. "Best get my gloves back out soon."

Alice walks up to him and wraps her arms around him, shivering dramatically as she snuggles her head in the crook of his neck.

"Even your hair is cold," he complains, but he's laughing, and we cuckle along.

Bella seems even smaller than usual in her too-big Burberry, folded into herself in defense against the cold.

She's from Phoenix — she must be used to heat and sun. It's obvious she is not built for this weather and she looks miserable even though she tries to hide it.

Hell, I think I can even see a blue hue to her lips.

This will not do.

I take the lead and guide her into the school well before the bell rings, and take her to a spot near the wall close to a heater. Slowly, she warms up until some color comes back into her cheeks again.

But she's stressed. Her eyes are empty and haunted and her lip is chapped from chewing on it obsessively.

I frown a little, concerned by her obvious tension.

"Hey, what's wrong?" I ask softly, barely heard over the thrum of the other students.

She looks at me for a long time and I swear I can see some sort of longing in her eyes, but then the veil comes down again and she shakes her head, looking down as she steps back a little.

The bell rings, giving me no other chance than to let her go as she walks off with Rosalie to her first class.

During first break, she is much the same and I meet gazes with Alice several times. She's noticed it too.

In lunch, much the same. I get anxious just by looking at her and something is up, I can feel it. But if she doesn't talk about it, there is little I can do.

There's a coil of nerves in my stomach and I don't know what to do with it. The tension rolls off of Bella in waves, but she doesn't want to tell me about it, or Alice for that matter.

When I ask her in Biology, she denies that something is wrong.

"I can tell you are tense, Bella. What's wrong?" I insist, but her reply is short and for the first time, I sense irritation in her communication.

_Nothing. Leave it. Please._

The fact that I need to leave it tells me that there is indeed something wrong, but if she can ask me to let it go, all I can do is obey.

At the end of class, the asshat called Mike Newton saunters over to our table.

"So, Bella," he says slowly, probably attempting to smile down at her but it's almost a leer. "Don't you have Gym class now?"

I halt in my movements, hearing something in his words I am not sure about. Beside me, Bella freezes up completely as she looks up at Mike with wide eyes.

"Why don't I walk with you? Since it seems you haven't been able to find it before?"

I blink as something clicks. Bella has not been to Gym. Her lingering in this class for every day of this week, making sure I would not know where she would go, finally makes sense.

Why doesn't she want to go to Gym?

"Come on," Mike says. "I have Gym too now. Let's walk together so I can show you the way."

I swallow and see Bella get up, her movements rigid. I don't think she is breathing at all.

I wish I could do something but how can I stop Mike if he has the same class as Bella? With what reason other than 'Bella is scared' could I send Mike away? And besides, Bella wouldn't want others to know of her fears. If I would use that argument, I'd betray her trust in a horrible way.

So I watch helplessly as Mike guides Bella out of the classroom. It feels so very wrong to let her go like that, but I honestly don't know what I could do about it.

In my next class, I am anxious, pent up. Bella has skipped Gym this entire week and she hasn't told us why. Going to Gym obviously stressed her out beyond belief and now I have let her go with probably the biggest douchebag that walks around in this school.

It's why I'm not even that surprised when I get a text from Alice, twenty minutes into class.

_Come to the gym. Something wrong with Bella_

I look at my Spanish teacher, who is working behind her desk as we are supposed to work on an assignment. I know she won't agree with me going, but I have to.

I pack my bag quickly, not really expecting to come back here this period, and walk up to her desk.

"I'm sorry senora, there is an emergency regarding Bella. I have to go."

She looks up at me with stern eyes. "And how you do you know of this emergency?" she asks lowly.

"I got a text," I admit, confessing I have been checking my phone during class.

"What is this emergency?" she asks, and I can feel the seconds tick away as she is trying to verify my story.

"I don't know, senora, but Alice texted me and I really think I should go to the gym now."

The moment she takes to try and make me break with her gaze seems to take forever.

Finally, I break the silence. "Senora, I am going. You can put me in detention for this, I don't care. But I need to go to Bella now."

I don't even really wait for an answer and turn to leave the classroom. I honestly don't care if I get detention for this. It will be worth it if it means I can go help Bella now, because obviously that is infinitely more important than a Spanish class I can do with my eyes closed.

Speeding through the empty hallways, I find the gym room quickly. I have no clue where Bella is, so I decide to enter the Gym class through the guy's locker room.

Only a few people there, mostly guys, and no teacher. The atmosphere is decidedly tense.

I move on into the gym room.

"Bella is in there," somebody points into the direction of the girl's locker room.

I walk over there, but hesitate before I peer inside the open door, knocking loudly on the doorpost to make my presence known.

I mean, come on, it's the girls locker room.

Damn.

"Edward, come here," Alice calls out over the thrum of girls that are crowded in the corner of a room.

I push my way through students, most of them girls, that are not moving an inch to let me pass.

"Come on," I snap, and when I come up to Angela, she steps aside easily to let me reach the front of the tiny crowd.

And there Bella sits, on the floor, hiding her head in her arms, completely rigid. I don't even have to ask if she is shut down, because I am pretty sure she is.

At that moment, coach Clapp seems to finally come to his senses.

"Everybody out!" he calls authoritatively, and reluctantly, and very, _very_ slowly, the crowd thins until everybody is gone.

Angela lingers. "Call me if you need anything," she says softly to Alice, who is crouched down in front of Bella, coming as close as possible without touching her.

Alice nods and the girls exchange looks before Angela too disappears. As she walks out of the locker room, the teacher comes back.

"I'm lost here. You guys best call your mother."

"I already did that," Alice says, not looking away from Bella. After a moment, she does look up. "Do you have any idea what happened?"

Coach Clapp shakes his head, looking lost. "No. The girls were late to come out of the room and a student came to get me. When I came to check, they were all… hovering. I found Bella like this. She's completely unresponsive."

"This happened before. Our mother should be here in twenty minutes," Alice says. "Is it okay if we wait here with Bella?"

"Shouldn't she be brought to the nurse's office? I can carry her there."

"No," I say, fiercer than I want to. "Don't touch her. She's not to be moved right now."

The teacher quirks an eyebrow at my tone, and he has a right to.

"I'm sorry," I amend immediately. The last thing I want is to be sent away from here.

"Very well. You know her, so I will assume you know best for now. Let me know if your mother arrives. I have to go and give class now."

"We'll get you," Alice smiles, and coach Clapp leaves, leaving us with a rigid Bella who is locked inside her own mind with only her fears as company.

"Bella?" Alice asks softly as she scoots that tiny bit closer. "We're here. Edward and I are here. Everybody else left. Nothing will happen. Mom will come soon and you can go home."

No response.

"I know you can hear me where you are. Listen, I'm sure that you shut down for a reason and nobody will think less of you that you did it."

A pause, and Alice looks up at me with big eyes that are filled to the brim with tears and worry. I sit down on the cold tile floor, next to Alice, and take over. I don't know if I can do much good, but I can try.

"Why didn't you tell us you didn't want to go to Gym?" I ask softly, careful to keep any judgmental tone out of my voice because I'm not judging.

Alice's head snaps around to look at me. This knowledge is new for her, too.

"You should have said something, saved yourself this stress. You know you can come to us with these things, right?"

My, it's hard to talk with a Bella who's only nodding or shaking her head, but talking to a Bella who's absolutely giving no response at all is damn near impossible.

"What happened? Did Mike do something stupid?" It's a wild guess.

Bile rises in my throat when her entire body convulses and she folds up her body tighter, wrapping her arms around her waist with more force.

"Oh my God," I mouth, meeting gazes with an utterly shocked Alice.

We both know. We _know_. We just never said it out loud, afraid to admit it.

I swallow thickly, but find I cannot speak for a moment.

Alice, always the stronger one, takes over.

"You're safe now, Bella. You're with us. If Gym stresses you out like this, I'm sure we can find a way to get you out of it."

No response.

"Mom is coming soon. She'll take you home, and there you can come out again when you feel like it. She won't be angry or anything."

No response.

"Hang in there," I say after a long pause. "We're not going anywhere."

After many more minutes of softly spoken reassurances and tense silences, we hear some rumor and then mom comes into the locker room, flustered and beyond worried.

"Bella?" she asks.

Before we can get up, she's kneeling down next to us, looking worried at Bella before she looks at us. Alice quickly relays what she knows of the story.

"She's somehow still here though," I add. "I said something about Mike and she reacted."

Mom nods slowly, taking in this information. Then she turns to Bella slowly.

"Bella, honey, can you hear me? I'm here now. Shall I take you home? Don't worry, I'm not angry."

"I'll go get the coach," Alice says softly as she gets up. "I'll wait for a bit to bring him back though."

I nod and Alice slips quietly from the room.

"I think Bella skipped Gym until today," I say softly. I don't want to betray Bella, but mom has to know. "Then Mike Newton came to get her in Biology and she already stiffened up. I wish I had stopped him."

"You couldn't know," mom says softly. She looks back to Bella. "Don't worry about Gym, Bella. You don't have to do this. I should have known you wouldn't want to do this. It's all right, sweetie. Don't worry about this. You were right by not going. I've failed you once more. But we'll fix this. We'll work it out. You're safe now."

No response, but somehow the tension in her body seems to lessen a tiny bit.

"Do you hear me Bella? You are safe now. No need anymore to shut down like this. I'm not angry, nor will Carlisle be. I promise. One, you're okay. Two, you're in the gym room…"

Mom trails off as she stretches her hand out over the floor towards a completely unresponsive Bella, in a clear, desperate way to get closer to a girl that can't stand to be touched.

"Let us in," mom whispers, and her voice breaks. "Please let us help you."

Infinitely slowly, Bella moves one hand away from her body, keeping her face hidden behind her hair and her other arm. The hand that moves descends, hesitantly, almost reluctantly, until it touches the floor not an inch away from mom's hand.

After what seems like an eternity, Bella's hand slides forward and touches mom's.

My breath halts as I witness Bella initiating contact.

When mom slowly, carefully moves her hand to make it easier for Bella to touch, Bella's hand moves along almost as if naturally and then all of a sudden they are gripping hands, Bella's fingers turning white with the force she is using to hold on to my mother.

I feel like a douchebag, but I have a lump in my throat.

And from the corner of my eye, I can see the tears fall from my mother's eyes.

* * *

_Hope you all liked this! Let me know what you think? _


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N I don't own Twilight. **

_Thank you for all those reviews - do you have any idea how happy you make me? I am glad you liked the epov. Hope you will like this too! A lot of you have mentioned how Bella never described Edward to Renee. Bella did this deliberately. I hope you'll like this chapter. It is unbeta'ed as yet, since Sherry is swamped and didn't have time to help me. Any mistakes are on me. Please forgive me. _

_Thanks to Deb too, who was with me last weekend and who talks me through my lows. I heart you hard, girl! Soon as I can leave the country again, I'm at your door._

* * *

Warmth.

Touch.

Skin.

Gripping. Holding.

Heart crashing, breath halting.

Touch.

Touching. Me.

She's touching me.

Or I her. I initiated.

She didn't pull back.

Contact.

Words being spoken, but I cannot hear. Not understand. Overload, right now there is only one thing, one sense that registers. Skin on skin.

She's touching me.

Her voice calm, soothing. Promising and reassuring. Just gentle tones.

I have to move, I know. Get up and get out.

I know.

Give me a minute.

Gripping her hand. Her skin on mine, the contact I've craved. One second more, I don't want to let go.

"I'm here, Bella. You're safe. Can you get up? Let's go home."

Yes. Home.

But, to move. How to move.

Moving means to let go.

My arm moves, is lifted. Through the mist I see Esme getting up.

My hand slips from hers as I rise to my feet. Sore, so sore.

I remember. Mike, walking with me. His hand on my lower back. His mouth too close to my ear. Talking, I don't remember the words. Then Gym. Too crowded in the locker room. Undressing.

I can't.

I can't.

Panic.

I follow Esme, reliving the events in my mind's eye.

A car ride, coming home.

Where are Alice and Edward? Where they not there, too?

No energy for questions.

I stand in the hallway, waiting. _Waiting_.

"Do you want to talk about it? Tell me what happened?"

I can't react. Can't reply. I'm not ready. Please don't hurt me. I am sorry.

"Bella?"

No, I can't.

Silence, stretching.

"Okay. Go and make yourself comfortable, and when you are ready, come find me."

I am alone in the hallway. Fighting to see through the fog in my head, I go to my room, locking the door behind me.

I don't even make it to the rocking chair. Fall to my knees at the foot of the bed and cry.

**~O~**

Hiccupping still with the force of my breakdown, I don't hear the knocks on my door at first.

"Bella? Please open the door. Bella?"

I can't move yet. It's a miracle in itself I can hear Esme talking right now. See my hands wringing in my lap, feel the burning in my legs as I have been kneeling down for so long.

"Let me in?"

Those words.

She used them before. In the locker room. Why?

"Please, Bella. Let me help you."

I can't move, and if I don't get up, she will go.

But I don't want her to go.

If only I could let her know to wait for me, please to wait for me. Have patience. I am trying.

Yes. Movement. Unfolding stiff legs and sore arms and standing up, joints feeling as if sand has been rubbed into them.

The door. My hands tremble so badly I can't open the lock at first. It rattles, and for once I hope Esme hears. Me. Hears me.

When I finally manage to open the door, I look up in Esme's ashen face. She looks worried, tired.

That is my fault.

Always, always my fault.

"Can I come in?"

I step back, giving her space to enter my room. She looks around and as I follow her gaze, I see what she sees.

It's tidy. Not a thing out of place, I live here like I will have to leave any minute. The room is not mine. It has been given to me until I leave.

Esme sits down carefully on the tidily made bed. Pats the spot next to her, but I can't move.

Breathing still rattling, I look at her through swollen, burning eyes.

"What happened today?" Her voice so soft I can barely hear it over the incessant ringing in my ears. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Where to start, and where to end. How to tell her what is bothering me? What can I tell her, when will the anger come? I can't ask her to miss a class completely, right?

Esme waits, the silence moving between us in heavy swirls.

"Can I tell you what I think happened?" she asks.

I swallow, my throat dry as sandpaper. With not eating comes not drinking, and sometimes that has consequences.

"I think you don't want to go to Gym, am I right?"

Unable to nod, I can't deny the truth in her words. Besides, I believe that knowledge was settled.

"Are you afraid of being touched when in Gym class?"

Oh Lord, I hadn't even thought of that. I never got that far. Oh my God.

"Or are you unwilling to undress and change?"

Her words hit home like a sharp knife and I crumble, my body folding into itself as I cannot hide my reaction to her words.

"Oh honey," she whispers, leaning forward and stretching out her arm to me, reaching out but not coming near.

I take gasping breaths as I try to keep the hyperventilation under control, but I feel so miserable, and so lost. Alone.

My knees give way and I sink to the ground once more as Esme's words repeat themselves time and time again in my head.

And then they travel further and I realize as if for the first time, again, that she knows. She knows it all.

"Bella." Esme's voice breaks as she gets up and kneels close to me on the floor.

When I meet her gaze, hazy with my tear filled eyes, I see that she is crying too.

"You can talk to us about this. You don't have to do this alone."

Oh, but I do. I've always been alone. It doesn't matter how many times the Cullens have reassured me that they will help me, are here for me. In the end, I'm the one that has to bear the burden of my life.

Esme reaches her hand out, tentatively, seeking the contact I so boldly took earlier. But I can't. I don't deserve it. So I shake my head, my entire body trembling with the force I have to use to deny myself what I so truly, dearly want.

"Whenever you want," Esme whispers shakily. "Whenever you are ready. I'm here, Bella. I'm here for you."

For some reason that makes me even more miserable and a sob wracks through my body as I'm shaking with the desire to just be held by her. But my body won't move and my mind is blocking me, afraid of the pain as much as the rejection.

"You don't have to go to Gym," Esme says after long minutes. "I'll make very sure you never have to go again."

The relief is palpable, so I cry harder. Obviously.

Long moments pass and outside twilight sets in.

"Bella, I have to ask," Esme then says after clearing her throat almost nervously. "Edward thought that something might have happened with Mike..."

I freeze, the only sound in the room my ragged breathing.

"What happened, Bella? Did he touch you?"

My halting breath is enough answer for Esme.

"Inappropriately?"

I shake my head now, suddenly understanding where this is going. Even though I dislike Mike with a fiery passion, I am not stupid. What he did was not wrong in normal terms.

"Bella, where did he touch you? I have to know."

Her voice is stronger now, almost commanding. I lift a stiff arm and reach towards the small of my back.

"Just your lower back?"

I nod, my eyes still closed with the force of my breathing and my hammering heartbeat.

Esme exhales. "Are you sure? You can tell me if something else happened."

I shake my head. Nothing else except from all the bullshit he kept spewing into my ear about how he'd noticed me right away and how I seemed like such a nice girl, and how he would like to get to know me better and...

Bile rises and I sprint towards the bathroom where I vomit my guts out since there is nothing in my stomach that my body can purge.

**~O~**

I stay in my room, too exhausted to come down. Esme reassures me that it's okay to stay here, but she also tells me that she'll be back with Carlisle later. She tells me he won't be angry, but I am too tired to worry too much.

I feel like a train wreck.

A week in school has built up to this. I'm pretty sure they won't allow me to go back now.

Curled up in my rocking chair, it's Alice who comes up to bring me dinner.

I eye the tray she is holding wearily, not feeling fit enough to eat.

"Mom said, if you manage to eat half, it's okay. But you have to eat, Bella," Alice pleads. "You must be exhausted."

She puts the tray on my desk and then walks back to the chair, where I am huddled under Renée's quilt, shivering with a cold that won't seem to leave my body.

"Are you better now? I hope mom makes sure you won't have to go to Gym again."

I nod to answer both of her questions. The smell of the food is filling the room, making my tired stomach coil in protest.

"I'm so sorry you panicked," she says softly. "Just take it easy, okay? Come find me later if you want to do something fun for distraction."

She slips from the room and I look over the back of the rocking chair, eyeing the steaming food on the tray with disdain.

I have to eat. I've been losing even more weight over this week. Not that I've seen any scales, but my clothes are getting bigger and bigger on my body. And I'm pretty sure that Carlisle will be true to his word and make me take the fluid food again to regain strength.

It's the fear of that which makes me eat about half of the meal, before my stomach churns uncomfortably, letting me know it's quite enough.

I know I have to bring the tray back down, but I can hear everybody downstairs and I really don't have the energy to face them right now. If it were up to me, I'd disappear right here and now.

Too bad I can't. And even I know that running away is not an option.

At around eight o'clock, I hear a knock on my door.

"Bella? It's us, Carlisle and I. Will you let us in?" Esme.

This is it. Shit, I wish I had had more time to prepare for this.

Swallowing, I get up to face them, unlocking the door and looking up at my foster parents.

"Hi," Esme smiles, relief for some reason evident on her face.

I focus on Carlisle however, trying to read his face, figure out if he is angry or not. His face is neutral, so perhaps he's not. Or not yet.

"We'd like to talk to you about something, can we come in?"

Panic flares. What do they want, coming together to my room?

"Don't worry," Carlisle says. "No need to be afraid. We just want to talk about what happened today and run something by you."

That sounds… ominous.

"Would you rather go somewhere else? The library, perhaps?" Esme asks.

From downstairs, Emmett's boisterous laughter sounds. If we go downstairs, I'll have to face them and I don't want that.

Best to do it here then. I suppress a frown as I stand back and let them both into my room. Carlisle turns to close the door a bit, leaving it ajar, much to my surprise and relief.

"Why don't we sit down?" Esme asks and she pulls the desk chair towards the bed. Carlisle sits on the chair besides the bed and I keep standing, unsure what to do.

"Come sit here," Esme points at the desk chair. "Is it okay if I sit on your bed?"

I nod and walk around them. But — oh, shit, now they are between the door and me. I can't run if I want to. Did they do this on purpose?

I decide to be careful and brace myself, just in case.

"Please have a seat," Esme coaxes, and as she sinks down on the bed, I copy her and sit down as well.

"First of all, let me assure you that you won't have to go to Gym again. You will probably have to do an alternate assignment, but there is no chance that you will have to join in that class," Esme starts.

I exhale quietly, infinitely relieved about this.

"Also, we want to stress the fact that you can come to us with these things, Bella. I can't imagine how much stress this must have cost you. We are not angry about this. We would not have been if you had come to us beforehand. We disapprove of you skipping classes, but we understand you had good reason to do so."

"We are learning here, as are you," Carlisle continues. "If in the future there is something you feel you can't do for whatever reason, please come find us before you move to measures that could in fact give you a bad record in school."

He _knows _these words will hit me the most. I don't want to get a bad name in school.

"We will explain to the teacher and the headmaster that you cannot attend Gym class and we will make sure your individual education plan is adjusted."

I nod in understanding.

"I am curious, however. How did you manage this in Phoenix? Did you do Gym there?"

I shake my head slowly. I just never went, and because the school was big and shittily organized, nobody every noticed. At least I was never called out on it.

"You skipped?" Esme asks softly, and I nod.

"It's a big school where she went to," Carlise muses to Esme. "Perhaps she was able to fly under the radar there more easily."

"Now, Bella, if there is anything else you think we should know… now you know we really won't be upset — is there anything else?" Esme's voice is infinitely patient.

I shake my head because truly, there isn't.

"Not unimportantly, do you think you will be able to go back to school?" Carlisle asks then.

I think for a moment, worrying about the looks of students. They all saw me crashing down, and the gossip will explode. But it will also die down again and yes, I want to go to school. So I nod.

"We trust your judgment on this. You're the one that knows best how you feel," Esme says kindly. "But we ask that you consider carefully. We will not think less of you if you decide you want another form of education."

A silence falls, and I wait for what is to come.

"Bella, there is something else we wanted to discuss with you," Carlisle announces.

I tense up, because conversations like these are not likely to go easy on me.

Esme and Carlisle look at each other for a moment, before Carlisle sits forward, leaning his forearms on his knees.

"We have been thinking about therapy for you."

Holy holy…

I blink, stunned.

"Perhaps not immediately, because we want to give you time to get used to the idea, but we really think that therapy would benefit you."

I am so surprised and upset by the notion of therapy and the fact that Carlisle thinks I would need it, that I sit back, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow. Defying them. Not the best decision, I know.

"The fact that you don't talk, for one," Esme says softly, undisturbed by my actions.

Bullshit. My not talking is my choice, and no therapy will change that.

"Or that you can't eat with others around."

Again, that's my choice. Right?

"You can't bear to be touched."

So?

"Your past," Esme then tries, and now I frown.

What happened to me in my past is my own fault, and I don't think a therapist can help me with that.

"Or your reaction in school today," Carlisle adds, and this time I don't have a response.

Because it was involuntary, but it was caused by what I knew from my past, and my past was my own fault. Right? Right.

So no, no therapy for me, thank you.

"Bella," Esme says carefully, probably noticing my defiant glare, "you need therapy, even if you maybe think that you don't. We would appreciate it if you would at least give it a chance, since it is unlikely to work unless you cooperate."

I frown, my heartbeat getting heavier as I am starting to realize there is no way out of this. I am going to a therapist. Carlisle and Esme are apparently putting their foot down as my caretaker.

I'm suddenly nauseous.

What do they expect me to do in therapy? How can a therapist possibly help me?

"Please give it a chance," Carlisle says. "If you have tried it a few times and decide that you are not ready yet, we can try again later. But Esme and I both feel that you should try it therapy. Renée has stressed that once you were settled in here, you should continue it."

"Think about it," Esme says. "You don't have to start tomorrow. We were thinking, how about after Thanksgiving?"

I look at Esme, unblinking.

"Get used to the idea, and when you have questions, just ask us. We don't expect you to start talking or eating after the first session, but wouldn't it be nice if you got less fierce panicked reactions when something happens that upsets you?"

Yeah, but I don't see how therapy would help me with that.

"Just think about it, okay? We'll talk about this later." Esme gets up, indicating the conversation is over. She walks to the desk to get my half-finished meal and compliments me on having eaten.

I'm starting to feel ridiculous here.

"Bella," Carlisle says then, "You have had a rough day, and your body is tired. Your stomach is probably still very upset. If you want to, I can give you something to calm your stomach, and also something that will help you sleep."

I shake my head, wary. I don't need his pills. I don't know what he puts in what he says he's giving me.

"Try to rest," Esme says gently. "Come find us if you want to, and know that we're there for you. You don't have to do this alone," she repeats, and then she and Carlisle leave me alone in my room once more.

**~O~**

Of _course_ I can't sleep. Of _course_ memories haunt me as soon as I close my eyes. When I finally sink into slumber, I dream of that Mike guy, holding me down to the bed and whispering that he'd like to get to know me better.

I bolt awake, sweat trickling down my body and my heart crashing nearly out of my chest. I take a few deep breaths, trying to dispel the memory from my mind's eye.

Perhaps I should have accepted whatever Carlisle offered me to help me sleep. It would have been welcome right now.

I stumble out of the bed to the bathroom, splashing cold water in my face before I look in the mirror for a second.

A pale face, dark circles under my eyes. The face of a failure. I'm ugly, and I truly wonder how anybody can stand to be look at me.

I divert my gaze and crawl back into the bed that is still damp with my sweat. Tomorrow it will be Saturday. At least I won't have to go back to school, but I will have to face the Cullens again.

Right now, I'm not even sure which is worse.

**~O~**

I wake early, grey light seeping around the heavy curtains into the room. My entire body is stiff, still sore from my panic yesterday.

The house is quiet yet and when I look at my watch I am not surprised — it is not even seven yet. I slip out of bed and into my clothes. I'd like to shower but I am afraid the running water will wake the others.

Arriving in the kitchen, I make myself some hot porridge, comfort food that will hopefully calm my upset stomach for a bit. I pick up the paper that is on the porch already — I hope the delivery guy gets some serious extra money for coming down this driveway every morning — and settle at the breakfast bar, feeling better with the slightly higher position it provides.

Reading and eating, I hear some vague sounds in the house. It isn't until I hear distinct footsteps that I realize somebody else is awake.

Emmett steps into the kitchen in sports clothes, his curly hair still damp.

"Good morning," he greets me pleasantly as he walks over to the fridge to make himself some breakfast.

Eggs, milk, some bacon. He's making omelets.

"You're early," he observes as he puts butter in a frying pan and lights the stove.

He can cook.

Why this surprises me so is beyond me, but I'm looking in awe as he melts the butter before he puts the bacon in the pan. It hisses and spits and Emmett stands back a bit as the first reaction of the heat to the meat dies down.

"Have you eaten yet?" he asks, looking at me.

I nod, pointing at the empty bowl in front of me.

"Okay. If you want some of this, just let me know."

He breaks the eggs into the pan, fishing out a piece of eggshell carefully and adding some milk. The transparent egg white starts to turn white immediately and I watch in fascination.

Emmett chuckles and I look up at him, busted by my staring.

"You are looking like you never saw an omelet made before."

I shake my head, denying his assumption. Of course I can make omelet. I used to love them.

Emmett cooks with practiced ease, chopping up some tomatoes and pouring two glasses of juice. He places one before me.

"Drink this. Good calories in it. You're getting too thin."

I can only look at him, wide-eyed. Why does he tell me this? And why does he notice my body weight? I fold into myself, trying to make myself invisible.

"It's healthy," Emmett adds, probably misunderstanding my reaction. "Gives you energy and all that. And you look like you could use some after yesterday."

Yesterday… so he knows too.

I check my watch to distract myself and see that it's only eight. I never thought the Cullen kids were early risers.

"I have a game today," Emmett simply says by way of explanation. "I have to leave around nine."

He's relaxed, paying attention to his cooking. I never expected it to be so easy, to be with Emmett alone in a room. He seems more relaxed than he has been around me, and I wonder why that is. Perhaps because he is alone?

And I realize I'm not overly stressed being here with him. That is new, and worrying at the same time. What if he turns on me and I am unprepared?

Emmett grins up at me as he holds up his glass in a mock toast. "Cheers." He gulps it down in one go and refills.

"So, what are your plans for the day?"

I watch as he slides the omelet from the pan onto slices of bread on a plate, and get up to get pepper and salt and some cutlery to quickly set the table for him. Emmett smiles in thanks as he moves to sit down and digs into his food.

"Well?" he asks.

Well, what?

"What are you doing today?"

Oh, that. I don't know. Worry myself into a frenzy, I guess.

"You can come and watch the game," he says, and I realize he's serious.

"I mean, you can drive with me, or mom can come with you?"

A beat. A bite, and a swallow.

"Just so you get out of the house for a bit, you know?" he adds. "Get some fresh air. It's not raining. Yet."

Heh. Yet. It's always raining here.

I miss the sun.

"The game starts at ten, so you have a little while to decide."

I nod, wondering if I could take that hurdle and just go out. Who will be there?

"Drink," Emmett then says, pointing at my glass on the breakfast bar. "It's good for you."

He concentrates back on his food and as he is not looking up, I quickly down the juice, feeling how the cold travels down my body into my stomach.

We sit in silence for a while until I get up to make some coffee, my movements hesitant with Emmett so close. Esme appears in the kitchen a shot while later, still in her robe.

"Good morning," she beams at both of us. She inhales. "That smells like good coffee," she smiles at me. Then she turns to Emmett. "You ready for the game honey?"

"Am," he replies, finishing his juice. "And it looks like at least the morning will be dry."

"That is good. Last outside game of the season?"

"Yeah. Inside from now on."

"Well, at least your clothes will be less dirty," Esme smirks as she pours two mugs of coffee and places one before me. "Have you eaten?"

I nod. I've placed my bowl in the dishwasher but I think she knows I am telling the truth.

"Good. Is your stomach somewhat calmer?"

I nod again.

"And how do you feel? Are _you_ calmed down a bit?"

I look away, not sure about the answer to that question. Nothing is resolved and the feeling I am stuck in a vacuum is stronger than ever.

I'd like to hold Esme's hand again, but I am afraid to ask.

"Hey, mom, I asked Bella if she wanted to come watch the game," Emmett says. "But she'd need transportation."

"Oh, that might be a good idea," Esme replies, turning to me. "Would you like to go?"

I don't know. I honestly don't. And I don't want to bother Esme with having to drive me places. She obviously has other things to do.

"How about this," she says after a moment of thinking. "I need to get some things from the supermarket. Why don't you join me there, get some fresh air, and then on the way back, when you're up to it we can watch the end of the game?"

That sounds reasonable and I do like to be able to help Esme with the groceries. It's the least I can do to pay back for everything they do for me.

I nod at her, and sip my coffee. Esme's eyes widen for a moment before she recollects herself and focuses on getting breakfast.

And all of a sudden I realize that I've drunk something while she was watching me.

Huh.

I didn't even think about it.

**~O~**

The supermarket is crowded, even on a Saturday morning. I see nobody I recognize however and even though it's not as calm as I prefer, I am happy to be out for a bit.

"You look more relaxed," Esme observes as she regards me selecting meat. I always check if there is not too much fat in it, something Esme complimented me on when she first discovered I did that.

I look up at Esme, processing her words.

"You do. Distraction helps, huh."

I nod shyly, knowing she is right.

We browse through the isles and Esme once more encourages me to pick out what I like. A long forgotten desire resurfaces as I think back on what I wanted to do to show my gratitude towards the Cullens. Especially now, after how they seem to have handled the Gym incident.

I hesitate, biting my lip as I turn to Esme.

"Yes?" she asks hopefully.

Hmm, how to do this. Esme roots around in her purse for paper and pen, but comes up empty-handed.

"Show me," she says.

Looking around, I only now realize we're in the right aisle. I seek out the flour and pick it up, but Esme looks confused.

"I need more help. You want to bake something?"

I nod.

Esme's face lights up in a brilliant smile. "Of course you can. Go get what you need."

Hesitantly, I step back, making to leave but not quite sure yet.

"Go on," Esme smiles. "Live a little."

I almost snort at her statement, knowing that baking a pie has nothing to do with 'living a little', but I finally saunter off and get everything I need for an apple pie with cinnamon and raisins, and a cream cheese one with cherries on top.

Esme licks her lips when I drop the last of the ingredients in the cart. "It looks like you will make something delicious," she says longingly.

We finish the groceries and place them in the trunk of the car. When I open the back door, Esme looks at me. "Why don't you sit next to me?"

I think for a moment, then close the back door and slip into the passenger's seat.

"Thank you," Esme says softly as she starts the car. "I can tell how hard you are trying. It doesn't go unnoticed."

I swallow thickly and buckle my seat belt as Esme backs out of the parking lot. Somehow it means a lot to me that she told me she can see I am trying. Because I am.

I really am.

"So," she says when she turns onto the road. "Would you like to go see Emmett's ball game? It's a rough sport though, I have to warn you. There will be tackling."

I think for a moment. I know that Emmett plays football and that there are tackles involved. Do I want to see him play? Not necessarily, no.

But I want to be _normal_. What happened yesterday in school has painfully pointed out to me that I am not, and that I cannot react normally to situations others don't even blink about.

So, perhaps I should try and go see that game.

Turning to Esme, I do worry that I am using her time.

"You want to go?" she asks.

I nod, carefully, gauging her reaction.

"Good. I actually wanted to see him play, too. We'll have an outing together," she smiles, as if it's actual fun to be with me.

She drives us to the sport fields right at the edge of the town. I'm not worried about the groceries — it is cold enough outside that the food will keep for a while.

Esme gets an umbrella and walks with me towards the far field, where the game is being played. A handful of people is standing around, watching.

Again, nobody I recognize, and I relax a bit.

Esme stands next to me, scanning the players that are running along the field. When one player catches the ball and makes a run for it, Esme points him out. "That's Emmett."

He's not even the tallest of the group. I must admit I never expected him to be this quick though. Damn, he's fast.

He doesn't score however, as he is tackled from behind. His attacker and he slide over the wet grass, lumps of earth jumping up around them. I tense in shock at the violence of the contact, and Esme flinches.

"He'll be bruised tomorrow, I'm sure."

I cannot understand for the life of me how somebody would willingly play a game that can hurt like this, but I guess that's just me.

When it starts to rain, Esme opens the umbrella and asks me to join her underneath it.

"Come on," she coaxes. "I won't bite."

Tentatively I step closer, until I am under the umbrella and almost touching her.

"I am glad you accepted my hand yesterday," Esme says softly, keeping her gaze focused on the field. "I know this was a huge step for you." A beat. "It's not bad, or wrong, or weak, to accept support like that, or to ask for it."

Her voice is so soft I can barely hear it.

And then her words register. A frown forms on my face and I look down as I chew on my lip.

"I mean it, Bella. Even Emmett comes for a hug every now and again. There is nothing wrong with wanting affection."

But I don't deserve it. And it's just… hard, you know?

It's complicated.

"Anytime you want to," Esme says just before the umpire whistles to announce the end of the game.

I startle a little as Esme claps and cheers — apparently Emmett's team has won.

The players shake hands and Emmett's team celebrates for a bit, clapping each other's back and congratulating each other.

"I won't ever turn you down, Bella," Esme ends her interrupted speech. "Anytime you want some support, I am here."

She smiles as Emmett comes over to us, taking off his helmet as he walks up.

"Congratulations," she beams up at him, and he smiles down at her.

"The rain started earlier than expected, but it was a good game. Good to see that you came too, Bella," he smiles at me. "Did you enjoy it?"

Ehm, not really.

"It's a little violent, perhaps," Esme answers kindly for me. "You coming home straight after?"

Emmett looks over his shoulder as his name is called. "Nah," he says as he turns back. "I think I'm going to hang out with James in the afternoon."

"You do that," Esme replies. "Will you be home for dinner?"

"Don't know. I'll call, okay?"

They say goodbye and Emmett waves at me as he turns to jog towards the other side of the field, where the locker rooms are.

"That was fun, wasn't it?" Esme asks as we get back into the car again.

I look at her from the corner of my eye, shivering and cold to my core, with damp hair and soaked through shoes.

Esme laughs at me, but is apologetic. "At least you were out for a bit."

That is true, indeed.

Once we arrive back at the house, I help Esme to put the groceries away. Then, after changing into drier clothes, at her request I make a start with my pies. It is quiet in the house. Rosalie and Alice are shopping. Carlisle is in his study, and Edward and Jasper are gaming in the living room. I guess it was raining too hard for them to go hiking, after all.

Esme helps me to get everything ready, and then leaves me to my own to go and do some ironing in the laundry room. When I try to offer to help, she refuses and tells me to work in the kitchen.

I am soon lost in the baking process, making the pies from scratch. I used to make these for Renée and bring them to therapy. She'd always accuse me of trying to get her fat.

There's easy comfort in baking and my mind drifts as I work, dicing the apples, measuring the sugar and cinnamon, and whipping the cream cheese mix.

As I put the apple pie in the preheated oven and the cream cheese in the fridge, I have an hour to kill before they are ready. Filling two glasses with soda, I go into the living room where Jasper and Edward are playing some sort of puzzle game.

"Oh, thanks," Jasper says as they pause the game and both drink.

"You baking?" Edward asks.

I nod.

"I'm sure it will be good," Jasper smiles. "Want to join our game?"

I shake my head and indicate I'd like to watch. They resume the game and it doesn't take me long to figure out what they need to do. It requires fast thinking and I must admit it looks like a game I'd like to play.

After a while, Jasper stretches. "I'm done."

"Aw," Edward complains. "Just because I am winning?"

"No," Jasper chuckles, "because I am done. Maybe Bella will want to take over from me?"

He looks hopeful. It's not the first time they are asking me to join in a game.

But fuck me, I don't even know how the controller works.

However, this really looks like something I would like to try. And Edward is so good, I won't have to be afraid of him losing so at least I think there won't be any consequences for that.

Right?

"Come on, just try it," Jasper coaxes as he pushes the controller towards me over the coffee table.

Hesitantly, I take it, just as he gets up and stretches again. I look from the controller to the screen, feeling lost.

And alarmed, when Jasper walks over to me, kneeling before the chair I am in. I stiffen when he lifts his hand and points to the buttons on the controller. "Pick up, release, switch. Move, use bonus."

He looks at me to see if I got it and I nod, wide-eyed at his close proximity. He gets up again and smiles. "Good luck. Edward is far too good at this game."

Edward snorts. "You're just a sore loser."

"I must say I wonder if Bella is any good," Jasper muses. "Maybe I'll just stick around and watch the first game."

And it's that audience that makes very sure that I lose the first game, as I am too tense to really react.

"Come on, Bella, I'm sure you can do better than that," Edward says. "Let's try again."

After a few games, I am getting the hang of it. No longer bothered by Jasper looking on, I start to pick up pace and make quicker moves. We've been playing for some time until we reach a tie.

"Wow," Jasper says appreciatively. "You have competition, Edward."

"One more," Edward replies and starts the new game before I can protest.

We play, and when I check the score I can see I am winning. Just then, the oven beeps. I fly up, leaving the controller on the table mid-game and almost run into the kitchen, as if the pie cannot wait one minute to be taken out of the oven.

I put it on the counter, focusing on my actions to prevent the panic from almost winning to bubble up.

Games are dangerous. I should not have played.

I get the cream cheese out of the fridge and decorate it with cherries. It looks magnificent and I focus desperately on that, trying to forget the game.

Just when I am done, Carlisle wanders into the kitchen. "What smells so magnificently here?" He looks over at the counter and sees my handiwork. "My, Bella. Those look delicious! Did you make them yourself?"

I nod, shy with his enthusiasm.

He comes over, inhaling deeply. "Hmm, I guess we'll have to wait until it cools down?"

I nod again, watching in awe as Carlisle makes a theatrical gesture of disappointment.

"I'll finish up in my office, and then I am coming down for this. Wait…" he says more to himself than me, and he rummages through the fridge. "Do we have some whipped cream somewhere?"

He comes back out empty-handed, and almost disappointed. I cannot hide my smile as I point to a covered bowl in the fridge, where freshly whipped cream is waiting.

"Fabulous. I'll be right there."

**~O~**

The pie was excellent, or so they tell me. I haven't eaten it yet, but I will as soon as everybody has left the kitchen. What I _did_ do, to everybody's happy surprise and happy smiles, was to sit down with them in the living room, sipping my coffee as they ate.

Now that I did it once, it's easier to do it again.

Not that I am not surprised beyond belief by my own actions.

But it's not that special and I certainly don't deserve praise over something as inanely normal as this. I just want to be normal. I'm starting to get fed up with panicked reactions like I had yesterday.

I didn't have them at Stefan's. I don't know why I am having them here.

After the snack, Carlisle compliments me again and then leaves with Jasper for the hardware store, as there is something they want to build in the garage.

Esme helps me to clear away the dishes, then refills my coffee mug and asks me to sit down with her for a moment at the kitchen table.

Immediately wary, I do as she asks.

"Have you thought about therapy?"

Oh, she's sure coming down to business quickly.

I shift in my seat, uncomfortable and unwilling to think about this. Therapy builds on the notion that people can be fixed. But I am not broken.

I am malformed.

There is nothing to fix and besides, it's all my fault. I have a deep fear that a therapist will discover this quickly enough and call me out on it. And I'm weak like that. I _know_ I am at fault. I don't need somebody to tell me this.

"Bella." Esme's soft voice urges me from my drifting thoughts.

I look up at her, fighting to focus and make eye contact.

"Have you thought about it?"

No.

"We really think you could benefit from it," Esme says quietly. "Somebody to help you conquer your fears."

I don't know what to do with her words.

"You don't have to do this alone, Bella. You need help to deal with your past."

That's the second time in two days that she refers to my past. My breath hitches involuntarily, but at the same time anger flares. What does she mean, deal with my past?

How can therapy possibly help with something that happened and which was my fault to begin with? Would therapy help me to become a better person?

I think not.

"Don't get angry, please. I know that perhaps you are not ready for this, but I want you to try it. A therapist can help you with that, too."

Stop talking Esme, please. I don't want this.

My chest constricts in panic as I think of having to go to some random stranger once a week and sit there for an hour.

Why can't it be Renée? Renée is nice enough, and I could email her. Is therapy not all about talking?

Because that's kind of impossible with me. Just saying.

And I don't want it. What's the use? How could it possibly help?

"After Thanksgiving we'll start," Esme says. "We'll look for a good therapist to work with you."

Hey, I never said yes?

Esme holds my gaze for a long moment. She doesn't have to say anything. She's taking care of me, whether I agree or not. It is her right.

It's times like this I long to be eighteen so others cannot have this hold over me anymore.

Esme finishes her coffee as I stare into mine until it is cold. Then she leaves me with a quiet greeting and I am alone.

Therapy.

The thought alone makes me sick.

I tut in annoyance, clear my mug away and step outside into the bitingly cold air. It's dry again, and I plop down on the top step of the porch, looking out into the woods as the wet of the wood creeps through the fabric of my jeans.

I don't even care.

Therapy. _Therapy_.

Fucking hell.

After a while I hear the porch door open and when I look around, I see Edward, holding my coat in one hand and two mugs of tea in the other. He hands the coat to me and I take it, welcoming the warmth.

Then he sits down next to me, offering me a mug of tea in greeting.

"How are you?"

I shrug, because I honestly don't know. Tired, sore and in a bad mood after Esme's talk.

"Better than yesterday?" he asks.

I nod.

"Did Mike do something stupid to trigger it?"

Biting my lip, and annoyed at the reminder, I nod again.

"I'm so sorry about that. I shouldn't have let him walk with you."

We stare at each other for a moment, before Edward gets his phone from his pocket and hands it to me. "Talk to me."

_This is not your fault._

"It is," he says. "I should have looked out for you."

What? I type again.

_You can't protect me from everything_

Edward reads and frowns. "I know, but in this case, I think I could have helped. But I had no idea you had been skipping Gym."

Yeah, well.

"Is this why you were so tense yesterday?"

I look up at him, confused.

"You were so tense, it was rolling off you in waves."

Ah that. A gut feeling, perhaps. And my own battles to fight. Having to let Edward go, but realizing I am not wanting to.

Warn him away and hope against hope that he will stay.

It's scary to have the desire to be able to rely on someone. People, by default, cannot be trusted.

If Edward learns the truth about me, I am sure that he will leave. Yet I can't seem to get myself to tell him that truth, even though I know it is better to do it know, and quickly. Like a band-aid.

"Hey, come back to me," Edward says softly. 'What are you worrying about?"

You.

"I'm sorry for whatever I did wrong," he says.

I reach for his phone and write.

_You did nothing wrong_

"Then why are you so tense around me? I have the feeling something is bothering you."

I sigh in frustration. I guess I'll have to tell him. Why doesn't he just leave me alone?

The silence stretches as I try to find a way to tell him without laying my deepest insecurities bare.

"What I'd give to know what's going on in your mind," Edward muses quietly. "You can tell me, honestly. I won't run."

I'm not so sure about that.

Edward thinks for a moment, sipping his tea as he looks into the forest that is getting ready for winter. He doesn't look at me when he speaks.

"Does it have something to do with you thinking you are not good company?"

I swallow, my gaze following his hand as he holds out his phone to me. I take it from him, but don't write anything down. I wouldn't know what to say.

"Because I think you are."

Ah, now I do know what to say.

_You are wrong._

"Then tell me why, Bella. Please? What could you possibly have done to be so convinced you are bad company? Did you do something illegal?"

No.

"Then what?"

I sigh, feeling tears welling up as my frustration wars with my desire to just tell him.

Silence falls and Edward doesn't press. He sips his tea again, seemingly lost in thought.

"Is it so bad that you can't tell me?" he finally asks, almost whispering.

I nod, and a tear escapes and rolls down my cheek before I wipe it away with the sleeve of my coat.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice hoarse. "For whatever it is. I'm sorry."

We are silent again, and I drink my tea as I warm my hands around the mug.

"I guess that maybe therapy will be a good thing for you then," he offers.

My head whips around to look at him, my eyes wide in confusion. He knows this?

"I heard you talking in the kitchen earlier. Mom said she wanted you to try it?"

I look into my mug again, thoughts swirling without any coherency. He thinks it's good for me, too?

"I mean, therapy can help you come to terms with things, you know? Even if they are things that you think you have done wrong. Because you are obviously not doing them anymore right now, but they are still bothering you."

His words are so entirely right my breath escapes me in a heavy exhale. I never looked at it like that. And I really think he is right. I have not yet met any form of repercussion here, so perhaps I am not behaving all that badly after all.

Would therapy really help me? But it still means I have to 'fess up and tell a stranger of all my mishaps. I'm not sure if I want to do that.

Because the fact remains that it is all my fault. And I haven't even misbehaved willingly.

"Talk to me," Edward coaxes for the third time.

To hell with it.

_I'm scared_

He reads and is silent for a moment before he answers. "It is scary. I would be, too. But if it helps, would it be worth it to overcome that fear?"

I frown, thinking. Would it really help? I type.

_I don't know if it can help_

Edward chuckles, a humorless laugh. "Me neither. But you won't know it unless you try. That goes a bit for everything, I think," he winks.

I sigh, not sure what to think about him being such an advocate of me having therapy. I have to tell him, and I won't know how he will react 'unless I try'. I've come this far, might as well put it all out in the open. I don't think I can sink any lower than this, anyway.

_I think it won't help. It's all my own fault anyway_

"What is?" he asks. "You've been implying this a few times now, but what is your fault?"

I hesitate, not sure what to answer.

_Everything_

"That's a lot," Edward murmurs, keeping his eyes on the screen. "Can you be a bit more specific?"

A frustrated sigh escapes me as I realize the impossibility of answering this question. I tuck my hair behind my ear as it's blowing in my face in the soft wind, and look at the screen of Edward's phone as I contemplate what to say.

"Bella…" Edward starts hesitantly. "I know you were beaten in your old home, and that it was more than the occasional hit."

I stop breathing completely as I listen to his words. I know he knows, but to hear him say this out loud shocks me to my core. His words drift into the air, heavy as lead and with him speaking them, they become an undeniable truth.

Edward swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing. "And… Well, whatever you think you did that got you such a treatment — I'm pretty sure it can't have been that bad to have you treated like that."

His voice is hoarse, his words hesitantly spoken.

Blinking once, I need a moment to recollect my panicking thoughts.

Then I start to shake my head, almost without my volition, because he cannot possibly be right. He doesn't know me and he has no clue what he is talking about.

"How can it have been your fault that your foster father tried to strangle you?"

Oh my God.

Panic.

Panic.

"Calm down," he says quickly, looking worried. "Deep breaths."

As he speaks I realize I am gasping, almost panting as hyperventilation builds.

He is wrong. Of course it is my fault. How else to explain everything that happened?

"Please, Bella. I didn't mean to upset you like that," Edward says, turning to me. "I'm sorry. Try to calm down."

He looks so worried and contrite. "Whatever you did, or whatever you think you did," he says solemnly as he leans forward to make his point clear, "I don't care. I only care about the girl, sitting here on the porch, obviously carrying a burden nobody should bear. And even if all you did you brought onto yourself, it is obviously haunting you. I have not seen anything yet that would make me see you as an unworthy or bad person. And if therapy can help you realize that, I think you should do it."

I listen to his words, unmoving, and let them take root in my brain. Could he be right?

Above us, fat drops of rain are starting to fall out of the sky. Our meeting will have to come to an end.

I have nothing left to say and I look into Edward's eyes for a very long time, until the rain gets too bad and I know we have to get up.

Reaching out to hand him back his phone, his fingers graze mine as he takes it from me.

For the first time, I don't pull back.

I'm not even alarmed.

**~O~**

Up in my room, I finally get to Renée's email from so long ago. The email of which I have known all the time what it said.

.

**From: Renée Dwyer  
To: Bella Swan  
Subject: Re: Tell me more  
**How about Edward? You described all the Cullens, but didn't mention him in your mail.

.

I type a reply.

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Renée Dwyer  
Subject: Re: Re: Tell me more  
**He has green eyes.

* * *

_Thanks for reading. Tell me what you think?_


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N I don't own Twilight. I do own a diagnosis for my pain, finally!**

_Thanks for all the wonderful reviews. You keep me going! As some of you know, I have anonymous reviews enabled. I do this because I think everybody should be able to give me their opinion of the fic, even if they don't have an account. Anonymous reviews however, are not an invitation to spew senseless hate. I put my heart and soul into writing. If you don't like it, leave it. How hard can that be?_

_As ever, thanks to Sherry and Deb for their help. And shout out to Hev99 and Mels78_H for helping me fix my writer's block (and cheering me up in the process)._

* * *

Edward's words resonate. No matter what I have done wrong, I _want_ to try again to be better and as far as I have come to realize, the Cullens are willing to give me that chance. Although I am not sure what I have done differently so far, it seems that I am not doing things here that evoke the violence I know so well.

It still strikes me as weird however, since if anything, I have done less. Less housework, less helping, less invisibility, even. But Esme simply won't allow me to help her out and that still doesn't sit well with me, even though by now I am pretty sure that she's not refusing me because she thinks I'm incompetent.

It's just all still so alien to me and fuck me if I can get used to it.

But that's the thing, isn't it? It feels so dangerous to sit back and relax, even though I want to, because who knows what will happen if I drop my guard.

It will hurt so much more when it comes unexpectedly.

On Sunday, I join everyone in the living room as they finish off the pies I made the day before. I'm tense with all these people in the room but they are all nice and praise me until I think my face will explode, my blush is so hot.

Emmett all but inhales the apple pie and then finishes off Rosalie's cream cheese. She ate half a piece but she wasn't feeling well to begin with — she joined for the company. She apologizes fiercely about not being able to finish her cake.

Although at first I think she doesn't want it because it contains so many calories, her apologies strike me as so sincere that I want to believe her.

Emmett is in a good mood, happy that he won the match yesterday. He claims in front of everyone else that it was because I was there, watching. He says I brought good luck.

I just wonder if he's really hurt after the tackle I witnessed. And I'm surprised he won. I've been told more often than not that I brought misfortune, that it was my fault always when a lottery wasn't won or a bet was lost.

So Emmett telling me I am good luck is a bit beyond me, to be honest.

We sit and the family talks for a bit. Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away and Esme grabs the opportunity — or so she says — to discuss with us what we can do.

I learn that the family goes out every year for Thanksgiving and judging by the reactions of the others, this is not always an event they are looking forward to.

"But this year will be the first time for Bella," Esme says softly when the groans have died down. "And I'd like to make it memorable for her."

Eh, that's not necessary.

"Last year we went bowling," Alice tells me, smiling.

"Yes, can we please do something a little more cool this year?" Emmett asks. "Seriously, my ego is still damaged."

Esme huffs mockingly. "You decide where we go then."

"I'd like to go paintballing," Emmett shrugs.

"Absolutely not," Carlisle says and I stiffen, startled at his sudden intensity. When he looks at me, I can't really read his gaze and I shrink back in my chair, uncertain.

"Something more peaceful, perhaps," Esme placates.

"Ice skating?" Alice asks hopefully. "That can be fun."

"Can you ice skate?" Esme asks me.

I shake my head, but can't hide my surprise. I didn't know I was actually expected to join in these activities? Was just coming along not enough?

"Something else then," Esme says. "Carlisle and I have been thinking about seeing a show. Mary Poppins is playing in Port Angeles."

"Are you kidding me," Emmett mutters. "That's a children's show."

"No it's not," Rosalie counters. "I heard it was fun for adults, too."

"I'm not a fan of musicals," Jasper says. "If we're doing a show, can't we see some cabaret?"

"Ooh, comedy factory or something," Emmett says, excited again. "Some stand-up stuff."

"Not when not everybody is over eighteen," Carlisle replies.

"I think a musical can be nice," Alice muses. "What do you think, Bella?"

I look at her, and finally shrug. I don't know. Besides, aren't they ridiculously expensive?

"Have you ever seen one?" Esme asks.

I shake my head, looking down.

"Would you like to?" Carlisle asks.

Not looking up, I make the ancient sign for money, indicating I worry about the cost.

"No, don't worry about that. This is a gift from us for you." Esme says. "And the point of Thanksgiving is to accept and be grateful for what you are given."

My blush is crimson and I look further down, nodding as I cannot do anything else but accept her words and whatever they plan to do.

"Would a theater not be too crowded?" Edward asks. He has been silent up till now.

I don't know. I've never been to a theater, actually. I've never even seen a movie.

"Oh yes, I completely forgot," Esme says. "Would you be okay in a theater full of people?"

I cannot stop myself rolling my eyes at this. I'm not fragile, Esme. And in theaters, people sit in designated chairs, right? Right.

Esme smiles at me. "Forgive me. We are still getting to know you."

There is something in her eyes that betrays she doesn't believe me. And I can't blame her, considering I had a major panic attack in school only two days ago.

I smile back apologetically, and now her face changes into something far more kind.

Yes, we are still getting to know each other, indeed.

Esme and Carlisle decide to stay with the idea of seeing a show for now. When Emmett's protests grow louder, Esme seems to lose her patience a bit.

"Think about the others in this family," she says sternly. "And what I said earlier about Thanksgiving goes for you too."

Emmett mumbles something incomprehensible and folds his arms over his chest, but doesn't protest any more.

And as such I witness once more how the children can go against the parents, and the parents settle it without violence. Without raised voices, even.

Why this makes me respect Esme more, I don't know, but it does. I'm in awe.

**~O~**

Sunday night I have trouble falling asleep. I am nervous about going back to school tomorrow. I've made a major spectacle in at least my Gym class and word will spread, I'm sure. I barely remember any details but I remember the crowd around me, and the teacher trying to get my attention.

I'll have to live through this. I don't care if people will ignore me. I just hope they won't become nasty. Like that Jessica and what's her name? Lauren. I don't like them.

I don't understand for the life of me what Edward ever saw in that Jessica girl, except that maybe she has a pretty face.

I never perceived him as that shallow, actually. But from what I know, he doesn't like her very much anymore.

I wonder…

No, don't think that. As if. No way.

No fucking way.

Turning once more to my other side, I already know that sleep will be impossible. Irony. I used to be unable to sleep for what was about to come in the night.

Now I can't sleep for what is about to come the next day.

I'm pretty sure everybody has gone to bed by now, so I put on the robe Alice got me when she bought all those things for me, instead of my clothes. I feel vulnerable in just my thin pajamas and the robe, but I wrap it around me and tie the belt tightly.

On socked feet, I make my way towards the kitchen. I almost turn around when I see a light is still on.

Half expecting to see Edward there, I am surprised to see Esme still up. She's solving the puzzle in the newspaper, a mug wrapped in her free hand.

Is something wrong?

But no, her face is relaxed when she smiles up at me to greet me.

"Hey. Couldn't sleep?"

I shake my head, then nod at her.

"Me neither," she smiles. "It happens, sometimes. There's still hot water in the kettle if you'd like some tea."

I nod and take her suggestion, reasoning that something warm in my stomach can be a good thing.

"Come sit with me for a bit," she says softly when I turn to her with my mug, her tones hushed in the sleeping house.

I slide onto a chair opposite her and pull on my sleeves, frustrated to learn they are too short to really hide my hands in.

"Is there a reason you are still awake?" Esme asks quietly.

I shrug, as usual not comfortable talking about it.

"Are you worrying about school tomorrow?" she asks next.

Why bother starting a conversation with these careful questions? Her second question is always dead on right.

But I nod, unable to lie and not really wanting to, either.

"You know you can always stay home," she says. "Take a few days to calm down before you go back to the mayhem. Or try homeschooling, after all. I won't mind."

I shake my head to her last option. I want out of the house. If I do homeschooling, which I don't like anyway, I'll never get outside again.

"Just know the option is there. What are you worried about?"

I can't meet her gaze and sigh.

"Do you think people will be different around you after what happened last Friday?"

I nod minutely. See? The second question is always right smack dead on right.

"I think they will too. But it will die down."

Yes, Esme, I know this.

"And your siblings will stand by you, if I'm not mistaken."

Oh yes, they were adamant in making sure there was no doubt about that. I still have their support even though I failed so miserably.

It baffles me beyond comprehension.

"Do you think you can handle it tomorrow?"

I nod.

"Good. You're so strong. But if it gets too much, don't hesitate to call me, okay? Or ask Alice to call me, if that's easier for you."

I frown a bit at the prospect or possibility to have her have to drop everything again to come pick me up simply because I can't function properly.

"No worries, Bella. I am here for you. We all are. I hope to have proved that last week."

She leans forward over the table to catch my gaze and I think back to how she held my hand — or rather, I hers.

I'd like to do that again.

But I have _no_ idea how to ask for that.

Pressing my lips together to quench the sudden desire, I take a deep breath before I look up to meet Esme's gaze.

"Very well. I know it's hard for you to rely on others, but I can't stress enough that you can here. We got your back."

She smiles at her own unusual choice of words and I smile back weakly. I want to believe her. It's just scary, you know?

"I also wanted to let you know that I will call the school tomorrow morning to plan a meeting with the principal and your Gym coach. We need to see how we can edit your IEP so you won't have to do Gym anymore. I do think you need to take into account that you might have to do detention for the hours you missed."

Her voice is so soft. I look at her, looking for signs of anger.

"I understand why you handled this the way you did, but you have to know that you can come to me with these things, Bella. I will not use them against you and you could have saved yourself this stress. Running from it is not the solution."

I swallow thickly at her gentle reprimand and look down, properly chastised.

We finish our drinks in silence. Then Esme gets up and brings our empty mugs to the sink.

"Do you think you can sleep now?"

I shrug and shake my head. I don't think so.

"Are you at least a bit calmer?"

I nod at this.

"Very well. Try to get some sleep. And even if you can't sleep, try to lie relaxed with your eyes closed. You'll be resting all the same."

Try to lie relaxed… Now that's something I've never been able to do before.

I hesitate, though. I'd much rather stay up for a bit more.

"Go to bed, Bella. Please. On a weekend night you can stay up as long as you like, but on school nights I'd rather you at least try to go to sleep at decent times."

I try not to frown. I'm not used to somebody mothering over me and honestly, I've always managed just fine, whatever hour I went to bed.

Esme waits for me until I precede her up the stairs, giving me no chance to follow after her and as such stay awake for a little while longer. She bids me goodnight in a whisper when we reach the top of the stairs and waits at her bedroom door for me to go into my room.

Damn she's thorough.

I lock the door behind me with a loud click — as defiant as I dare to be — and after pulling off the robe crawl into bed again.

Just lie down and relax. Yeah, as if.

Turning to my back I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. It's only when the alarm wakes me that I realize I must have fallen asleep almost instantly.

Just lie down and relax. Huh. Apparently it works.

**~O~**

Drizzle is falling down incessantly when we emerge from the garage. Esme promised me again she would call the school to sort out the Gym problem for me.

I am nervous, about the day, about Gym, about what others will do. I don't really care about what they will say. Words often don't hurt as much when uttered by random strangers.

Alice is with me in the back of Edward's Volvo and she's talking quietly, whispering reassurances about how they all will help me through the day.

"You couldn't help what happened," she ends her little speech. "And it doesn't matter what they think because they'll never understand anyway."

I know, Alice. I do.

When we arrive in the parking lot there are only some free spots left in the back. Edward mutters something under his breath and pulls into a free place just as Rosalie and Emmett pull up next to us.

I squint against the rain when we exit the car. Stupid Forks weather. I truly think I will never get used to this.

"Bella." It's Edward and he stops me with his voice when the others start walking toward the school.

I turn to look up at him, his hair already starting to get wet from the rain.

He has green eyes.

He doesn't speak as he holds my gaze for a moment. Then he swallows and takes a breath to speak.

"I can tell Mike that he was out of line."

What?

"You know, I can tell him that he has to stay away from you. But, only if you want to. I wouldn't presume to think for you or know best what you want." A beat. "Was he really bad last week?"

I shake my head with wide eyes. I _know_ the difference between normal and inappropriate touch. My not being able to handle either is my own failure. Besides, we've been over this.

"Okay. Just know that I'm here for you," he says.

They all keep repeating this, but none of them seem to understand how hard it is to actually rely on someone. Only bad things can come from it.

Except the one time I ran to Renée and asked for help. It brought me here.

Somehow it's still hard to believe I am in a home where apparently only kindness can be found. Still I can't shake the feeling they won't be as nice once they find out who I really am.

The first bell rings and Edward walks me to my first class.

"So, you won't have to do Gym anymore?" he asks when we walk into the building.

I make a gesture that should convey that hopefully yes, Gym will be scrapped from my schedule.

Edward nods and drops me off at the classroom. "I'll see you later," he says, bending forward slightly to deliver his words, leaving me completely and utterly confused.

I walk into the room with the last of the students and take my place at the back of the class, thankful that the teacher starts the lesson quickly so that I'm not under the scrutiny of twenty sets of eyes for too long.

Mike is the last person to turn back front and I duck my head, avoiding his gaze. I am afraid of him even though I think there is no real reason to be so. What he did was not out of line, he just didn't respect my personal space.

Which has about a mile wide radius, but that's an aside.

Rosalie escorts me to Government, where I sit down next to Angela again. She waits until the teacher starts droning about something I couldn't care less about, and turns to me.

"Are you okay?" she whispers.

I nod, not meeting her gaze.

"We were worried about you last week. What happened?"

I write down one word.

_Panicked_

"You were completely unresponsive. I've never seen something like that before. Are you okay again now?"

I nod again.

"I guess it's all part of the reason you're in foster care at all, huh," she says softly, unassuming. She speaks in a way that doesn't ask for a reason or explanation, and I blink in surprise at her observation.

"So, how are you going to solve this? Will you go to Gym at all?"

I shake my head, looking at the table top.

Angela sighs lightly, wistfully. "I wish I could get out of it," she jokes carefully. "But I guess I'll just have to endure."

I think for a moment, then write something down.

_How was First Beach?_

It's the magic question. Angela starts an entertaining story about their day at the beach, about how Mike fell off the surfing board before he even got on it, and how Eric had come out of the water with lips that were blue from the cold.

I listen to her happy chattering until the teacher sets us to work on an assignment, and then when we are bent over our notebooks and I look at her from the corner of my eye, I can see how she is still glowing.

It must be very nice to be so easily happy like that.

First break is filled with curious glares, angry whispers, and stubborn rumors. Jessica gives Alice the third degree in Trig but Alice doesn't budge, looking stubbornly at her notebook. I can see she's lost again with the assignments and I make a mental note to ask if she wants help with it later.

Of course, in Spanish I am unsupervised and Jessica is at my table in an instant once I sit down, asking what happened and if it was the same that happened when she was at the house all those weeks ago.

I try to ignore her and when the teacher starts class, Jessica walks back to Lauren, muttering that it's all just a cry for attention and a way to wiggle myself out of Gym.

Halfway through the lesson, the internal phone in the classroom buzzes. The teacher answers and listens to some message before she hangs up and focuses on me.

"Bella, principal Greene would like to see you. Take your things, you won't be back before the end of the hour."

I barely suppress my gasp and swallow thickly, my throat dry and my heart crashing out of my chest.

Being called to the principal's office is never good news.

"Uh-oh, she's in trouble," somebody mutters as I pack my bag with trembling hands.

I walk from the classroom with my eyes down, ignoring the mumbling. I _am_ in trouble.

My feet feel like lead when I arrive at the administration office, but I square my shoulders and step in.

Mrs. Cope is all smiles and greets me kindly when she sees me. "Mr. Greene is ready for you dear."

I nod at her and move to the door of the principal's office. Before I can knock a second time, he calls out for me to come in.

In the office are principal Greene and coach Clapp. I hesitate a beat before I step inside and close the door behind me at their request.

"Your foster mother was here this morning," principal Greene says. "Have a seat, by the way."

I swallow and shake my head, hopefully conveying I am more at ease standing up. The principal raises his brows in disagreement, but doesn't say anything and comes to business.

"You have skipped Gym."

He waits for me to respond to that rather obvious statement, so I nod, once.

"Your foster mother and coach Clapp here have explained to me what has come to pass in Gym class. I have three things to say about this."

I swallow and clench my hands into fists to brace myself for what is coming.

"First of all, I am not at all happy with what has happened. You have caused quite some stir and reason for distraction and gossip and all this could have easily been prevented if you had simply made known you were not able to follow Gym."

His words are harsh, but true, and I nod in acceptance of his criticism.

"Secondly, you have skipped five classes now and for that you will have to do detention. What this detention will entail is up to coach Clapp."

I nod again, accepting the reason behind his words, while at the same time wild panic bubbles up in my stomach. Esme already thought I would have to do detention but it is undeniable proof of my failure and how will she respond to that?

"Thirdly, you will not have to do Gym anymore. We have adjusted your IEP with your foster mother. What you will do instead is, once again, up to coach Clapp."

For the third time, I nod. It's all perfectly reasonable. My wildly beating heart and tense body contradict the calmness I feel — at least about how they want to solve this.

"Very well. I will leave you here now so coach Clapp can discuss a plan with you."

Mr. Greene is up and gone in an instant and when the door closes behind him with a soft click, I can't hide my gasp. I have the wild urge to run. I don't want to be alone in a closed room with a man I don't know.

"Relax, Bella. I won't hurt you. Would you feel better if the door was open?"

His words are so kind they make me look up at him and when I nod, almost panting in my fear, he gestures for me to open the door.

Of course I realize only belatedly what his words actually imply and I look down as my blush explodes. Gritting my teeth, I take a moment to compose myself. I _have_ to be able to do this. I _have_ to be strong. If I run now, I will be causing a scene and then for sure Esme will be angry and keep me home from school.

"Are you all right?" the coach asks patiently after a moment and I take a deep breath before I nod.

"Okay. We just have to discuss your detention and your new IEP and then you are free to go. I have gathered so far that you are not fond of crowds, am I right?"

I don't react, because I don't know if he will use this knowledge against me.

He continues, undisturbed. "Usually, I would let you do things such as refereeing, but this will not work with your… situation. To make up for the time you skipped, I want you to write an essay on the importance of physical education for children."

Is that it? Seriously?

"To fill in the hours you'll miss, I want you to write a thesis. The subject is up to you, as long as it is connected to sports. You will come check in at the beginning and at the end of each Gym class. In between, you can work in the library. I expect you to have a research proposal and a finished thesis for detention by the end of this week. Any questions?"

I shake my head, baffled by his kindness.

A research proposal and a short thesis. I can do that.

I feel guilty even for looking forward to it.

But I'm worried sick about how this all will go down with Esme.

Or Carlisle.

Oh, fuck.

"Bella, can I ask you one more question?"

I tense up. In the school, the bell rings. Lunch has begun.

"What happened last week? You had a panic attack, that I know, but what triggered it?"

I exhale in distress, not wanting to think or talk about it.

"Is there any way you can prevent it from happening again? It must have been stressful for you."

He catches my gaze and holds it for a long moment, and I see so much kindness there it unsettles me. I'm not used to it and I don't know what to do with it, either.

I shake my head after a long moment to answer his question. My inability to function is my own flaw and I have to deal with that failure by myself. I don't see how anything could help with it besides never being touched.

"Okay," coach Clapp concludes the conversation. "So, I expect you to check in with me at the beginning and end of every Gym class. The essay you'll have to write for detention you can write in your own time. I don't see any reason to keep you here after school hours since you had good reason for skipping Gym, even though it was against the rules. Did you have any questions?"

I shake my head again, biting my lip as I'm fighting away the panicking fear for Carlisle and Esme's reactions.

"It's lunchtime. You must be hungry. See you at Gym, Bella."

Coach Clapp presses his hands together and brings them up to his forehead while he bends his head down a bit. "Namaste," he says, smiling.

I have never heard the word or seen the gesture, but it almost seems like a sort of 'thank you.' I nod back at him, unsure, and follow him out of the office when he leaves.

Mrs. Cope greets me kindly and asks how the meeting went, but I am distracted as Edward is standing in the administration office, his hand tugging at his hair.

He smiles when he sees me. "Hi."

I nod back at him. What is he doing here? Is he in trouble too?

"Um, Jessica kind of made sure to tell me you were called to the principal's office. You okay?"

I nod again, but even I can feel the tension is radiating off me in waves.

"I saw coach Clapp leaving. Was this because of the Gym classes you missed?"

I nod once. How will Edward react to what happened?

"Excuse me dears, but you will have to spend lunch in the cafeteria," Mrs. Cope admonishes gently.

"Of course," Edward says and he holds the door open for me, guiding me through the now calm hallways towards the lunchroom.

"Did you get detention?" he asks suddenly and I nod once more.

"Ridiculous," he mutters. "It's clear you aren't able to do Gym. You won't have to do it anymore, do you?"

I nod once more. I feel like my neck is stuck in this motion.

"What do you have to do?" Edward asks next as we walk up to the table where the others are sitting.

"Ah, bad ass Bella!" Emmett booms way too loudly when he sees me approaching and I cringe.

He grins widely, his smile not even lessening when Rosalie swats his arm. He shrugs and follows me with his gaze as I sit down. Only then does his face turn into something more serious. "You all right, though?"

I nod once more.

Edward has come to sit down by me, much closer than I'm used to and in an automatic gesture I shift my chair a bit away from him. He looks at me for a long time, before that Eric Yorkie asks him something and draws his attention away from me.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Alice looking from Edward to me and back again, but I avoid her gaze and focus on my fidgeting hands in my lap.

I catch glimpses of conversation. I hear snippets of the day at First Beach, of the cold that is supposed to come, of homework loads that are too big. Away from the table I can hear my name more than once, or perhaps I am just paranoid. The one time I look up I can see Jessica and Lauren looking at me and I look away quickly, frowning.

It will be all right. Things just have to settle down for a bit again.

In Biology Edward and I are of the first entering the class. When Mike enters the room he drops his bag at his table and strolls over to us, leaning on the table again like he did last week.

He freaks me out. I slide my chair back, the eerie scraping noise it makes on the ground voicing nicely how I feel inside.

"Are you okay again? You scared us last week, Bella," he says, probably wanting to be kind but being way too close all the same.

"If you ever need anything, I'm here for you, okay? You should have told me you were having a panic attack last week. I would have taken you to a quiet place," he continues.

I tense up further, not realizing my tongue is trapped between my back teeth until I taste blood.

And now it hurts, too.

Edward is tense too, I can feel it rolling off him in waves, but he doesn't say anything. Last week he spoke for me and although I didn't know what to think of it, at least he told Mike he wasn't wanted.

Mike waits for a long moment, apparently undisturbed by my unresponsiveness. He keeps smiling and looking at me, before he finally speaks again. "If you ever need a shoulder, or someone to talk to, I'm here for you," he finishes.

Edward snaps. I can feel it in his body energy before he takes a breath to speak. "She doesn't really speak much, in case you haven't noticed," he mutters so lowly Mike doesn't even hear him.

As if Mike's words weren't enough to make me want to run, he leans suddenly forward to place his hand on my arm in what would be a comforting gesture.

I flinch back violently, the chair coming to balance precariously on its two hind legs before Edward's hand flashes out to hold the chair upright.

Mike, undisturbed, smiles again and shrugs as he pulls his hand back. Then Mr. Banner asks him to sit down in his own seat and Mike leaves, leaving me wide-eyed and unable to breathe.

"Jesus, are you okay?" Edward asks as soon as Mr. Banner is no longer focusing on us.

Still with big eyes, I catch his gaze.

"Are you okay, Bella?" Edward asks again. "Do you want out?"

I shake my head slowly at his last question.

"Breathe," he coaxes.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, I swallow the coppery taste of blood as I hold my breath for a moment to get my hammering heart under control.

When he is confident I am not going to explode or collapse, he looks front again to catch a glimpse of what Mr. Banner is saying.

I focus on the lesson too, grateful for the distraction.

"Hey," Edward asks when we're about halfway through, "what do you have to do for Gym detention?"

On a scrap of paper I write the assignment I've been given, and I add that I am allowed to do it at home. I also write down that I have to check in at the beginning and end of each class.

Edward nods and smiles, seemingly relieved. "Good. It doesn't even sound that bad, actually?"

I shake my head, the corner of my mouth turning up in a smile I can't suppress.

He smiles wider then, his eyes crinkling up. "You _like_ it, don't you?"

I shrug, and blush, and look down to hide it.

Edward chuckles softly, looking front again, too. "Good for you," he says.

At the end of class, he is up immediately. "I'll walk you to Gym."

**~O~**

And so we set a rhythm. Every class, Alice, Edward or Rosalie walk with me. Even though it is no longer necessary, after a few days I am willing to admit that I like the company, their easy chatter. Edward walks me to Gym every day, which relieves me more than I can express. During breaks and lunch, all the Cullens and even Angela help me through, distracting me and fending off curious questions until they die down.

The rumors are vicious and especially Jessica, Lauren and some other girls I don't know the names of are implying that what I did was a shit excuse to get out of Gym. I ignore them. I'd happily be able to join in Gym. If they only knew.

I start to look forward to Biology. Edward is always nice and he rarely brings up things that make me uneasy or tense. Difficult topics he saves for our meetings on the porch. When I am the one to bring out tea when he is already sitting on the top step, his smile is magnificent.

Often he hands me his phone with his usual request, "talk to me," but sometimes we sit in complete silence, at ease almost. I notice how he has started to close the exaggerated distance between us carefully and I notice how I am not too alarmed by it.

He grazes my fingers once or twice more when I hand him back his phone but when I warn him with a look, he apologizes, properly chastised. It makes me wonder if it was accidental or on purpose. I don't know.

He has made it clear multiple times that he's not going to stay away and when I lie in bed at night, thinking about my day and my new life, I can't help but admit to myself at least that it is nice to have nice people around me. I'm indulging myself I know, as I am sure they will turn against me some day, but for now, I bask in the warmth.

Carlisle and Esme both are not angry at all when I tell them about detention on Monday with hammering heart and trembling hands. They ask me if I feel like I have learned from this and when I nod, they are satisfied. They both demand I start the detention assignment on Monday night however, and Carlisle wants to read my work before I hand it in to the coach.

I finish the essay on Wednesday night and bring it to Carlisle in his office, so nervous still to walk into that room. He accepts it with a smile and after some small talk I cannot focus on because I am so tense, he lets me go.

Thursday morning I find the assignment on the kitchen table, with a post-it on it.

_Although this is detention work and I am not allowed to compliment you for this, I want to tell you it's good. Your words read easily and your argumentation is valid. It was a joy to read. ~Carlisle._

I swallow and bring my hands to my face to cool the blush that flares at this unmistakable praise. I have never been complimented like this before on my work.

It's dizzying and I can't help but smile. I put the post-it in a box Alice gave me, a small container in which I could keep mementos, she said. Carlisle's note is the first thing to go in it.

Generally, it's like I start to feel a bit lighter in my head. Less stressed, perhaps. It's liberating.

On Friday afternoon Esme sits down with me at the kitchen table and asks me if I have thought about therapy.

The snarky part of me wonders why she would even ask me this, since it's clear I am going to therapy whether I like it or not, but Esme calls me out of my thoughts quickly.

"There is a difference in you trying it to please us, and trying it to please yourself."

I swallow, feeling busted.

"So, what do you think?"

However much I do not want therapy, I can't stop thinking about Edward's words. Perhaps it will help me to become a better person. So I nod, and thankfully Esme understands my answer. Her eyes light up but her smile stays somewhat more gentle. It's obvious though that she is very happy I am willing to try it.

"I am so glad to hear this, Bella. Even if you just want to try it. And I know it won't be an easy journey, but we're here for you too, okay?"

As the notion of therapy all of a sudden becomes that much more solid, I tense up, holding my breath to push away the sudden panic that is setting in.

Carlisle enters the kitchen then, looking from me to Esme before he walks to the counter to fix himself a cup of coffee.

"Everything all right here?" he asks then, mug in hand.

"I was just talking about therapy with Bella," Esme says softly. "I guess it is all a bit scary."

"I would think it is," Carlisle replies. "But the good thing with therapy is, that you decide what you want to talk about. You are the one in control."

I look at him in surprise as he sits down at the table with us.

"Give it a chance, Bella. We have found a good therapist I am sure you will get along with. And if you don't, we'll find you someone else. That's how it works. It's all about you."

Eh, I don't really like how that sounds. I don't want that kind of attention.

And wait, we _have found_? There is already a therapist chosen?

I take a breath but it's shaky, betraying my nerves.

"Her name is Siobhan," Esme says, leaning forward a little. "She is in her early thirties and she specializes in teenagers like you."

Like me? What does she mean by that?

"We have good hope that she will understand you," Carlisle adds, not seeing or ignoring my confusion. "She has a good résumé, has helped many others."

"Just wait and see," Esme says, smiling gently. "Is it okay with you if I call in Monday to set up an appointment? It would be after Thanksgiving, I think."

I nod, trying to swallow with a mouth that suddenly feels as dry as sandpaper.

"Relax," Carlisle says softly. "Therapy is all about you starting to feel safe. It sure isn't meant to scare you like this. You've had a therapist before, right? Renée?"

True. I'd give a lot to have her back as my therapist but I have come to understand this isn't possible. Else they would have offered it I'm sure.

Right?

**~O~**

On Saturday the house is mostly empty. The Cullen kids sure are active and they are often out of the house now that they are used to the new member of their family. I wander to the kitchen, planning to make a cup of tea to take with me to the library. Esme is at her beloved kitchen table, cookbooks stacked around her, a cup of coffee forgotten at the edge of the tabletop.

"Ah, Bella," she smiles brightly at me. "How are you today?"

I nod, smiling. I'm surprisingly okay. I return the question with a nod and she beams back at me.

"I was looking through recipes for Thanksgiving this year. I always try to make something new besides the classic things. Want to help?"

My answering grin speaks volumes and fixing myself a cup of coffee I join her at the table, leafing through full color, expensive and luscious looking cook books. I marvel at the dishes that are shown in bright pictures and can't help but licking my lips every now and again when a particularly appealing image comes into view.

"How about this?" Esme asks every once in a while, asking my opinion on this dish and that.

We work to put a four-course meal together, from appetizer to dessert.

"I think I shall make some ice cream again," she says with glittering eyes and I smile back, remembering all too well the heavenly taste of the stuff I had on my first day here.

"Is there anything you'd like to make? Something you think you're good at? Although just an apple pie like you made would be delicious already."

I can tell she's thinking about her ice cream combined with my apple pie. But I am thinking about something else, too. Something I haven't made in ages, but something I'd like to make again. Marzipan.

I write it down and Esme smiles. "That's tricky to make. Have you done it before?"

I nod.

"It would be wonderful to have that, too. Would you like to add it to the dessert?"

I think, biting my lip. I have an idea but that would mean that Esme can't know about it, either.

_Can I leave it a surprise?_

I am shaking when I write my question down, but Esme shows me almost all her teeth as her smile splits her face in half.

"Sure honey. Let me know when the kitchen is off limits."

I nod, and smile back.

I am doing a lot of smiling today, it seems.

"So, I was thinking I wanted to start with the Thanksgiving groceries today," Esme continues. "It's always so damned crowded in the supermarket on the day itself. Would you like to come with me?"

I nod once more and when we have made a list of the things we can buy in advance, enter the garage. Esme smiles when I take the passenger seat without her having to prompt me and we're off.

It's crowded in the supermarket but I try to ignore it as well as I can. I get the ingredients for marzipan too, cringing when I notice what the almonds will cost.

"Don't worry," Esme soothes. "Any idea what cooking for a family of eight costs on a daily basis? On Thanksgiving we enjoy. Try to enjoy it, too."

When we arrive back at the quiet house I notice what a strain the crowded supermarket has put on me. I am exhausted when I finish clearing away the stuff we bought with Esme.

"Thank you, Bella," she says genuinely. "It's so nice that you always help me with this."

Does Esme realize how much she is helping me, too? Briefly I wonder if I could do something, like touching her arm in thanks, but I decide against it. After a moment, the gesture coach Clapp made comes back to me however and in an impulse, I bring my hands together before my chest and then to my forehead.

It's _so_ far out of my comfort zone to move like this but Esme smiles so brightly she could light up the room.

"Thank you too, Bella," she whispers, then turns as I pretend not to notice she is wiping her eyes.

We watch a movie that night, something that holds it between action and humor. I even smile at some of the jokes, unable to prevent the corners of my mouth from curling upwards.

Jasper and Alice are out at the movie theater. Rosalie, Emmett and Edward are in the living room, as are Carlisle and Esme. Rosalie is bored by the movie, playing with her phone instead.

During a commercial break, she looks up. "Can James come over tomorrow?"

"Sure," Esme replies. "Will he stay for dinner?"

Rosalie shrugs. "Let me ask him." She turns her attention back to the phone, her fingers flying over the buttons at rapid speed. Before the commercials are over, she has a reply. "No."

I wish I knew at what time he will come over but I don't dare to ask. We finish the movie and I go to my room early, wanting the quiet after so much time in the presence of others. As I am left alone — as usual, I'd almost add — I dig up paper and a pencil and start drawing in preparation for Thanksgiving.

**~O~**

James is tall and broad with sandy blond hair pulled back in a pony tail and piercing blue eyes. I hear his voice before I see him. It's low, but light, and even though I don't know what he and Emmett are talking about, it's clear they are good friends.

I am in the kitchen when I hear him enter the house via the garage. Hurrying to fix my tea I plan to run back to my room and hide out as long as he is here.

Esme, who has been in the garden, steps inside from the porch, wiping her hands on a rag.

"Hi James, good to see you again," she smiles.

"Mrs. Cullen," he beams back at her. "Were you working in your garden?"

I can just see him from where I am, but he hasn't noticed me yet.

"I was," she replies. "I've been neglecting it lately."

"Oh Mrs. Cullen, I am pretty sure that is impossible. The garden will bloom under your touch."

Jesus, this James is a sweet talker all right.

"Come on man, what do you want to drink?" Emmett asks, interrupting the conversation.

"Some coke, of you have it," James replies.

"Hey, Bella," Emmett greets me easily as he steps into the kitchen.

"Bella?" James asks wonderingly and he steps forward so he comes into full view. "Well, hello there! So you are the new member of this family. Pleasure to meet you. I'm James."

Thankfully, he doesn't come further forward and we stand there for a moment as behind me Emmett fixes the drinks.

"You can say 'hi' back to me now," he coaxes.

"Ah, she can't actually," Emmett says as he picks up the glasses. "Bella doesn't speak."

"She doesn't?" He turns to me. "How come? You too shy?"

I'm unable to answer.

"Leave it. C'mon, let's game." Emmett walks out of the kitchen and takes James with him to the living room.

I stay, stunned.

"You okay?" Esme asks softly.

I nod again, but I haven't blinked since James left my sight. There's something off about him. Or perhaps he's just cocky.

Either way, I want away, so I take my tea and excuse myself to my room, where I play the CD Edward gave me once again.

Alice comes knocking around four, entering my room with a big smile on her face. She's holding something and when she holds out her hands, I see it's chocolate.

"Want some?"

It has been ages since I had chocolate. Hesitatingly, I accept it from her.

"Eat it before it melts," she encourages. Then she steps up to the window and starts to look outside, very obviously trying to give me a chance to eat the candy.

Surprising myself, I join her and look out over the now barren trees as I slip some chocolate in my mouth and suck on it.

My eyes close momentarily on their own volition. This chocolate is _really good_.

"I know right," Alice says softly. "I am seriously addicted to this stuff. Want more?"

I nod, my taste buds already craving more of the sweetness. I've never been much of a sweet tooth, but this chocolate is just plain good.

I let it melt in my mouth, savoring the taste.

"You've changed," Alice muses when I swallow.

I look at her, wondering what she means. "You seem more relaxed. You smile sometimes. You're not scared shitless anymore when someone calls your name and you eat and drink little bits with others around you. Do you feel better, too?"

I think for a few long moments about her question. I do feel better. Lighter, less oppressed. So I nod, and she smiles.

"You know what would be awesome?" she asks, her eyes lighting up with her idea.

On guard immediately, I shake my head slowly.

Alice makes me sit on the bed and plops down next to me, and begins to talk.

* * *

_Up next, Esme's point of view. The chapter covers a lot of ground, so I hope you will read it even if you hate different povs :)_


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N Twilight is not mine.**

_Your reviews continue to blow me away and make me cry happy tears. I got such lovely anonymous ones too - thank you so much! __You asked how often I update: about every 10 days._ Oh and PS: this fic will have a HEA, promise! 

_Thanks to Sherry and Deb for their help. Shoutout to Hev99 for being a good girl with puppy eyes. _

_If certain details in this chapter aren't perfect - I've used some creative license. I loved to write Esme's voice. She's been waiting so patiently for so long to be heard.  
_

* * *

Bella Swan truly is the most special person I have ever met in my life. Strong as a rock, even if she doesn't see herself that way, honest, polite, smart, sweet, caring. I can vividly remember the day Carlisle came to talk to me about this girl.

There was never any doubt that I wanted to give her a home, but had I known it would be like this, I would have tried to speed up her arrival perhaps.

Of course, there have been hard moments, but above all I can see her remarkable progress and the enormous effort she puts into everything she does. Every time she tries to communicate, my heart soars a little. Every time she does something for herself, even if it is such a simple thing as making tea, it makes me glow.

I can sense the need in her to be _normal_, to be at ease as a member of this household. I can sense her disappointment when she realizes the things she won't or can't do. When words elude her, or when she realizes she is still unwilling or unable to eat with us present, I sometimes feel as frustrated as she.

More than once I have fought the urge to hug her, to cradle her in my arms and to assure her that it's okay, that she just needs time and that with us, she can take all the time she needs. But I can't touch her. More than anything I have to respect the boundaries she has set, even though it hurts me to do so.

Unfortunately, I can also sense her fear. The deeply ingrained fear to do something wrong, to meet violence, to be hurt in one way or the other. My mother instincts go into overdrive when I see her like that but once again, we have to play by her rules.

Carlisle tells me that only time can teach her that she is in fact safe here. In the meantime we shall keep on reaching out to her, show her time and again that nothing will happen.

The poor girl. I try not to think of the horrors she has endured but it is visible in her eyes, her face, the way she moves. She tends to fold in on herself, trying to make herself invisible.

She's not only not speaking, she's _quiet_. She is so very careful to not make any sound at all, and I cannot suppress a shudder when I think how she has come to act like this.

But she is doing better. Even after a few short weeks she is doing so much better. I still marvel when I think back at the few times she has allowed me to touch her, the last event having been at school in the locker room. Her reaching out to me had been a small miracle in my eyes. It seems that only when she is most vulnerable, she will allow herself the luxury of contact.

Carlisle doesn't agree with me on this. He thinks that Bella automatically associates all touch with pain. I am not sure. I think Bella is perfectly capable of distinguishing violence with friendly touch. I think however Bella is afraid, unwilling to receive friendly touch, too. What her reasons behind this are, I don't know, but I do know that when she accepts it, it feels like she is indulging herself.

She wants it. I am sure she does. She just does not know how to allow herself to enjoy it.

I would like to let her know that it is okay for her to initiate these forms of contact, but I am not sure how.

Words don't seem adequate to convey that it is okay for her to want physical contact. She is so scared to open up to things like that. I think she feels this makes her weak. Sometime during her life she must have decided it is better to do things on her own and as such she doesn't let anybody in.

It must be such a burden for her to carry.

Perhaps if my other children were more affectionate with me, Bella would see that it is okay to touch, to embrace. But my children are young adults or almost so and they are past the hugging stage. I can hardly ask them to give a good example without giving away Bella's past — something she has asked us not to do.

My children are not naïve, though. Although they do not discuss it with us often, I know they have a hunch. Especially Edward, who came to talk with us last week to ask about Bella. He wanted to know if and when she would start therapy. There is something deep inside him that is drawn to the girl. I can only wonder how this will develop and hope it doesn't go wrong.

But he seems patient and understanding and as such I do not feel the need to warn him. I think Bella is fairly at ease around him and it shows when he sits on the porch with her more and more often.

I see them exchanging a phone from time to time and I think they are communicating through the device. The way she looks at him, with wonder, awe, curiosity but also a hint of fear and a lot of hesitancy, makes me think she sees something in him she doesn't fully realize yet.

I smile when I think that perhaps all is not lost for this girl, that perhaps there is something in her that is capable of giving and receiving love. And if my son can bring that about in her, I will not try to prevent it. I just hope they won't get hurt. Edward is my son and I consider Bella my daughter already. It would break my heart if they would be in pain.

Perhaps therapy can help Bella to move along. I was over the moon when she agreed to try. I do realize that her motives are not the right ones, and that she is most likely to do it for us, out of fear for repercussions, than for herself. As far as I understand she doesn't seem to grasp the concept of abuse, doesn't see that she is a victim.

It is not up to me to tell her this. She probably wouldn't believe me and if she would I would not have the knowledge and skills to catch her when she falls. I am hoping that therapy will provide this safety net for her, a safe place where she can tell her story and come to terms with it.

We have such faith in Siobhan. Having a past similar to Bella's, we think she will understand how Bella thinks and acts. As a certified peer counselor, she has helped countless girls to come to terms with their past and to get their life back on track. We have not told Bella yet that Siobhan has a certain history. We think it is best that Siobhan will disclose that information when the time is right.

We can only hope that Bella will try the therapy and give Siobhan a chance.

**~O~**

Thanksgiving is approaching rapidly. Bella's love for cooking once more shows when I ask her to help me to fix a menu for the holiday. She also comes with me to do groceries, something she really seems to enjoy even though I can tell she hates to be in the supermarket.

I think she really enjoys being able to help me out, and once more I am reminded of Renée's words. 'Before you know it, she takes over your entire housekeeping.'

I have been careful to prevent that from happening as indeed it seemed that Bella was prone to make herself useful in the house. I didn't always know how to handle her obvious disappointment when I forbade her to do something. In the beginning, and especially before she went to school, she often looked lost when there wasn't anything she could do.

I wonder if she has any hobbies. She seems to enjoy reading, but she never seems to be calm enough to really enjoy it. Always on guard, looking around her every few minutes to gauge the situation in the room. I'm not sure if she notices she does this herself.

It would be so nice for her to have a hobby she can lose herself in. Like Emmett and Jasper have their sport, Alice has her clothes, Rosalie her car knowledge and Edward his music, I wonder if there is anything that could keep Bella occupied for hours every week, if not every day.

She enjoys doing homework, something that struck me as odd as first until Carlisle offered it might provide her a good form of distraction from other things. And Bella enjoys cooking. The pies she made last week were excellent. The 'thank you' gesture they held was evident.

And she will help with Thanksgiving dinner this year. To be honest, I'd rather have her help me, even if it is out of guilt or responsibility, than any of my other children who simply cannot see the joys of cooking and will do it with evident displeasure.

Bella wants to make marzipan. She hasn't told me when she wants to offer it to us, and I wonder what she is planning to do with it. It thrills me she has come so far as wanting to surprise us with something. A few weeks ago it would have been inconceivable to her to make something we don't know of beforehand. Even with the pies she was careful to ask permission.

She seems calmer, more at ease hopefully. I knew it would take time for her to relax, to get used to a new environment, but she has done surprisingly well. She's so obviously trying to reach out, even if she is not sure how to do it. I am beginning to become more at ease too in the house, no longer worrying every minute about her wellbeing.

However, when I see James' car pulling up in the garage from the garden where I am working, I hurry my way inside. I don't know how Bella will react to visitors, especially men.

I step into the house just as James reached the kitchen. Going to college in Seattle, he's only one year older than Rosalie and Emmett. They see each other regularly in the weekends. I like the guy, even though he's such a sweet talker it makes my teeth hurt.

Today is no exception as he relentlessly showers me with compliments. When he approaches Bella I can see her tense up, but Emmett handles the situation remarkably well. Emmett and Jasper have had the most trouble getting used to Bella in the house. They seem to stay away from her just as she seems to stay away from them.

But as long as they don't fight, I won't meddle. Our family is big, it will take time to get to know each other and in the end you can't like every person in the world.

When James has gone with Emmett, Bella speeds from the kitchen with her tea, leaving me chuckling, but I feel sad. In all likelihood she will never be completely at ease around men. She has been hurt too much, let down too often.

Only time will tell if she can ever heal. And I must say I wonder if therapy truly is the best solution we can offer right now. My gut feeling says that time and a loving family can do more than any therapist would do, but I don't speak my mind. In the end, she will need therapy to fix what we cannot heal.

On Monday, I make a start with the first preparations for the Thanksgiving dinner. I bake the bread I use for the Turkey stuffing myself, and if I make it a few days earlier it will be older, which makes the taste richer.

Probably drawn in by the smell or by perceiving somebody is working in the kitchen, Bella's curiosity wins over her reluctance and she comes to check out what is going on. I greet her with a warm smile and I don't even really have to invite her if she wants to join, because before I have finished my question she has moved to the sink to wash her hands and starts to knead the dough, a tiring, hard task you need to have strong hands and arms for.

Bella has both, I have noticed this by the sheer weight of the groceries she can lift with ease. I wonder how she got this physical strength, especially considering her build is decidedly tiny and she has been malnourished for a long time.

She works at a comfortable pace and from my peripheral vision I can see how her face turns from tight and tense to a more serene expression as she gets lost in the motions of kneading. When I move to her to add a little salt she steps back, but doesn't seem as startled as usual.

"You seem to feel better," I observe as I prepare the form the bread will be baked in.

She nods without looking up from the bowl with dough.

"I'm glad," I continue.

She looks up at me now, an incredulous look flashing over her face before she can put it in a more neutral expression.

"I really am," I reassure her. "And if you need anything, or want anything, you know you can come to me, right?"

She nods, but I can tell she doesn't believe me. The Gym incident is a painful example of how she still feels she cannot come to us with these serious problems. She would rather risk detention and retribution than tell us beforehand of her insecurity.

And I berate myself for what happened. I have lain awake for nights after I went to pick up Bella from school. I should have known that she would not be able to do gym, instead I trusted she would set her own boundaries.

Painful as it is to admit, she can't do this. She cannot say 'no' and not because she doesn't speak. There is no way she can refuse anything somebody asks from her. It is easy to abuse this trait and I hope that in school nobody will take advantage of her.

Bella will not tell us when things go too far. I think she is afraid of punishment if she tells us there is something she doesn't want. I have talked about this with my husband and he agrees, although he keeps telling me I should not keep blaming myself for what happened. It happened, and it was solved elegantly. Also, he thinks, incidents like this will show her that her life is different now. Perhaps she will learn from this she can trust us.

Too afraid to say 'no.' I wonder how we can ever teach her that 'no' means 'no' in this house, and not a delayed 'yes.'

Soft footfalls approach the kitchen and I know it's Edward before I see him. Everybody has a different walk in this house and I can always hear who it is just by the sound of their footsteps.

Bella seems startled at first when he greets us in the kitchen, but she focuses on the dough again and doesn't even step aside when Edward brushes by her to get something to drink from the fridge.

This tiny development strikes me as huge but I don't want to comment on it, afraid it will bring them both discomfort.

"Are you baking bread?" he asks as he sips from the bottle of water he took.

Bella nods as I answer. "Yes. It's for the stuffing."

Edward chuckles a bit. "I wonder what would happen if we just had burgers for Thanksgiving. Would the world end?"

"I'm sure it wouldn't," I say, smiling at my son who leans back against the cooking island, at ease with his long, lean form. We know that hasn't always been the case. He was positively gangly when he was younger.

"But the tradition is nice," I continue.

"So what are we having this year, besides the turkey?" he asks.

"You sound like Emmett," I tease him. "And you'll see what's there. Patience is a virtue."

"Will you make ice cream? Just so I know if I need to reserve some space for dessert."

"I will," I say and smile when he fist pumps in the air. "And perhaps Bella will make a pie or two, if she wants to?"

"Oh, will you? Mom's ice cream with your apple pie. Heaven."

Bella looks up at his hopeful gaze and finally nods, insecure.

"Awesome," Edward grins. "I'd like to reserve a piece in advance."

Bella looks down, shy, but smiles.

Edward's grin turns victorious and he shoots me a knowing gaze when he turns to leave the kitchen.

"I'll go now. I can't even make hot milk," he jokes as he leaves.

Bella's head shoots up and she gapes at him, her eyes wide. Edward turns and smiles wide as he winks at her, leaving her stunned.

My curiosity flares. This is obviously something they both know about. What could have happened that he can joke about this and she seems almost scandalized about him bringing it up? Perhaps they are closer than I originally thought.

Bella places the bowl with the finished dough before me on the counter and pulls me from my thoughts. Her face looks hopeful, but expectant, and I tell her that the dough looks perfect.

To my surprise she lingers in the kitchen, making us tea as I place the bread dough in the pre-heated oven. When we sit down at the kitchen table to chat for a bit, she looks almost lost. Unable to read her mood, I slide my hand forward on the table, seeking out a form of contact, connection. I want her to know that she can ask for contact every time and after having discussed it with Carlisle, we agreed we should show, not only tell.

Bella looks at my hand for a long time and bites her lower lip, a gesture that often means she is thinking hard about something. Just as I start hoping she might return the contact, she sits back and looks away. The connection is broken and I sit back too, sipping my tea to hide my disappointment.

I cannot blame Bella for refusing contact, but deep down I am so sure, _so_ certain that if she would allow a hug, it would work miracles in her healing process.

On Tuesday she comes down after eating to help me start on the other preparations for the Thanksgiving dinner. We need to marinate things and Bella surprises me when she digs up ingredients to make the marinade herself instead of out of a package. We work away in the kitchen, cutting up vegetables and letting them soak in the rich tasting fluid.

When we are done and the foods are in the fridge, she once more makes tea for the both of us. These tiny gestures show me how considerate she is of others, even though she chooses to only show it in ways she feels are safe.

I am so proud of her that she has started to drink in our presence. As if she has decided one moment it wouldn't do her any harm. She doesn't wait anymore for me to look away to take a quick sip, instead she just drinks, albeit reluctantly. But she drinks.

"You really enjoy cooking, don't you?" I ask, trying to make conversation on a safe topic.

She nods, a tiny smile lighting up her face.

"Did you cook Thanksgiving dinners before?"

I sense it's the wrong question before she reacts. She shakes her head and looks away, uncomfortable.

I have to ask. I have to know.

"Did you not celebrate Thanksgiving before?" Keeping my question vague I hope to not upset her.

Bella presses her lips together and shakes her head again, still not looking at me.

"Then this will be your first," I say softly, brightly. "We always try to make it a family day."

I wonder if I should bring up if she wants to join us for the dinner. It would hurt my heart if she were to eat in her room. There has to be a way to get her to join us Thursday.

As there is no time like the present, I take a breath to speak, but I am interrupted by Emmett who is raising his voice in the living room.

Bella's eyes widen and she is completely alarmed immediately as her head whips into the direction of the voice.

"Dude, I told you, no cheats!"

"I wasn't cheating," Jasper protests.

"Sure you weren't," Emmett huffs in response. "I saw it man, you can't do that move without cheating."

"Emmett," Jasper says lowly, "I wasn't cheating."

"You were! Why are you lying to me? Goddammit man, I thought I could play with you."

"You're just a sore loser," Jasper spits, getting annoyed now. He doesn't like to be called a liar.

"A sore loser?" Emmett retorts, his voice rising in volume and from the corner of my eye I see Bella tense up further, her face going pale in fright. "I wouldn't even be _losing_ if you played fair."

"I was playing fair!" Jasper shouts back. "I didn't mean to cheat. Seriously!"

"Sure," Emmett huffs.

"Sake, Em. Every time you lose from me you call me a cheater. That really is _your_ problem, not mine."

Just as I am about to step in, Emmett walks into the kitchen, shouting over his shoulder. "You never play fair. I'm done with you, Jasper."

Bella flies up from her chair when Emmett rounds the corner, the chair scraping loudly on the floor, and she backs up to the far wall. She's exceptionally frightened of angry people and it shows right now again as she is pressed against the wall, the way her hands are splayed against the plaster betraying her fear.

"Emmett," I say to get his attention.

"What," he snaps at me, still upset.

"Calm down." I keep my voice calm, mainly to show Bella there is no need to be afraid.

"How can I be calm when Jasper is fucking with me?" he asks angrily.

"I'm not fucking with you!" comes the reply from the living room.

"Language," I remind them both, but because I am apprehensive to raise my voice I am not sure Jasper even hears.

Emmett groans, a frustrated explosion of sound that seems to scare Bella even further.

"You are frightening Bella," I say softly, wishing I didn't have to tell him this, but in his anger he hasn't even noticed her standing pressed against the wall.

His gaze locks on her and she cowers, her eyes growing wider as she seems to stop breathing.

"Fuck!" he exclaims, then stalks out of the kitchen, up the two flights of stairs to his room. He slams the door so hard we can hear it on the ground floor. Bella's hands come up to protect her head at the loud noise in an automatic gesture of protection.

"It's okay," I coax, wishing I had better words. "He won't hurt you. Nothing will happen. It's okay. Take some deep breaths for me."

She does as she's told, but she's near a panic attack. I wonder if I should use the counting method with her, but she doesn't seem to be in so deep this time.

Jasper steps into the kitchen and halts when he sees Bella.

"Did we scare you? Oh I'm so sorry Bella. Emmett and I always fight. No big deal."

It is to her, I think, but I can't say these words out loud.

"Hey, do you want to game with me?" he asks. I admire how he can talk to a girl whose face is hidden behind her arms. "I promise I won't cheat." A laugh bubbles in his voice and to my surprise Bella lowers her hands to look at him.

Finally, she shakes her head slowly, as if she is scared to refuse him.

He smiles, then shrugs. "That's okay. I'll play alone then."

He disappears from the kitchen again and the sounds of the game drift from the living room once more.

"When Emmett has calmed down he will apologize to you," I tell Bella. "I do not tolerate shouting in my house. That goes for you too, Jasper," I say into the direction of the living room, knowing my son will hear me.

"I know. I'm sorry mom," he replies calmly. He's always able to let go of anger easily. Emmett will probably need a few hours to calm down again.

I stay with Bella until she feels calm enough again to sit with me at the kitchen table. I make us a second cup of tea and try to talk to her, but she's quiet after her scare.

Around nine I hear my oldest son reappearing from his room.

"Emmett's coming down," I warn Bella gently.

She doesn't look up at my words but tenses infinitesimally, wrapping her hands around her mug a little more tightly.

As I expected, Emmett steps into the kitchen, looking guilty. He leans his hands on an empty chair and sighs.

"Sorry. For earlier."

Bella regards him from the corner of her eye.

"Are you calmer now?" I ask.

"Yes. I shouldn't have exploded like that. Sorry."

He says it like he means it and I accept his apology, then offer him tea.

"No thanks." He hesitates for a moment before he leaves the kitchen again, his shoulders tense with an unknown load he bears.

"Something's bothering him," I say to myself, and to my surprise Bella nods in agreement. "Would you happen to know what it is?"

She shakes her head, but she can't lie and from her behavior I can see that although she's not sure, she has a definite hunch.

"You can talk to me," I try to reassure her. "You can tell me what you think."

She shakes her head now, short, rapid movements that betray her sudden stress. She doesn't want to tell. Why not? Would she feel like she is talking behind his back?

"Okay," I say softly. "Don't tell me if you don't want to. Do you want anything else to drink?"

She shakes her head again and leaves the kitchen soon after, disappearing into the solitude of her room once more.

**~O~**

I'm so happy Bella wants to make marzipan. I have never made it before, in fact I've rarely eaten it, but I like the taste. I have looked up the recipe and learned that it has to be made the day before consumption. Trying to be forthcoming, I ask Bella after school on Wednesday if she wants to start on the candy tonight. The look of surprise she gives me surprises me in turn, as if she would never expect me to think along with her.

But in a way, it is true. She has stopped long ago to expect things from people.

Bella nods and we agree to work in the kitchen together again after dinner. Then she trudges up the stairs to nap.

That sole aspect of her behavior speaks volumes of how much energy it all costs her. She tries to mask it when she is with others, but she works so hard to act 'normal' and it must be draining for her. It worries me a lot, to be honest. I really am not sure if she is ready to go to school, and not only for the amount of energy it costs her. But she is doing well, I am told. I have asked my other children how they think she is and I have called some teachers — Mr. Banner, coach Clapp — to ask them how she is around them.

They are positive. Mr. Banner is amazed by the way Edward and Bella interact. They are both very smart and the assignments they have to do are never a challenge. Normally he would pair up stronger students with the weaker ones, but he won't split up Edward and Bella, he promises me. Bella pays attention, takes notes, and has even asked for extra homework. She's a model student, he says, and with a smile in his voice he jokes that he doesn't have to worry she will whisper behind his back in class.

Coach Clapp tells me that he was amazed by the quality of the detention assignment Bella handed in. He's not allowed to compliment her on it or grade it, but it was a nice surprise to read. She calls in at the beginning and ending of each class, working on her thesis in the library in the meantime. He tells me that now the main part of her tension has fallen away, she is a pleasant girl to be around.

But now, Bella goes upstairs to sleep. I have emailed Renée about this and she informed me that Bella told her once she did this too with Stefan.

"Only," Renée added with a sad voice, "I think she did it then because she was often awoken at night."

It saddens me that this girl, this beautiful and sweet girl, has been through so much.

I focus on clearing the last of the groceries away before I start making dinner. I have done all the groceries today while the children were at school, preferring the relative quiet in the supermarket. It's mayhem on Thanksgiving itself and chances that you can't find everything you need are very real. I always go the day before, choosing to not take Bella after school because I was afraid it would be too stressful for her.

During dinner the atmosphere is relaxed. Bella eats upstairs again but it seems as if every night she is more hesitant about taking her plate and leaving. I don't address it, feeling that it should be her choice to eat with us. She knows we set the table for her too, and that she is free to join any time. I just wonder how I should solve it tomorrow, for Thanksgiving.

Would it be too much to ask her to sit with us at least? Or would it be the worst form of teasing, since we will eat all this wonderful food and she won't be able to?

I have to make a decision about this, soon.

"How was school?" I ask in general when we have all filled our plates and start eating. It feels incomplete without Bella here, even though she has never joined us before.

"Good, especially now we have the rest of the week off," Emmett replies, grinning.

"We have a Trig test next Tuesday though," Alice mutters. "Stupid teacher. There goes my holiday."

"I can help," Edward says, always immediately ready to assist his twin sister. "Or Bella could. Hell, she's even better than I am."

"She's more patient, at least," Alice teases.

"Because she doesn't dare to speak up," Emmett adds, his lips quivering in a suppressed smile.

"Oh!" Alice exclaims, mock scandalized but laughing.

"Hey, now," Carlisle warns good-naturedly.

"Maybe Bella could help you with Trig," Rosalie tells Emmett, looking at him over the table.

"Ah, Rosie…"

"What's wrong?" I ask. Trig has always been a challenge for Emmett.

"I have a Trig test coming up too," Emmett mumbles.

"When? You will do fine I'm sure. You just have to start practicing in time."

Emmett sighs, his mood suddenly sullen. He hates the subject with a passion, but he won't pass it if he ignores the problem. There has been talk of extra classes, but they get in the way of his football practice and he has been adamant — football comes first.

Carlisle and I have agreed with Emmett that he can go to football practice as long as he keeps getting acceptable grades for Trig. Once they drop too low, he will have to skip the practice to get the extra lessons. It is a reasonable deal he has kept for a long time, but slowly but surely we have seen his results dropping.

Right now, he is tense about it. It shows in his neck and shoulders but mostly it shows in the scowl on his face. He picks at his food, his good mood temporarily disappeared. And I realize that this is what has been bothering him lately.

Would Bella know about this?

"You'll do fine," I repeat.

"Yeah, whatever," he mutters in reply and his words alarm me that perhaps his results are worse than we know right now.

"I got this wonderful assignment for History," Jasper pipes up, as always trying to help his brother out by diverting the attention.

"What?" Carlisle asks, interested. He loves history.

"The witch hunts in Salem."

Rosalie snorts delicately. "That would be your idea of fun."

"No seriously, it's awesome. Not that there were people killed, of course, but the whole hysteria around it. The stories got more and more fantastical as more people were involved."

"When's it due?" I ask. I know nothing of the witch hunts but it pleases me that Jasper seems so excited about it.

"Oh before Christmas. I have all the time in the world."

"Hey then we can watch Hocus Pocus," Alice smiles. "That was about the witches of Salem."

"Hardly!" Rose laughs. "But it was a fun movie. Let's watch it this weekend."

"Remember we are going to see Mary Poppins this Saturday," I remind them.

Emmett groans, rubbing his face in his hands. "Do we have to go?"

"Emmett," Carlisle says calmly, but in a way that does not allow contradiction, "This is Bella's first Thanksgiving here and we have gone out of our ways to try and find something that would be enjoyable for her, too. We never ask you to join in any other family activity, but you _will_ come with us this weekend. This is the last time we will ask you to join us. But think about Bella, and how much it will mean to her to come out with us, the complete family. Think of how it will make _her_ feel to be a part of that."

Properly chastised, Emmett's shoulders sag. "I'm sorry. I just _really_ hate musicals."

"With a family this size, it is impossible to find something to do that will please everyone. If what we do doesn't please you, then think about this: you are pleasing _us_, after all we do to please _you_."

Carlisle's words are strong, but rightful. We go out of our ways to make our children as comfortable as possible and we do realize we pamper them. Carlisle certainly does not hesitate to put our children back into place when they start to take things for granted.

"Sorry," Emmett says again, and this time he means it.

"Apology accepted," Carlisle answers. "Now eat your dinner before it gets cold."

There is a long silence during which the only sound in the room is the soft clanking of cutlery on plates.

"Who's shopping Friday?" Rosalie asks then, breaking the silence.

"I am," Alice pipes up, and with that, the tension is dissolved.

After dinner Rosalie helps me to clear away the dishes. She doesn't do this often and when she does, it is usually because she wants to talk about something with me.

Tonight is no exception, only the topic catches me off guard.

"Mom, what happened to Bella?"

My movements halt for a moment before I continue washing the pans in the sink.

"What do you mean?"

From the corner of my eye I can see her shrug. "You know what I mean. Before she got here. What happened?"

I dry my hands on the kitchen towel and turn to her. Rosalie keeps putting plates in the dishwasher, ignoring my look.

"Why do you want to know?"

I can hear her swallow before she speaks again. She still doesn't look at me.

"I saw her panic twice because of a guy. In this house she's much more afraid of the men than the women."

She hesitates.

"What is your point?" I ask, fearing where this is going.

"She wasn't just beaten, was she?"

This time I need a moment to formulate an answer.

"Never mind," she says, "your silence says enough."

"Rosalie," I say softly, making her look at me. "Bella asked us to not disclose her past. Please respect that wish."

"I will," she replies. "I was just wondering is all."

Soft footsteps on the stairs signal that Bella is coming down. Rosalie takes a deep breath and relaxes her shoulders as she finishes filling the dishwasher.

She doesn't want Bella to see her tension. This is remarkable and somehow it reassures me that Rosalie will not confront Bella about her past.

"Hello," I greet Bella when she steps into the kitchen. She seems to look pale. I wonder if she is worrying about something, but she's not showing the usual signs that something is on her mind.

"Are you ready to take over the kitchen?"

She returns my smile, which warms my heart.

Rosalie leaves the kitchen to go upstairs, probably spending the evening with Emmett. I don't see them often downstairs anymore, but I guess that comes with them growing up. And she and Emmett seem happy together. I won't stand in the way of that.

Bella insists on helping me with a lot of other dishes first. We make all we can make one day beforehand, our cheeks flushed in the heat of the kitchen. I chatter along, ask her where she learned to do this and that, and all she answers time and again, is 'internet.'

She loves to cook, and it shows all the more when we make more complicated dishes. We prepare the turkey as far as we can and when I start on the ice cream, Bella starts on the marzipan.

It's surprisingly easy to make it, I see. She adds coloring agents and turns different portions of creamy white marzipan green, pink, red and yellow. She keeps one batch in its natural color too. I am beginning to suspect she is planning to make figures with the marzipan.

She forms the almond paste into blocks and covers them, then finds a place for them in the fridge.

"Will you finish them tomorrow?"

She looks up at me and nods.

"I can't wait to see what you are planning," I say, unable to hide my curiosity and excitement. "I'm sure it will be wonderful."

Something flares in her eyes but her shyness wins and she looks down again, uneasy. She helps me to clean the counter of the last remnants of our cooking spree and we sit down at the kitchen table once more with tea and some cookies.

It's becoming a ritual I rather like, I must admit.

Alice joins us at the table, followed by Jasper. Carlisle is up in his study to finish some things, in the hopes he can enjoy a four day weekend with us.

Jasper grabs a cookie immediately, he's always been a sweet tooth.

Although I like that my children are joining us, it takes away the possibility I saw to ask Bella about the dinner tomorrow.

"All well?" Alice asks Bella as she sits down with her mug.

Bella nods and they exchange glances that mean more than just an inquiry after wellbeing.

"So, what will tomorrow look like?" Jasper asks.

"Well, you all have the day off, so you're free to do what you like. I'd like you to be home between four and five, so we can set up for the evening," I start. "I think I will spend most of the day in the kitchen, and you are all free to join and help."

Two pairs of eyes carefully look away, but Bella meets my gaze and nods, to let me know that she'll be there to help me out.

I knew she would.

"Do you have any plans?" I ask Alice and Jasper.

"Not much. The weather will be dreadful. That reminds me, I want my winter comforter. Is it in the garage?"

"Yes, to the left," I reply. "Bella, would you like a thicker comforter too? It's getting colder at night."

She hesitates for a moment, then nods.

"Come and get it with me," Alice says, and without hesitation Bella gets up to follow Alice toward the garage.

"Wonder if she ever says 'no,'" Jasper muses.

"Well, she refused to game with you yesterday. Don't eat too much sugar, dear."

Jasper swallows his third cookie and sips his tea. "She did. She never plays, but she's really good. Edward told me."

"Did he?"

"Yeah, but it's like she's afraid to play. She's afraid of everything," he adds as an afterthought, speaking so softly I can hardly hear it.

"She's been through a lot."

"When you adopted me, what was I like? Was I scared, too?"

I think I can follow his train of thought and I think back to all those years ago, when a very tiny, blond curled toddler, still more a baby than anything, looked up at me with wide, scared eyes.

"You were," I say softly. "You were so scared you refused to open your eyes when we arrived home. And then it took you several days before you stopped crying and started eating."

"Really? I must have given you a headache," he muses. "How was Rosalie?"

I laugh at the memory. "Stoic. She looked at me like she ruled the world and refused to let me help her."

Rose, being almost a year older than Jasper, had been a toddler when she came to us and she had had her determined ways to get accustomed to her new family.

"Sounds like Rose," Jasper smiles.

We sit in silence for a moment as we listen to Alice and Bella reappearing from the garage and going up the stairs.

"Did you want an extra blanket?" I ask him.

He chuckles. "Nah, I'm hot enough at night as is."

I nod and we talk some more, about Alice, about school, about his friends.

"Jasper, play with me?" Edward comes to ask.

"Oh, excellent," he grins, and after nodding at me he gets up to join Edward in the living room.

The atmosphere in the house is light, everybody is happy to have a few days off school. It seems almost a given they will go to bed later than usual.

Alice bounces back down the stairs and catches me just as I am about to leave the kitchen to see how long Carlisle will take.

"Hey, mom?" she says softly, so as not to be overheard by her brothers playing in the living room.

"Yes?"

"Don't worry about Bella and the Thanksgiving dinner, okay?"

I blink in surprise, but Alice speaks before I can ask for clarity.

"Trust me."

I nod, wondering what she means and if I should be worried or not.

Alice smiles and hugs me fiercely for a moment before she joins her siblings in the living room, meddling with the game instantly.

Bella is staying upstairs I think, and I go to Carlisle's office to see how he is.

He greets me with a warm smile, but I can tell he's tired.

"You look beat," I say softly, walking around his desk and standing between his legs, massaging his scalp gently with my fingertips and nails.

He gives an approving groan and closes his eyes as his hands come up to my waist.

"It has been hellish at the hospital. We're short of staff and now another specialist is leaving."

I sigh with my husband. Yet another excellent doctor lured away by bigger money and more prestige.

"Will you replace him?"

"A job opening has been placed but little response so far." He chuckles humorlessly. "I guess times aren't as bad as they appear to be."

"Somebody will show up, I'm sure."

He turns his head and leans his cheek against my stomach. "The world needs more positive people like you."

"How long do you think you need?" I ask, hoping he will be able to spend some time with us before we have to go to bed.

"I was actually done," he replies to my delight. "I dare to hope I won't have to go back this week."

"You have worked the last ten Thanksgivings," I chide him softly. "I would hope they would give you this one time."

He sighs against my abdomen. "I hope so."

We go downstairs and watch as our children are playing games, happy to see them happy and relaxed. I curl up at Carlisle's side and know myself a rich woman, and not because of the amount of money in the bank.

**~O~**

Thursday is mayhem in the kitchen, but nobody knows but Bella and I. As the others watch the parade on television, something Bella states she does not care for, she and I cook like our lives are depending on it, and it is such a relief for me that Bella seems to know exactly what to do. She is never in the way and her silence seems less oppressive, and more at ease as we work alongside each other.

Never once need I tell her to do something, and she keeps track of different dishes at the same time. It is impressive.

Around three when we take a short break, she makes it known that she needs some time to work with the marzipan.

"You want the kitchen? I can leave," I offer.

She shakes her head and points upstairs.

"You want to do it in your room?"

She nods and her gaze asks for permission to do so.

I excuse her and she leaves the kitchen with her bowls of marzipan. Once more curiosity flares. But I know now that Alice is in on this tiny little plot, so Bella doesn't have to do this alone. This eases my mind a bit, because Bella looks stressed beyond belief. Yet she seems determined to push through.

I can't wait.

She's back within ninety minutes, placing a covered container in the fridge and without so much as a blink helps me to finish the last of the dishes.

Alice is hanging around, trying to help but basically simply snacking from all the delicacies that are spread out on the counter. I slap her hand away playfully and she laughs, munching and dancing out of my reach.

Bella, as ever, looks on with wide eyes.

When we are done with all the preparations, I wipe my hands on a rag and turn to face Bella. "We usually dress up a bit for Thanksgiving night. I am going up to change."

I realize at this point I am lost. I am not even sure if Bella has anything else but the comfortable, wide clothes she has. It's more than fine with me if she wears them, but will she even join us to begin with?

Alice speaks up the moment I take a breath in my hesitation.

"Hey Bella? Come with me. I want to show you something."

Bella follows Alice out of the kitchen without hesitation, leaving me no time to ask or wonder why. Shrugging, I go upstairs after them and go to change in our bedroom, where Carlisle is changing into a light blue oxford.

"Everything ready?" he smiles at me.

"It is. I'm curious though. I feel like Bella and Alice have something planned."

Carlisle's eyes light up. "That makes me curious, too."

I quickly change into slacks and a white blouse, complimented with the pearl necklace Carlisle gave me for our fifteenth anniversary.

I kiss my husband when I am dressed. "I'm going downstairs to prepare the table. Take your time. I'll call you when it's ready."

"Thank you, as ever," he replies, kissing me once more.

I smile and leave the room to go and make the last of the preparations.

When I want to place the first of the appetizers on the table, Alice catches my arm to stop me. "I want to show you something."

Confused by her request and wondering why she uses the same words she used on Bella before, I follow her out of the kitchen. I see Alice looking over my shoulder, but I don't understand her gaze and don't read too much into it.

Once more, curiosity flares and I follow Alice obediently until we are in the library.

"What did you want to show me?"

She meets my gaze, then smiles. "You got me."

I nod, and smile back as I realize that this was a set-up, and Bella is now probably in the kitchen, preparing.

We wait for a few minutes and I listen to the sounds of the others in the house. Emmett, I know, always eats light during the day of Thanksgiving, so he can eat extra at dinner. He's been grumpy, because he is hungry. It's the same every year and part of the tradition.

There is a light atmosphere in the house, the buzzing excitement we always feel on Thanksgiving Day.

Alice disappears for a moment to check in the kitchen, probably, and comes back to me, beaming.

"Call them for dinner," she whispers. "Go into the kitchen together."

She grasps my hand and squeezes it tightly for a moment, a sign of her barely contained happiness.

I call the others for dinner and they all appear at the foot of the stairs while Alice puts on some nice music. I tell the others to wait before they step into the kitchen. They all look confused and bemused, but patiently wait.

And then Alice gives us a 'go' and we walk to the dining table. Chills run over my body and I sigh a laugh when I see what Bella has done.

Flowers. She has made marzipan flowers in different shapes and colors and placed them on each plate.

When I come closer, I can see how perfect they are. Roses, tulips, daisies, gerbera's, sunflowers. They're all there.

The gasps from the others tell me they are all equally surprised.

They walk up to the table almost reverently and look down at the treats. Even Emmett and Jasper are quiet, looking down at the flowers with admiration.

"Did you make these?" Edward asks.

Bella nods, completely shy with our reactions. She is so tense, so worried about our reaction, but how else could we react than with utter and complete delight? And then I notice what she is wearing. A thick knitted black turtle neck with a wide collar and woolen charcoal slacks. Alice must have arranged these clothes for her. Bella looks stunning in this attire and I tell myself to thank Alice later for finding these clothes that are so much better than the oversized hoodies Bella prefers, yet still hide enough of her body for her to be comfortable.

"This is amazing," Rosalie sighs as she sits down to look closer at her plate. "Look at that! All the petals were done separately."

We all step closer to admire Bella's work. She must have used some sort of icing to make subtle color nuances on the petals. Everybody has a different set of flowers, with different color combinations.

"I don't want to eat this," Jasper says as he looks up, his eyes wide. "That's just a waste of this art."

Bella looks down and shrugs, uncomfortable as ever with the compliment.

"This is magnificent," Carlisle says softly as he picks up a flower and turns it carefully in his fingers. "Well done, Bella. This is truly stunning."

Bella's hand trails to her ear in a nervous gesture.

"Let's all sit down," I propose. And again I realize I don't know what Bella wants tonight.

I hesitate and see how she goes to what would be her place at the table. Alice follows her and speaks softly. "You can do this. I know you can."

With a deep breath, Bella sits down resolutely, leaving us all stunned.

My heart flutters and I tear up, but I try my best to beat down the tears and focus on dinner. I don't know yet if Bella will eat, but what she has done tonight is so huge I want to shout out in my happiness.

My gaze falls on Edward and he is looking at Bella with such pride in his eyes this time my tears do spill down and I walk to the counter to compose myself, trying to hide my tears from the others.

"How long will they keep?" I hear Edward asking behind me.

"A day or two, but they will get hard," Alice says. "Why, you want to keep them?"

"Yeah," Edward replies. "They're too pretty to eat."

"She has more," Alice says softly, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "She made more, so we all would eat these."

The others break out in laughter at Bella's forethought and I walk back to the table to join them in eating the marzipan.

"What is it, actually?" Emmett asks as he chews. "I like it."

"It's marzipan," I reply. "Basically it's a paste made of crushed almonds and sugar."

"Excellent for my figure," Rosalie teases.

"Oh, Rose, like you will be thinking of your figure tonight," Edward mocks back.

Rosalie smiles and lifts up a marzipan rose to her mouth. "Nope. Not tonight." She takes a bite and moans.

Bella looks on, her face as happy as I ever saw it.

**~O~**

We have the first course of the meal after the marzipan flowers and easy conversation flows. Somehow we all seem to understand that Bella does not want to be the center of attention and so we act like she has always joined us at this table.

She pulls at the sleeves of her new jumper, giving away her discomfort with the clothes. But she holds on strong and from the corner of my eye I can see how she sneaks a bite every now and then when nobody is looking.

She helped me cook for days on end. She made us this treat. She dressed in clothes that fit the dress code of this evening. She is sitting at the table with us. And she is eating.

More of a breakthrough I would never have dared to dream of.

I meet Carlisle's gaze and I can see he's equally happy, and when I look at my children I can see they are all proud and glad.

The atmosphere is light and relaxed and we eat and chat, about everything and nothing, but happy topics in general.

When I get up to clear the plates Bella jumps up to help. I tell her to stay seated, but she's adamant and helps me to clear away the dishes quickly and to get the turkey from the oven. The delicious smells waft into the kitchen as she opens the over door. It's perfect.

Carlisle comes to help to put the bird on the table, careful around the tall candles I have lit earlier. He cuts the bird as is tradition and offers the first serving to Bella.

"Thank you for coming to our household and for enriching our lives. Thank you for giving us a chance to take care of you. Thank you for my family, for all the riches you give me."

Bella is stunned, and the rapid blinking of her eyes makes me think that she is trying to hold back tears.

"Your turn," Edward whispers to Bella after she has accepted the plate with the first serving of turkey.

As if prompted, she reaches into her pocket and gives a folded note to Alice, who reaches over the table to give it to me.

I fold it open and recognize Bella's handwriting immediately. "Do you want me to read it aloud?" I ask, and Bella nods. Her blush already flares and Alice reassures her. I swallow thickly and read.

_Thank you for taking me in. Thank you for being patient with me and teaching me what I need to know. Thank you for giving me this chance. Thank you for being there._

We are all quiet for a long moment and I have to get a napkin to wipe the tears from my eyes.

"Thank you, Bella. Thank you so very much."

It's an intense and emotional moment, and it is ended abruptly by Emmett's loudly growling stomach.

Carlisle smiles and gets up again to serve everyone their meat as each in turn tell the others what they are thankful for.

And then we eat. And chat. And pretend to ignore Bella, because Bella is eating the turkey, at our table, with all of us present.

I am so proud of her, I can't even begin to put it in words.

**~O~**

After the main course Bella, Alice and I clear the table as the others move to the living room to watch the game.

During half time I serve dessert — my homemade ice cream with Bella's apple pie. Bella herself declines her portion with a small smile and pats her belly to indicate she's full. The others attack the last course of the meal however and for a while all that can be heard are appreciative moans and sighs, and the soft clatter of cutlery on plate.

Bella spends the rest of the evening with us and even stays with us as we start a game of trivial pursuit after the game on TV is done. Alice easily takes Bella by the hand, so to speak, and simply announces to us that she and Bella are a team.

Emmett and Edward throw in fake protests, but I can see even Bella can tell that they are joking. She looks so relaxed, somehow. Her cheeks are rosy with excitement and her eyes are wide and sparkling.

I hope this doesn't backfire. But I am no fool and I won't expect this progress to burst forward with equally big steps from now on, either.

Very probably she will lock herself up in her room all day tomorrow, to recover from the time she spent with us down here today. I won't mind. What she has given us today is the best present I could ever have gotten. I am grateful indeed.

Bella looks on, the perfect spectator to our game. She smiles with us when somebody makes a joke and follows each player on the board with her eyes.

And then she surprises us all when Alice gets a difficult question she doesn't know the answer to, and Bella writes down the correct answer at lightning speed, once more showing how much she secretly knows.

We all burst out in laughter when Alice blurts out Bella's answer just before her time is up, and she gets the points.

"Well done," Alice smiles at Bella, and as can be predicted Bella looks down, hiding behind her hair and shying away from the compliment.

I hope she will learn soon that she is accepted exactly as she is here. And that compliments are just that — compliments.

**~O~**

On Friday Bella barely shows herself, as expected. I bring Bella lunch and later dinner in her room, assuring her again and again I don't mind, that I am proud of what she did yesterday and that it is completely up to her if she wants to join her again. She is always welcome. But right now she needs some time alone and I understand.

The house is quiet. Carlisle is outside playing with the boys and the girls are shopping.

Black Friday. I would have gone with them, but I don't want to leave Bella alone in the house with all the men, even though I know she'll be perfectly safe. I also don't want to put Bella through the immense stress that Black Friday brings. I'll go again next year, if the opportunity arises.

My daughters come home well after dinner, utterly exhausted but with piles and piles of bags and rosy cheeks. They show Carlisle and I what they bought, and go to bed early, still overwhelmed by the chaos of the day I'm sure.

On Saturday morning Alice and I sit together in the living room and I know she will want to talk about the day before.

"Thank you for everything," I start the conversation. "I take it you helped Bella planning last night?"

Alice nods, beaming. "I did. I went to see her a few days ago and she ate chocolate with me. That brought me to the idea of getting her to join us at the Thanksgiving dinner."

"You did well. We all really enjoyed it. I hope it didn't stress her out too much."

"She was tense and nervous. But we had a real good talk and I think I convinced her that the world wouldn't end if she tried and failed. And that she would feel really good when she tried and succeeded."

I smile. "It seems she is getting over her reluctance to eat around others."

Alice thinks for a moment before she replies. "She still won't eat in school though. I've tried and tried but she just won't."

"That is unfortunate, but it is her choice. Even though I don't approve, she has done it like this for a long time. She is used to being without food for longer periods of time."

"It's like anorexia, but different," Alice muses.

I look at my daughter. Always so perceptive, she sometimes acts so much wiser than her age. She really wants to go into fashion, but I bet she would make a very good psychologist if she would want to be. I decide to tell her the truth.

"It's about control."

Alice smiles humorlessly. "I _know_ that. Just like her not sleeping or her not talking. Did you know she sleeps in the tub sometimes?"

I blink in shock. "What?"

"She does."

"How do you know?"

"Because I heard her once when I got out of bed to use the bathroom. I heard her moving around and walked up to her door, to listen if she was okay. Then I heard her go into the bathroom and then I swear I heard her stepping into the tub, but there was no sound of water at all. And then all got silent. I think she sleeps in the tub sometimes."

This piece of knowledge unsettles me and I make a mental note to talk to Carlisle about this sometime soon.

"I think she feels safer there," Alice says sadly. "It can't be very comfortable, though."

"No," I agree, lost in my thoughts for a bit.

We're quiet for a moment, both trying to imagine Bella sleeping in a bathtub.

"So, did you notice Bella's clothes yesterday?" Alice asks then, changing the subject.

"I did," I smile. "You did a wonderful job on that. At least, I take it this was your doing?"

"It was," Alice smiles. "I was so surprised she actually accepted them. I sometimes really feel she just wants to be normal, you know?"

"That makes sense. Going through the motions of this life sometimes seems a struggle for her."

"Her fear must be paralyzing."

I nod slowly. "That's why we are happy she is willing to try therapy."

"Oh she is?" Alice's eyes light up. "That is wonderful."

"It won't magically heal her," I warn.

"No, I realize," my daughter replies. "But perhaps she would consider to talk again some day."

We spend the rest of the early afternoon talking, and the topic shifts from Bella to other subjects, varying from school, to siblings, to friends, to fashion. Always fashion.

I end up going up with Alice to her room to see the new green dress she has been working on. The girl really has a knack for design. And the dress is going to be very pretty.

"I'd like to finish it before Christmas, but see this?" she points to an intricate piece of fabric at the shoulder, "this is taking way more time than I thought."

"Then work on it now," I smile. "We'll Christmasify the house tomorrow, so I think you won't have much time then."

"Oh yes!" she exclaims, clapping her hands. "Oh, mom, can I go into the storage now and see what we have?"

I smile at her exuberance. "Sure. Why don't you ask Bella to join you?"

"God I love you," Alice beams, and she's off, leaving me in her room as she bounces up to Bella's bedroom door.

I don't hear them until I call around the house for dinner. Bella shyly gets the tray, indicating she wants to eat alone. I nod and smile at her, letting her know it's all right.

During dinner we talk a bit about Bella's sudden surge forward during Thanksgiving, and her retreat afterwards.

"I'm sure she'll come out again," Carlisle says. "She has experienced it now, so perhaps she'll want to do it again."

"Perhaps we should ask her?" Edward asks. "If she wants to join? Make her feel welcome?"

"But you'll have to make sure she knows she can refuse," Rosalie says.

"Of course," he replies. "Could we try to do it tomorrow? If we wait too long it might just become harder for her."

"We'll see," I say. "We have the show tonight. I'd like to see how she'll hold herself."

"I think she will surprise you," Jasper says. "If you see her at school… I think it will be the same in the theater."

"What does she do at school?" I ask, curious.

"You'll see," Emmett replies for Jasper with a glimmer in his eyes. "You'll see."

After the early dinner we pile into two cars — we gave up the family van when the children learned to drive — and set course for Port Angeles.

Carlisle drives his Mercedes and I sit next to him. Alice is in the back with Bella, chatting animatedly. The others are in Emmett's Jeep behind us. I hope they won't decide to take a different exit on the highway. I know that particularly Emmett is not looking forward to seeing the show.

On our way to Port Angeles I try to warn Bella that the show is sold out and that the theater will be crowded. Bella looks at me when I look over my shoulder and she nods with wide, serious eyes.

I wonder what my children meant when they told me not to worry about Bella in a crowd.

When we arrive at the theater I find that I am starting to become nervous for Bella. But she just looks forward, huddled in her thick coat, and follows us without blinking.

Alice stays near and watches Bella closely, guiding the way without coddling her. When we enter the foyer I start to realize what my children were talking about. We walk up to the wardrobe and I look over my shoulder to see if we are still complete, and see how Bella weaves fluidly around the people with a grace I never expected from her.

My mouth falls open when I see her, and as Carlisle wraps his arms around my waist I know he is seeing it too.

"We told you," Edward says as he comes up next to me. "She's okay in crowds."

"Indeed," Carlisle agrees, still looking at Bella as she makes her way up to us, slipping off her coat and handing it to Alice.

It's no problem at all to find our way to our seats now we know that Bella is all right. Something feels off with her however, but since I cannot put my finger on it, I don't put too much thought into it. She is here with us.

I wonder what she will think of the show.

As the lights go out, we settle into our seats and prepare to be swept away.

The musical is colorful, upbeat and cheery. It's easy to get lost in it and when I look to my left, I see that even Emmett is smiling at what happens on the stage. I am relieved. Even though for me there was no question of him not coming, I am glad to see that he is enjoying himself.

Looking to my right, I can see Alice, Bella and Edward. Bella has her hands by her face, as if she's hiding. But she's mesmerized by the show, her eyes wide and shiny as she takes in the spectacle on the stage. Her guard, it seems, is completely down. Even behind her hands I can see her smile.

I nudge Carlisle and nod into Bella's direction, and his face lights up in a smile as well. It was a good decision to take her out. Thinking herself unseen in the darkness of the theater, she lets herself relax and enjoy.

I smile and turn my attention back to the stage, where chimneysweepers are doing a wonderful dance. Carlisle nudges me after a moment, and when I turn to him to see what he means, he leans in to whisper in my ear. "Look at Edward."

I look past Bella to see my son. Only he isn't looking at the show. He's looking at her.

* * *

_Aww... Some progress, eh?  
_

_Keep an eye on your inbox, I plan to start posting outtakes soon. Put me on author alert so you'll get a note!_

_Thanks for reading!_


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N I don't own Twilight. **

_Hello all and thank you so very much for all the wonderful, wonderful reviews! Lots of you have expressed concern about James. Let me just say, like Bella thought: "Perhaps he's just cocky." In other words, don't worry so much!_

_Thanks as ever to Sherry and Deb, and to Bob (Hev99) who has officially joined "Team Torn." Welcome!_

_There is some French in this chapter - translations at the end. _

* * *

Sunday morning I wake later than usual. Without looking at the clock I know I have slept in. I guess the last few days have taken their toll on me. It has been such a rollercoaster ride, and I'm not even sure what I should think of it all.

It all started with Alice coming to talk to me before Thanksgiving.

"Do you know what would be awesome?" she asked.

No.

"Just smack me if I go too far, but it would be so cool if you would try to sit down at the table with us during the Thanksgiving dinner."

My was crashing out of my chest immediately but I would lie if I said I hadn't been thinking about that, too.

"You think you can do that? I mean, you drink with us now. You ate chocolate with me. Eating with the rest of us isn't that big of a deal, you know."

So many thoughts were racing through my mind, I didn't know where to start. Alice continued talking.

"What are you so afraid of anyway? It's not like we'll take it away from you."

My shocked expression clued her in and her face went ashen as her mouth dropped open. She was silent for a long moment, focusing on her fidgeting fingers in her lap. "I'm so sorry," she stammered. Then she looked up. "Really?"

My shoulders sagged. I didn't want this conversation.

"Um, but I still mean what I said. I mean, you really can just join us. Nothing will happen, I promise."

She talked some more, until the tension of my unexpected revelation had subsided a bit. Her bubbliness and her pressing me to trust her, her confidence that it would be just fine, made me tell her about the marzipan flowers, and if she thought if they were a good idea.

Alice was over the moon, clapping her hands and bouncing on the bed, her eyes shining in excitement.

"You really want to do that? That is so wonderful, Bella! Everybody will be so surprised!"

She launched into a plan to help me get the treats on the plates. I was relaxing a bit, thinking that the hard part of the conversation was over, but I was wrong.

"What stops you from doing the things you want? Because I can see that you want them," Alice asked suddenly. "Like eating with us, or this marzipan? How long have you been playing with this idea? I can tell how hard it was for you to ask me about it. Is it fear? Are you afraid?"

I wanted to deny but my blush and unease betrayed me.

"What are you afraid of, Bella?"

I don't know how it happened. I think the built up tension from the last days had worn me down and tore down my mask. But I teared up and cried in front of her, so tired to be afraid all the time, so tired of keeping up my guard and so tired of not knowing what I am up against here.

I wiped my tears away angrily, but Alice saw them. She scooted closer to me on the bed, still keeping her distance. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. Do you want to talk about it?"

I swallowed the last of my tears away and shook my head.

"That's okay. I'm just so sorry for the burden you seem to bear."

A long silence stretched, but it wasn't awkward. Alice was simply giving me time to compose myself. Her words were so kind, I couldn't deny it.

"Are you fed up with being scared?" Her words were so soft I barely heard them, but when I looked up at her I knew she had spoken them out loud.

I couldn't help but nod.

"Maybe we can work on that," she said. "And we can start by taking this step for you at Thanksgiving. What do you think?"

She helped me to plan the marzipan surprise. She convinced me to take that leap and to sit down at the table with the rest of the family. Swore to me that nothing would happen and that I could leave anytime I wanted. I wanted to discuss it with Esme, but she thought it would be so much more dramatic if it was a surprise, assuring me time and again that truly, everybody would be so happy. They wouldn't mind me joining. Did I not know they set the table for me, too, every night?

No, I didn't. I never realized.

My God.

I didn't have time to think about it, because Alice's energy was relentless. And because she was helping me with everything I went along with her, in my way thanking her for what she was doing.

The day before Thanksgiving she came to my room with a bundle of clothes in her hands.

"I want you to try this on," she said. "We usually dress up a bit at Thanksgiving. I'm sure mom and dad wouldn't mind if you wore your hoodie, but it would be so cool if you would try this. Would you?"

I would. I couldn't refuse her as she was looking at me with those puppy dog eyes. And she had done so much for me already, I felt like I could do something back by accepting these clothes from her. It was a thick turtleneck that didn't hide my body as much as I liked it to, but it would suffice. The slacks she had arranged fitted around my waist but were wide everywhere else, hiding everything. I felt comfortable in them and most importantly, they were warm. They were warmer than my jeans, even.

Alice convinced me to try the clothes. When I reemerged from the bathroom, she bounced on the bed again, clasping her hands under her chin. "I knew this would suit you. Have you looked in the mirror?"

I shook my head.

This time the silence was awkward, but she didn't push and for that I was glad.

Thanksgiving Day for me was filled with cooking. I was getting more and more relaxed around Esme and it felt so good to be cooking for the entire family.

At one point Edward had come in, brushing past me to get to the fridge. He never had been so close to me before but I focused on the bread dough I was kneading, telling myself there was no danger.

And then that joke about the milk… I was so surprised he brought that back up. His wink had been disarming. He seems so at ease around me, it's almost relaxing for me, too.

Alice was right about the reactions of the others. They were surprised, happy, admiring the flowers I had made. Edward didn't even want to eat them, because they were too pretty. But they all liked it and when they were all chewing on the sweets I had made, I felt a warm happiness in my guts.

The note had been the next big step but after Carlisle's words I didn't really hesitate to give my words to Alice, who gave them to Esme, who read them out loud. I meant every word I wrote down.

But it doesn't mean it's all happy and easy now. Eating was a challenge, and in hindsight I'm quite upset with myself for having done everything I did. I reached out there, made myself vulnerable. Eating was my choice alone, and didn't have to do with Alice's convincing, I tell myself.

But I took such risks that day. I want to crawl into a dark corner and hide from myself. I don't even recognize myself in that day, yet deep down there is this part of me that revels in having been part of the family for real, if only for a day.

Until my evil mind whispers they just accepted me because it was Thanksgiving. If I tried it again today I wouldn't get such a response, for sure. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Still, their reactions had seemed so genuine. But I can't shake the feeling I have that they're just allowing me to be here. Indulging, as it were. Tolerating.

I know they're not always nice. I experienced it first hand when Jasper and Emmett had been fighting. They both apologized to me. How odd. As if I had been involved. I had just been scared shitless. Emmett's voice is _really _loud.

Sighing, I turn to my back and think some more.

The show was absolutely wonderful. It was easy to just enjoy it, hidden by the darkness as I felt. I took it all in, the music, the dancing, the singing. I felt so light, and so grateful for Esme and Carlisle to have taken me there. We all gasped when the chimneysweeper walked up, his body angled horizontally, along the side of the stage, only to stop upside down on the ceiling to dance.

I get that it was a children's show, but if was entertaining for adults nonetheless. Even Emmett laughed at some of the jokes.

I was not as apprehensive to go see the show as I would have been some time ago, I think. I wasn't even very nervous when I ended up sitting next to Edward. He kept his distance carefully, but not obviously. How is it that he seems to know exactly what I am comfortable with?

I think he didn't notice I knew he was looking at me at one point in the show. But, even though I can hardly conceive it now, I did not feel uncomfortable when he did. He wasn't leering and there was no tension in his gaze. I didn't know what possibly could have been worth it to look at when he looked at me, but he was just… observing, I guess. Much like I do.

I've come far, I realize, if I am not alarmed when somebody is looking at me. But he didn't do it because he wanted something from me. It was just like with Thanksgiving, he had looked at me then too, and he had seemed so happy.

Thinking back on it now, lying in my bed, I do start to feel uncomfortable. What did he see, what was he looking for? What does he want, and what does he see in me? Even though I have warned him time and again that I am not good company, and that it is better for him to stay away, he doesn't listen. He keeps coming back to me.

I'm not sure what I should do. As scared as I am that he will leave once he really gets to know me, I can't deny that I appreciate his company. And he really seems to get to me sometimes. He somehow makes me tell him things I'd never even consider share with anybody else. It feels almost like I _want_ to tell him, _want_ him to know. It's so weird, because he's a guy, and I don't generally like guys. But the Cullens seem so nice, and I really am starting to think that if after two months I have not seen even the hint of violence, it might very well never really happen.

Could it really be? It's so scary to let go and relax, even though they say I should. Even though I really would like to.

Sighing, I turn to my other side under the wondrously heavy winter comforter and check the time, shocked. I knew it was late, but never expected it would be after ten. I guess I had to sleep off the tension of going out. I did it, but it was hard. I know Alice knew I was protecting myself again by shutting down, much like I do in school, but I also noticed how she didn't tell Esme.

And Esme saw me in a crowd. Now that she knows I can do it, perhaps she won't offer home schooling again.

If of course asstarts like Mike won't try anything.

I sigh again. What I'd give to be _normal_. Like Rosalie, not taking any shit. Or like Alice, so beautiful in her own way yet nobody ever bothers her.

But no. I am not beautiful nor would I want to be. I am unattractive and plain, and I do think it's better that way. The less attention I draw, the better.

Yes. Stay small, stay still. Be invisible.

Staying in bed late on a Sunday does not fit that plan, however. Still, my body feels so heavy and I am so tired. I think I could sleep more if my mind didn't feel so clear.

But I can feel the more worrying tendency of my thoughts setting in and I step out of bed before I can spiral in too deep. After a quick shower in the dark I gather my laundry to do some washing.

I wonder what I should do with the turtleneck and slacks Alice gave me. She told me I could keep them, but they're not really mine, are they?

Another problem to solve, I guess.

After starting the washing machine I walk into the kitchen, where Alice is toasting bread.

"Morning," she smiles. She hasn't done her hair yet, and soft strands are tucked behind her ear. I've never seen her so natural yet.

I flinch when the toaster ejects the bread and watch as Alice calmly puts out two plates and invites me to have breakfast with her.

When we settle at the table, she smiles at me. There's a calm in her eyes I have not seen before.

"That show was so lovely yesterday! Did you like it?" she asks.

I nod, breaking a small bit off the bread and chewing carefully. Alice looks away, giving me time and space to eat. I thought I would really hate it that she knows the reason for my trouble with eating, but it's surprisingly relaxing to know that she knows. It's the revelation of all these little bits of information, that, even though they make me vulnerable, make me feel lighter, too. There's a strange relief in knowing I am not the only one with this knowledge.

"I think we all liked it to see you out with us," she breaks into my thoughts. "You weren't really scared, were you?"

I shake my head, breaking off another piece of bread.

"Hey, I was thinking, if you like to go out, we usually go buy our Christmas tree today. I was supposed to go with dad, but you can come with?"

I hesitate. I don't like the thought of being out with Carlisle.

Alice regards me as I think and leans forward when she whispers. "Nothing happened yesterday. Nothing will happen today. Please, come with us? Think how nice it shall be to be out of the house. I'll sit in the back of the car with you?"

She looks so pleading, so hopeful. Her words take hold and resonate, and finally, I nod. She beams and finishes her meal quickly to go get Carlisle, leaving me to eat the rest of my toast as well.

Within minutes we're off in Carlisle's Mercedes, Alice in the back with me and chattering away happily as ever.

I wonder if she ever is in a bad mood. Or if her cheerfulness causes others' moods to turn sour often.

Alice is already completely in Christmas mode and talks about the colors that are trending this year, and how she would like to buy various new things.

"Now, now, let's just see first what we have left, shall we?" Carlisle reprimands from behind the wheel.

"It's all old!" Alice exclaims dramatically. "I went to check it out with Bella yesterday, and she agrees. Don't you, Bella?"

I look up in utter shock at Alice's attempt to make me team up with her against Carlisle, who sees me through his rear view mirror and chuckles. "Don't worry, Bella. Alice will buy what she wants anyway."

"As long as you know it," Alice grins, and then launches into a list of the things she wants to buy.

It's a short ride to the place where they sell the Christmas trees. I'm still not very familiar in my new surroundings but I don't think we really left Forks. Did we?

Carlisle parks the car and we all get out. Again I am surprised by the cold in this area of the world. I don't think I will ever be able to get used to it and I huddle deeper into my coat as I shove my hands into my pocket.

Alice sees me and smiles. "We need to get you gloves."

"Come on," Carlisle says. "Let's go find a tree."

We walk into the area where the trees are displayed. The scent of the trees is strong and I close my eyes for a second to just breathe it in. It's such a nice smell. Stefan and Irina used to get a tree, before Irina left. I loved the smell of that, too.

But I don't like to think back to my last Christmas.

Carlisle leads the way and Alice and I follow along. They both look left and right to find a tree that suits their wishes. I don't know what they would want and just walk with them, wondering why Alice wanted me to come so badly.

Around us, a few other people are looking around. Couples, or parents with children. The atmosphere is relaxed, hushed almost. Rationally, I know people tend to look forward to the Christmas season.

Alice and Carlisle settle on a tree that is so big I wonder how they would even get it home. Carlisle leaves our sight to pay for it, and Alice takes me to the tiny stall where they sell decorations. Some Native Americans are behind the stand, and I realize the things they sell must be hand made.

The sound of a thump and then a crying child alerts me and I turn to see where it is coming from. Walking past some trees, I can see the kid. He has fallen to his knees and is crying, asking for its mommy.

There is no one in sight but just as I start walking up to the little boy, Carlisle appears. Hidden by the big firs, I see how he kneels before the child and tries to soothe it.

With wide eyes I look on, seeing how Carlisle asks where it hurts, what the boy's name is, and where he saw his mommy last.

"Do you know your mommy's name?"

The boy hiccups an answer I cannot discern. Carlisle gets up, reaching out so the toddler can take his hand. The boy however stretches both hands out to Carlisle in a clear request to be picked up. Carlisle bends and lifts the boy up with him effortlessly, and looks around.

"Let's go find your mother," he says softly, gently bouncing the kid to comfort it.

Carlisle is so gentle with the child, and the boy seems so completely comfortable in Carlisle's arms.

After a few moments, a woman speeds up to Carlisle. "Damien, there you are! Thank you for keeping an eye on him," she tells Carlisle as she takes her son over from him.

"No worries. He looked a little stressed here. He fell down, but I don't think he's hurt."

The woman rocks her child gently back and forth in her arms. "Thanks. He has a knack of wandering off."

Carlisle smiles indulgently. "I have six teenage children myself, and I must say I don't really miss that habit they had when they were still toddlers."

The woman smiles even as her eyes widen at Carlisle's words. "Six! They must have been a handful!"

Carlisle says six. I cock my head at this. But I wasn't around when I was a toddler. But, to ease inconvenience he could have said he has five children and he didn't. He didn't.

"… Be all right." I have missed his first words as I was too busy processing his previous statement.

"Well, I have to go, but thank you," the woman says again, and she's off.

Alice steps up to me out of nowhere and we walk up to Carlisle. "I found Jacob," she tells him. "He's waiting for us at the stand."

Jacob?

"Ah, very nice," Carlisle answers. "Well, I guess we are done here then, aren't we?"

"Sure. Let me just buy some things at the stand real quick."

Alice darts away, leaving me alone with Carlisle. Unsure, I stare at the ground.

"Are you looking forward to Christmas, Bella?" he asks kindly. When I don't really react he goes on. "I hope that you will enjoy the holidays with us." His voice is soft and almost sounds wistful.

I don't know why he is so different around me suddenly.

"Hey, doc," a low voice behind me says.

I spin around to see who's approaching. A boy, younger than I am I think, Native American with long jet-black hair and dark eyes. He's tall and very muscular. I step back immediately and step straight into Carlisle, his body coming in full contact with mine. My footing is unstable and to my utter horror I realize I must have stepped on Carlisle's toes.

Blind panic overtakes me. I gasp violently and step aside, feeling my skin burn under my clothes where I touched him. Holding up my hands to apologize, Carlisle holds up his in a calming gesture.

"It's okay, Bella. Nothing happened. It's okay. Deep breaths."

I can't, my body demands more air than I can get into my lungs. Shaking badly, I feel like my knees are about to give way. I want to beg forgiveness. I must have hurt Carlisle by my stupid actions.

"No," Alice suddenly says softly but sternly near my ear. "There is no reason to panic and you are not going to do it now. Do you hear me?"

Still gasping, she ducks her head to make me meet her eyes. "Hold your breath for a moment. There is no danger here."

I do as I'm told with some effort, my ears ringing with my rushing blood and my heart pounding so hard it hurts.

"Is she all right?" the guy named Jacob asks and his voice sounds worried.

"She will be. Just give her a moment," Carlisle says. From the corner of my eye I see how he steps back and guides the guy Jacob away from me.

Alice hushes me softly and stays near. "See? Nothing happened. Nothing will happen. You okay?"

After a few long minutes I can nod, and she smiles at me. "Come on."

Alice gestures for Carlisle and he comes back up to me. I, like the coward I am, hide behind Alice. It's a public place, I remind myself. There's little chance he'll do anything here to get back from my stepping into him. Besides, this Jacob is with us still.

"You okay, Bella?" Carlisle asks, and the sincerity in his voice and eyes throws me off guard. He looks at Jacob who is standing next to him. "This is Jacob. He lives near here on the reservation."

Reservation? I've heard of that before.

"Hi," Jacob says, frowning in his insecurity. "I'm Jake."

He doesn't offer his hand and I am grateful.

"This is Bella," Alice answers for me as she nods over her shoulder at me. "She came to live with us a few months ago."

"You couldn't have ended up in a better place," Jacob says, smiling.

"Let's go get the tree home," Carlisle says before I can think too long about Jacob's words. "I think it will rain soon."

"Right on," Jacob replies, clapping his hands together in a gesture to start the action.

I wince at the sound and the sudden movement and Jacob looks at me with surprise in his eyes.

"Come on," Alice says quickly. "Let's go look further at what they have at that stand."

I follow Alice, grateful for her distraction technique even though I realize she has seen the stand twice before already, and we linger until Carlisle comes to get us to drive home. Alice buys some more Christmas decorations, beautiful handwork that I fawn over for a long moment.

We walk to the car and I blink once, wondering where the tree has gone.

"Jake is coming up behind us with his father's truck," Alice explains. "He helps us to get the tree home every year."

I wonder why I have never heard his name before if he is so obviously connected to the family, but I guess I just must have missed something.

We start the drive home and sure enough, a big truck comes up behind us. Alice tells me a bit more about Jacob. His mother died when he was still young, and his father is in a wheelchair, suffering from diabetes. They can't afford medical care but Carlisle helps Jacob's father often, in his own time. In return, Jacob helps sometimes with things like bringing home the tree.

I don't see why Emmett can't help with this, but I hold my peace. I also wonder if Jacob is even old enough to drive, but still, I don't speak up. It's certainly not my place to question the motives of this family.

Carlisle parks the Mercedes in the garage and Alice takes me into the house as Carlisle walks outside to meet Jacob.

Alice calls for Jasper and Edward in the house. Emmett is out, it seems. The other two appear, grinning, probably eager to set up the Christmas tree. Esme appears too, a smile on her face. She has cleared a corner in the living room where the tree is supposed to go. Rosalie comes out too, a smile on her face.

Christmas at the Cullen house, it seems, is a family event.

Carlisle and Jasper appear in the doorway, carrying the tree. Edward walks in after them, arms outstretched just in case.

Jacob trails behind and Esme goes to him immediately, enveloping him in a warm hug, which he returns with a seeming edge of desperation I cannot explain.

I cannot explain the sudden wave of this very unfamiliar rush of jealousy that washes over me, either, and I frown to suppress it.

"Hello, Jacob," she says kindly. "Thank you for helping out."

"No problem, Esme," Jacob replies, keeping his huge arms around Esme's tiny frame. "I like to do it."

"How is your father?" she asks as she steps back and takes his hands in hers.

"Okay, I guess. Could be better I think."

"Tell him to lay off the Vitamin R," Carlisle jokes, not looking up from where he is fussing with the tree. Finally, the men step back.

"Perfect," Esme breaths happily. "It's a beautiful tree. Thank you for picking it out." She disappears into the kitchen to get drinks, Jacob following behind.

"He looks troubled," Jasper nods into the direction of the kitchen.

"I think his father's health is failing. I'll try to go by this week," Carlisle answers.

"Poor guy," Alice sighs. "He's had to endure so much already."

Everybody seems so nice to Jacob but he feels so out of place in this house. Almost like I do. A bystander, on the outside looking in.

He and Esme reappear from the kitchen several moments later. Jacob is chewing on something and holding a glass of soda, and Esme is carrying a tray with drinks and a tiny bowl with the last of my marzipan treats.

They eat and drink and chat for a bit and it's all I can do to stay in the crowded room. I sit in the winged chair, tense. Edward looks at me carefully for a moment and then sits down on the corner of the coffee table, close to me but far enough away to be comfortable. Placing himself directly in between me and Jacob and somehow I can finally exhale, breathe again. I'm not necessarily afraid of Jacob but his body alone is something that inspires a certain uneasiness. I wonder how much time he spends working out.

When the drinks are gone, Rosalie turns up the music and Esme and Alice disappear into the storage to bring out the boxes with Christmas decorations. I go up to follow them, uneasy with so many men in the room, but hoping they will allow me to help them.

Jacob leaves after lunch, with Carlisle's promise that he will come by to check on his father again soon. We spend the rest of the day decorating the house. I take on the task of untangling the lights, sitting in a corner of the couch with the mess of chord around me.

The atmosphere is relaxed. On the radio Christmas songs are played in between regular ones. Jasper gets bored quickly and leaves the room to go out for a bit. Edward stays to help, his length coming in handy when Esme asks him to help with the lights that go higher up in the tree.

Carlisle stays too, making hot chocolate for all of us when twilight sets in. Rosalie, Alice and Esme work while chatting along. The ease with which they decorate the house tells me that they've done this before. Some things even seem to have designated spots.

When Esme excuses herself to start preparing dinner, I offer to help but she refuses. Alice distracts me from my disappointment by pointing to several boxes she has placed on the coffee table.

"Pick out what you like," she says encouragingly. "You can use it to decorate your room."

I blink a few times, then look from the boxes to her.

"Wouldn't you like that? Rosalie and I do it too. Here," she continues and reaches into the box for a tiny Christmas tree. "You can put this on your desk, for example."

After some more encouraging words, she helps me to pick out some things. Rosalie comes upstairs with us and looks into my room as Alice puts some things around the room.

"You need to personalize this more," Rosalie says. "Wait. I'll be right back."

She reappears moments later, some colorful pillows in her hands. "Here," she says. "You can have these. They brighten up your room a bit."

She drops the pillows on the bed and arranges them, taking one to place it in the rocking chair. "There. Pretty," she smiles.

I look from the pillows to her, grateful but unsure about this gift.

"Say thank you," Alice smiles jokingly, and I lift my hands in the Namaste gesture I learned from coach Clapp and Rosalie's face lights up in a brilliant smile.

"You're welcome."

Alice finishes decorating my room, looking pleased and smug when she's done. After dinner we gather around the kitchen table for some last minute studying. I don't have any homework to do, but Alice has a Trig test coming up and she's nervous, I can tell. I help her out for hours. It's the least I can do to pay her back for all she did for me.

Just before we're about to go to bed, Esme calls me into the living room. She's on the couch with Carlisle, the TV on mute in the background.

"Your first therapy session is Tuesday after school. Will that work for you?"

I nod, even though every hair on my body rises in protest.

"Very well. I'll pick you up after school to drive you to Port Angeles and back. We'll be home before dinner."

I swallow thickly, panic tugging at my backbone, begging to be released.

"Just to try it," Carlisle says reassuringly. "If you decide after the session that you don't want it, we can discuss other possibilities."

I nod, distracted by my chaotic thoughts. It's such a bother for Esme to bring me there, pick me up, and wait in between.

They bid me goodnight and I trudge up the stairs to my room, now filled with Christmas decorations and colored pillows on the bed. Turning off the lights, I lie fully clothed on the bed and stare into the little lights of the tiny Christmas tree on my desk until my vision blurs and I slip into sleep.

.

_Laurent is here. He's standing behind me and I cower, afraid. _

"_Qu'est-ce que tu as fait maintenant, Isabella?"* he murmurs, exasperated. I feel his breath on my neck and shudder, even though I try so hard to be still. _

_Before me on the ground, the remnants of the plates that slipped from my hands. Shards everywhere. I choke back a sob. He can't see me cry. _

"_Réponds-moi," he hisses, angry now. "Qu'est-ce que tu as fait?" _

_I don't even know French, but I think he wants to know what I did. Regardless, I can't answer him. I stopped talking long ago and he knows it. _

_Laurent sighs and walks around me. The threat clear in his voice, his walk. _

_I am scared. He can be so unpredictable. After five years alone with him I still can't read him sometimes. _

"_Qu'est-ce que je vais faire avec toi, hm?" he asks, the words rolling off his tongue. _

"_Parle!" he shouts suddenly and I cringe. "Why are you always so quiet? Speak up for God's sake!"_

_My silence unnerves him. It's one of those days. _

_He looks down at the shards, then back at me. "Regarde moi," he commands. _

_I look up to meet his gaze and his eyes shock me, they're so dark. _

"_Ta faute," he says lowly. "Tout c'est de ta faute." _

_I stand my ground and wait for what's going to come. I can't run. It will only make things worse. _

"_Clean this shit up," he says off-handedly. "Then go to your room. I'm not done with you." _

_._

I bolt awake, drenched in sweat but shivering in cold. I shake my head to get rid of the rest of the memory, of what happened when he came to my room late that night and found me sleeping.

I sit up, feeling like I'm choking on my own breath and I retch, just barely able to hold it down. The heartburn that follows feels nasty, but it's better than vomiting at least.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I feel how stiff my body is. Rolling my neck and shoulders to release some of the tension, I slip off the bed and change into a dry sweater before I leave my room and make my way downstairs.

I'm not even surprised when I see there is a light on in the living room, but I startle violently when I see it's Carlisle sitting on the couch, a book in his lap.

He looks over his shoulder just when I am about to turn, but it's too late, he's seen me.

My heart picks up speed immediately. I've tried to avoid him after I hurt him this morning, or at least tried to not be alone with him. The memory of my dream lingers freshly in my mind and I am wary immediately, afraid of what Carlisle will do now that he has me alone.

Cold sweat breaks out and trickles down my back, the faint tickle distracting me.

"Hello," Carlisle smiles gently, closing his book. "Couldn't sleep?"

I shake my head in denial but it doesn't the answer correctly anyway.

I'm scared.

"What has you so wound up?" he asks. "Why don't you sit down for a bit? Let me get you some tea."

My breath stutters but I force myself to move and sit in the winged chair, breathing shallowly and so very worried about what will happen.

Within moments it seems Carlisle is back with a mug of tea and he places it before me on the coffee table before he sits down in his old spot on the couch again.

"Talk to me, Bella," he says softly. "You are obviously frightened. Did something happen?"

I don't know how to answer this question. Because something happened, but it was earlier today and I'm not even sure if and how to refer to that.

Carlisle reaches into the drawer underneath the coffee table and pulls out a notepad and pen, pushing them in my direction. "Please talk to me. Perhaps I can help to take away your fears."

Breathing shakily I look at the paper and pen before me.

"Bella," Carlisle says gently when I hesitate too long. "If you don't want to talk I understand, but you are obviously frightened and I wish you would tell me what has upset you so much. Did you have a bad dream?"

It's safe enough to say yes, I think.

"Will you tell me about it?"

I shake my head. No way. No way in hell.

"Okay, that's okay. Is your dream why you are so worried now?"

I shake my head again, unable to lie as always.

"Then what is it?" Carlisle urges. "Help us take away your fears, Bella. Let us in a little bit?"

I heave a deep sigh, interrupted by a shaky sob. I've become useless at trying to hide my emotions and now my eyes are burning with the beginning of tears, too.

Excellent.

_Maybe you just need to get this over with_, my inner voice whispers. _Anticipation is always worse than the actual thing and you know it_.

Don't I know it?

I swallow thickly, tensely, audibly, and write.

_I stood on you. Hurt you. I am so sorry._

Carlisle reads and frowns. "You didn't hurt me. Is that what you worry about? Are you afraid I would be angry?"

I nod, emotions overwhelming me and blurring my vision.

"I am not, Bella. You stepped into me, that can happen. I'm sorry it upset you so. But you didn't hurt me and you shouldn't worry about that. Even if you did, it would have been an accident. You didn't do it on purpose."

His words swirl in my mind for a moment before the meaning sets in.

Not on purpose. He makes a difference between willful and involuntary acts. But even still, I did it, right?

Can I push this through? Do I have the courage?

_But I did it and it was my fault_

"No it wasn't," he answers gently, but solemnly. "It was an accident. There was nobody at fault. You are not to blame for what happened."

I have to know, even if I will curse my insecurity forever.

_You are not angry?_

"I am not, Bella. And there will be no repercussions. Besides, remember the contract? Because I do. No violence. No punishment."

Silence.

"Do you hear me, Bella? Nothing happened today. You bumped into me, so what? Perhaps I'll bump into you some day. We live in a full house, it can happen. Would you be angry with me if I did it on accident?"

My eyes go wide at this ridiculous notion. Of course not!

Carlisle smiles. "There you have it. It goes both ways, Bella. An accident is an accident." He shrugs. "They're bound to happen. And I'm not angry. I was just worried about you because you seemed so upset. Are you feeling better now?"

I nod, feeling better indeed. And for some strange reason, feeling lighter, too.

**~O~**

On Monday after school I help Alice again with some last minute studying for Trig. I am confident myself I will pass this test, so I can focus completely on Alice. I have made up some test exercises for her, a little different from the ones in the book. She has done those so often she knows how to solve them, but for the wrong reasons. The new exercises should really test her knowledge. She chews on her pen as she mulls over the numbers on her paper. In the meantime I leaf through a book I got from the school library for my Gym assignment.

I have decided to do it on the Special Olympics, for lack of inspiration for a better subject. I am doing research and as I get further into the subject it starts to come alive for me more and more.

Carlisle comes to bring us drinks and asks how it is going.

"Bella made me these extra exercises for Trig," Alice says. "To help me prepare for the test tomorrow."

"That is very kind of you," Carlisle tells me.

I look away, uneasy with the compliment.

Carlisle chuckles. "Still not used to praise?"

I shake my head and blush, and he smiles again. "What are you working on?"

I close the book so he can see the title.

"It's for her Gym assignment, I think," Alice says helpfully.

"Ah," Carlisle answers. "The Special Olympics?"

I nod.

"Any specific subtheme?"

I nod again.

Carlisle sits down at the table with us. "Tell me?"

I write down briefly that I want to do it on the psychological aspect of it, of achieving these goals with different abilities.

"That is very interesting," he says, approving. "Can you find information on it?"

_Some testimonials_. _Hard to find information._

"You didn't choose an easy subject. I have some medical books that may have information about this. Would you be interested in browsing them?"

Stunned, I nod carefully.

"Come by my office some time. I can help you along?"

I swallow and nod again, amazed at his offer. I can sense no ulterior motive. He seems genuinely nice. I know I'll have to be careful, but I realize too that him asking me to come to his office isn't half as scary as I thought it would be.

Perhaps he really wants to help.

Carlisle smiles and gets up again, leaving me to help Alice with Trig. We finish up when she feels a bit more confident, but as soon as she closes the book, her shoulders sag.

"I'll never pull this off."

I frown. She doesn't see herself very clearly. I unfold a crumpled piece of paper that was going into the trash and write down quickly.

_Of course you can._

She looks at me, eyes wide and uncertain. "You think?"

I nod with all the conviction I can muster. I'm sure she'll be fine.

Tuesday at school is calmer. It's so unbelievably cold and my fingers are stiff because I can't seem to warm up. I move through classes and savior the recurring pattern of things, gathering a feeling of safety in knowing where to go, knowing what will happen.

In Trig, Alice is wringing her hands, nervous. I want to reassure her but am distracted by a loudly chatting Jessica.

"I am going to suck sooo hard at this," she whines to Alice. "I am so sure I am going to fail!"

"I'm sure you'll do well," Alice mutters, looking pale with her own worries.

"I'm not!" Jessica exclaims. "I might as well just not do the test."

"Then don't," Alice snaps, losing her patience. "Try if that really helps."

"Jeez, lighten up," Jessica mutters. "Or do you _want_ me to fail?"

"Of course not," Alice spits. She opens her mouth to say more, but the teacher calls the class to attention and I move to my seat. Alice meets my gaze and I nod at her in what I hope is a reassuring way. She gives me a weak smile and turns to face front as the teacher hands out the stencils.

To me, the test is easy. Seriously. I am done in twenty minutes and I read over my answers, checking if I didn't forget anything.

Nope, looks good to me.

I sit back in my chair carefully, not looking around or doing anything to draw attention. The teacher notices me however.

"Are you finished, Bella?"

Startled, I meet his gaze and nod.

He gets up and comes to me, picking the paper up from my desk. He glances over the answers and nods almost imperceptibly.

"Do you have any homework for other subjects?" he asks very quietly so as not to disturb the girl next to me.

I nod, eyes wide.

"Stay quiet and keep yourself occupied," he instructs, and he leaves my table again. "Eyes front," he tells the rest of the class, and I meet Alice's gaze before she looks to her paper again.

I hope the test not too difficult for her.

Moving slowly and quietly I take a book from my bag for my Gym thesis. It's plain interesting to read and before I know it the bell rings.

Alice comes up to me immediately. "You were done quickly," she says, breathless.

I nod.

"Was it that easy for you?"

I nod again, uncomfortable now.

"You were done so early!" Jessica says, coming up to us too. "Was it that bad?"

I shake my head.

"Well you can't have passed it if you were done so fast, I mean, you can't possibly have done all the assignments in that time. Did you skip some?"

I shake my head, almost frowning at her assumption.

"Maybe you forgot some. God, I didn't have time to finish at all! I'm sure I just failed."

I wish Jessica would just leave. We don't have much time and I really want to know how Alice thinks she did. I meet her gaze and try to convey my question with my eyes and a nod.

"I don't know. But I did recognize some of the things because you explained them to me. We'll see," she says doubtfully.

Jessica loses interest quickly and is already moving away, to her next class.

"Keep your head up," Alice says when I follow Jessica with my eyes. "They don't have half the personality you have. They have nothing on you."

I smile weakly at her words and let her walk me to Spanish. "See you at lunch."

**~O~**

During Biology, Edward is next to me as always. Again we have an assignment with the microscope to work on in pairs. For once it isn't that easy for me and Edward talks me through it patiently, easing my worry that he would find it tedious to explain something to someone like me.

"Do you have your first therapy session today?" he asks quietly, keeping his gaze focused on his work.

I swallow, and nod, wondering how he knows.

"Scared?"

Yes, very.

"I'm sure it will be okay. I believe dad made a big effort to find someone he thinks would suit you."

I can't really react to this, because I don't know what to say.

"You can do this, you know," he says softly. "I think I can imagine why you're not exactly excited to go there, but I really think you are strong enough for this."

I move, uncomfortable, and focus more intently on the assignment.

"I'm sorry, I'll let it go," he whispers, and for a while we move in silence.

When it's my turn to check the microscope again, he starts to push it toward me at the moment I reach out to get it. Our hands brush and I pull back as if struck by lightning, more shocked by the sudden touch than anything else.

"Sorry," he mumbles, sitting back so I can check the microscope.

He pulls it back to his side of the table to check my observations, and changes the slide before he pushes it toward me again.

We work alongside each other, and two more times he brushes against my hand. When I look up, slightly irritated and confused, he meets my gaze.

"Sorry," he says again, but the corner of his mouth twitches in the beginnings of a smile.

I pull my hands back and hide them under the table, and wonder what his game is. He focuses back on the assignment and says nothing until class is almost over.

"How's the Gym thesis coming along?"

He really seems to be intent on talking today. I make a gesture to indicate it's coming along.

"Where do you get your information?" he asks. "Online?"

I nod again.

"I was wondering, if you want to go to the library in Port Angeles, I can drive you there. I want to go there anyway, so if you want to hitch a ride?"

I blink and look at him, hearing his offer but balking at the thought of being alone with him for so long.

Edward looks pained for some reason, but he masks it and tries to smile. "Think about it. I'd like it if you would consider letting me take you there. It would get you out of the house, too."

It would, but every nerve ending in my body resists in protest.

After a long silence, Edward speaks once more. "If I ask Alice to come, would you consider it? She'd probably not go to the library with us, but if she drove with us, would you consider coming along?"

I think for a long moment, then slowly nod. He's going anyway and I really want to see the library. And if Alice comes along, much like with Carlisle, I'll consider it.

His smile couldn't be more victorious.

* * *

French translations:

"_Qu'est-ce que tu as fait maintenant, Isabella?"_ – What have you done now, Isabella?

"_Réponds-moi, qu'est-ce que tu as fait?" _– Answer me, what have you done?

"_Qu'est-ce que je vais faire avec toi, hm?"_ – What am I going to do with you, hm?

"_Parle!"_ – Speak!

"_Regarde moi." _– Look at me.

"_Ta faute. Tout c'est de ta faute." _– Your fault. Everything is your fault.

**~O~**

_Let me know what you think? _


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N I don't own Twilight. **

_Thanks to everyone that reads and, hopefully, loves. Thanks to Sherry, to Deb and to Bob, for everything. _

_I used a bit of creative license for Bella's therapy sessions, along with the help of some psychologists. I do not claim that real therapy goes like this._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"Are you ready?" Esme asks.

No. I shrug. We're in Port Angeles, at the therapist's office. The waiting room looks as one would expect, clinical with white walls and black, uncomfortable plastic seats.

"We really appreciate that you want to try this," Esme reassures. "I know it must be hard for you."

She has no idea, but I don't have the energy to enlighten her. I don't want this, I really don't. But Edward's words resonate and Alice's talk before Thanksgiving did something for me. As we wait for the therapist to call us in, I am torn from my memories by a black-haired woman who calls my name from her office door.

"Bella? Bella Swan?"

"That's you," Esme says with forced cheerfulness.

No shit.

Nerves overtake me as I get up and walk to the woman who is beckoning me with a gentle smile.

"Welcome. And you are Esme Cullen?"

"I am. Thank you for seeing Bella. Do you want me to come in with you?"

The therapist looks from me to Esme, then back to me. "I think we'll be fine. She'll be back out in an hour."

"Okay," Esme smiles. "I'll wait here."

The thought of keeping Esme waiting for me for an hour makes me uneasy, but there is little I can do when the therapist guides me into her office. What was her name again? Something exotic.

"Take a seat, if you want. Or look around first."

I survey the room. It's starkly different from the waiting room, with dark, mahogany furniture and red pillows and blankets on the two couches. There is a winged chair too. In the corner is a desk with a laptop on it, with one chair on one side and two chairs on the other. The room is riddled with tiny things, tokens from this country or that.

There are even curtains at the window. Walking along the walls slowly, I make my way to the window and look outside. You can see the harbor from here.

"Pretty, isn't it?" the therapist asks.

Startled by her voice I turn to face her. I almost forgot why I am here in the first place.

"Do you want to sit down? Anything to drink, perhaps?"

I shake my head, answering both questions.

Oh shit, does she even know I don't speak? Fuck!

Oh well. Doesn't matter, she'll find out soon enough.

I'm too nervous to be defiant, even.

"Very well. Sit down wherever, whenever. Everything you do or say here is your own choice. Mind if I sit down?"

I shake my head, confused as to why she would ask me this in her own office.

"I'll start by telling you something about myself, and then I shall tell you what I know about you. Is that okay?"

I nod again, becoming more and more stunned. This woman is... relaxed. Easy to be around with, somehow.

It's disconcerting, even though she gets paid to be like this.

I up my guard. Careful, now.

"I'm Siobhan," she says. "I'm from Ireland originally, and my name is my heritage from there. I moved to the States when I was fifteen. I arrived here with my mother, who remarried shortly after we settled here. From my teenage years I knew I wanted to become a psychologist, and so I went to university to become one."

She pauses for a moment to gauge my reaction.

"I mainly focus on teenagers with rotten pasts like you," she continues bluntly. "Because sometimes life just doesn't go easy on you, right?"

I nod in my shock. Right.

Siobhan points to the coffee table, where a small white board with a black marker is lying.

"That's for you. If you want to talk, you can use that. I am not a fan of computers and on a white board you can wipe out the words. Just like when you speak, they stop existing once they are spoken."

Nice philosophy.

"So, here's what I know about you," she continues. "You are Bella Swan, seventeen, and you came to live with the Cullen family about two months ago. Correct?"

I stare at her. I don't answer obvious questions.

"Very well. We've covered that your past could have been better. You don't speak, but you gathered I know this."

Again, I don't answer obvious things. I'm not entirely stupid, you know.

"Other things will come along when they need to be discussed. I want to set some ground rules. First of all, I can say I am happy that you want to try therapy, but you are a smart girl, and you realize that therapy can only be helpful if you allow it to be." A beat. "You have to be here for you. Not to please your foster mother, not to please me or anybody else. In this room, it's all about you."

I shift, uncomfortable.

"This makes you uneasy?"

I nod, then swallow. Stupid traitorous body.

"You don't want attention?"

I shake my head, and expect a 'why' to come.

"Tough luck. When you are here, it's about you. It's up to you how useful these hours will become."

Jesus!

"I will not give up on you. I am very patient..."

As patient as the Cullens' funds, I think.

"... and I understand that we will need time to get to know each other. I will not force you to talk about anything you are uncomfortable with, but I expect you to cooperate. If you feel, however, that you are not comfortable with me or feel that I can't help you, you are free to end the arrangement and find another therapist. Should that happen, I will gladly provide you with names.

"So, Bella," she continues as she leans forward in her seat, "do you know why you are here?"

Edward's answer battles with what I want to say. I want to become a better person, like Edward offered, but in all honesty I am here out of fear of displeasing Carlisle and Esme. There really wasn't a choice.

"We're not going to talk about your past today," Siobhan says, breaking into my thoughts. "We'll get to that, eventually, but not now and I think not in the next few sessions either."

Her words reassure me enormously and I exhale silently relief. I hope she'll keep her word, tough.

"Why don't you sit down?"

Moving to the couch I sink back in comfortable softness and my eyes widen in surprise. Siobhan chuckles. "Comfy, aren't they?"

They are. I don't react however. If all her questions are rhetorical we're in for a boring ride indeed.

"So, Bella, tell me, what have you done today?"

I blink in utter confusion. What?

"Write it down for me," Siobhan coaxes. "Tell me what you did. Start with when your alarm went off this morning."

Frowning in confusion still, I mentally shrug and reach for the whiteboard and start to write.

**~O~**

After the first hour of therapy we've talked about my day, my favorite book, things I like to do, and my plans for the rest of the week. It's so not what I had expected it to be and when I drive home with Esme, I'm still busy processing what actually happened.

I haven't told her that Edward asked me to go to the library with him though. For some reason I felt very protective over that bit of information. Besides, I was worrying that if I told her so, she'd tell me to go with him. And I haven't decided yet if I am.

Siobhan is unlike any therapist I have ever encountered. She's young, doesn't use clinical words and I don't know, she feels down to earth. She asked me to point out three items in the room I'd like to know the history of, and she had told me a about each, about the journey she had been on when she found it and what it had meant to her.

Then she had asked me to tell her if I had such a token, but I hadn't wanted to answer that. She'd let it go easily and thanked me for trying.

My next appointment is Friday. And until that I have to try to have some positive interaction with a member of the family. I have to initiate communication and it has to have a positive context.

I think I will come to hate the woman.

"You're quiet," Esme observes as she pulls onto the highway. "Did it go well?"

I shrug, because I really don't have an answer to that.

"I guess you both have to get to know each other. Did she give you food for thought?"

I shrug again, and nod. I really don't want to talk about this right now.

"Are you willing to go back Friday?"

I want to shake my head so badly, but I find that I can't. I am too scared. And Siobhan doesn't seem so bad. I can try it a few times and then tell them it doesn't work, right? After that it will take at least a few weeks to get a new therapist set up and that will buy me time again.

"I am happy you are willing to try this, Bella. I know the notion of therapy isn't something fun."

I huddle deeper into the seat and look outside, letting her know in the only way I dare that I am not willing to talk right now. Luckily she lets it go and we drive home in silence.

I help her with dinner, but I'm in a pretty sullen mood and I think Esme notices. Finally she excuses me and tells me to go relax for a bit before dinner.

Feeling reprimanded, I swallow the lump in my throat and walk away from the kitchen. I feel like stomping my feet, but I can't, because in this stupid house I am never alone.

Frustrated and exasperated, I walk out of the house onto the porch, and suddenly willing to move, I walk down the porch steps and into the garden that stretches around the house.

It's cold outside and I don't have a coat, but the crisp air is refreshing.

I don't understand why I am in such a bad mood right now. Perhaps it's because of that stupid therapy session. That Siobhan made small talk with me like she was my friend and however much I wanted to not cooperate, to not give her what she wanted, I had done it.

She broke through my walls so damn easily and she succeeded because she asked questions that weren't dangerous to me.

I scowl and narrow my eyes. Cunning woman. I'll just have to be more careful next time.

Kicking at the grass, I walk around in the damp cold until I hear my name being called. It's Rosalie, telling me that dinner is ready.

"You okay?" she asks when I step around her to enter the house.

Sullenly I shrug, and she nods. "It's rough times for you," she quietly acknowledges, and I wish there was some way I could tell her that I appreciate what she said.

When Esme asks me if I want to eat up in my room I don't hesitate for a moment and I take the tray with me, after dinner not hurrying to go down and clear away my stuff. Instead I boot my laptop, and as expected there is email from Renée. The first one responds to my last email to her, when I told her that Edward has green eyes.

.

**From:**** Renée ****Dwyer  
To:**** Bella ****Swan  
Subject:**** Re: ****Re: ****Re: ****Tell ****me ****more**  
Green eyes you say? My, you don't see that often. Does he have red hair too? Tell me, how are you?

.

There's a second email, sent today.

.

**From:**** Renée ****Dwyer  
To:**** Bella ****Swan  
Subject: ****How**** are ****you?  
**Hello Bella,  
If I have been informed correctly, you have had your first therapy session today. I do not know Siobhan directly myself, but I have heard good things about her. How do you think it went? Will you go again?

.

Sighing, I reply. I'm chagrined enough to not care so much. That's a first.

.

**From:**** Bella ****Swan  
To:**** Renée**** Dwyer  
Subject: ****Re: ****How**** are ****you?  
**Hi, how are you? Yes I had therapy today. I guess confidentiality only goes so far. I am going again on Friday. I don't know yet. She's… different.  
Ps. Edward doesn't have red hair. He's not Irish.

.

The reply is almost instant. The woman lives behind her pc or something.

.

**From:**** Renée ****Dwyer  
To: ****Bella ****Swan  
Subject:**** Re:**** Re:**** How ****are ****you?  
**How is she different? What was your first impression of her? And how are you in general? I am good, thank you for asking. I am making plans to go on a skiing holiday for Christmas. Do you have any Christmas plans yet?

.

**From:**** Bella**** Swan  
To:**** Renée**** Dwyer  
Subject:**** Re:**** Re: ****Re: ****How**** are ****you?  
**She's just different. Talked about nonsense most of the time. Not what I expected at all. I'm okay I guess. So many new things to process. Did Thanksgiving with the Cullens at the table but have now eaten in my room again. Alice and Carlisle and I bought a Christmas tree last Sunday. It's so big Renée, it's unbelievable.

.

**From: ****Renée ****Dwyer  
To:**** Bella ****Swan  
Subject: ****Wow!  
**I am so proud of you for celebrating Thanksgiving with them! How did it go? How did you feel? What made you decide to do it? I bet their tree is big. They have a big house, too.

.

**From:**** Bella**** Swan  
To:**** Renée ****Dwyer  
Subject:**** Re: ****Wow**** - ****?  
**Alice convinced me to try it. She said the world wouldn't end and it didn't. I know she's right, it's just so hard.

.

**From:**** Renée**** Dwyer  
To:**** Bella ****Swan  
Subject:**** It ****will**** get ****better  
**It is very hard but it's a major step you took by just trying it. It will get better, I promise. And going out to buy a Christmas tree must have been nice. It must be cold there already. Did you decorate the house?

.

**From:**** Bella ****Swan  
To: ****Renée**** Dwyer  
Subject: ****Will ****it?  
**Yes the house is red and green.

.

**From:**** Renée**** Dwyer  
To:**** Bella**** Swan  
Subject: ****Yes ****it**** will  
**Very nice. I am so happy to hear from you, Bella. Has it become easier for you to talk with others?

.

**From:**** Bella**** Swan  
To: ****Renée ****Dwyer  
Subject:**** Re:**** Will ****it?  
**I loathe words. You know this. I chat sometimes with Edward, because he always asks me to talk to him. I don't know why though.

.

**From:**** Renée**** Dwyer  
To:**** Bella**** Swan  
Subject: ****Re: ****Re: ****Will ****it?**  
I think I can guess why, Bella. Look at you, once you open up a bit you are very enjoyable company and you know this. We've been having quite the conversation tonight!

.

**From:**** Bella**** Swan  
To: ****Renée ****Dwyer  
Subject:**** Re: ****Re: ****Re: ****Will ****it?  
**Yeah but that's with you. I know you.

.

**From:**** Renée**** Dwyer  
To:**** Bella**** Swan  
Subject:**** So?  
**So? It took you time to get to know me, too.

.

Fuck, I don't have a reply to this.

.

**From:**** Bella ****Swan  
To:**** Renée**** Dwyer  
Subject:**** Re: ****So?  
**That's different.

.

**From:**** Renée**** Dwyer  
To:**** Bella**** Swan  
Subject: ****Re:**** Re: ****So?  
**How is it different?

.

**From:**** Bella**** Swan  
To: ****Renée**** Dwyer  
Subject:**** Re:**** Re:**** Re:**** So?  
**You're not a guy. And you get paid to listen to me.

.

**From:**** Renée**** Dwyer  
To:**** Bella**** Swan  
Subject: ****Re: ****Re: ****Re:**** Re: ****So?  
**I don't get paid to keep in touch with you, Bella. I do that because I genuinely care for you and want to know how you are. That comes from me, not from a pay check. And how has my gender to do with this?

.

**From: ****Renée**** Dwyer  
To: ****Bella ****Swan  
Subject: ****Talk ****to ****me  
**Don't fall silent on me, Bella. Would you not want to be able to talk to Edward like you talk to me?

.

Oh yes, yes I would. Very much so, I realize with a shock.

My God.

I stay in my room that night, sitting in my rocking chair and biting my lip. For some unexplainable reason nerves are coiled in my stomach and my insides are buzzing to the point of nausea. The rocking is the only thing that keeps me from pacing.

Why am I so nervous all of a sudden? It doesn't make sense. Or perhaps it does. My need as of late to be normal, combined with Renée's words, to be as easy with Edward as with her, unsettles me. His invitation to go to the library with him comes on top of that. He wouldn't ask me if he didn't like me, right? But how can I want this with Edward? I have decided long ago I hate all men. They only want one thing and if you don't give it to them, they will take it anyway.

Even though I find it hard to perceive that Edward would ever do such a thing, still, I have to be on guard. People can change, just like the wind. Just like their moods and their intentions.

I frown and sigh, and rock. I wish, I really wish I could be sure just for once that the violence really is over now. To be normal around others, much like I've seen everybody in this household do. But in the end I haven't changed, and I find it impossible to reach out as long as I am still the person I was before, the hated, the waste of space, the useless.

Folding my own hands together, I stroke the palm of my right hand with my left thumb. The feeling is numbed by the scar there, but still feels alien.

If even my own touch alarms me, I truly wonder how I am ever going to be 'normal.' Perhaps it's an endeavor I should just never start.

**~O~**

School passes in a peaceful blur. I am a bit more at ease every day, and once again I find I start to look forward to the classes I share with Edward. He's just so nice to me, and it's so addicting. The need to come clean with him, to tell him he should be hating me, becomes ever more pressing, but the courage to do so shrinks every time he meets my gaze and smiles.

On Wednesday during Biology I tell him that I am going to therapy again on Friday. Well, I don't really tell him, but since he asks, I answer him.

His smile is encouraging and nothing short from victorious.

"You liked it then?"

I scoff, realizing belatedly that's a pretty relaxed reaction indeed.

"Okay, wrong question. But do you think it will help?"

Looking at him, I hope my face shows that I don't know.

"Perhaps it's too soon to say. But it wasn't absolutely horrible, since you're willing to go again?"

I don't know. How to explain that Siobhan doesn't even come across as a therapist? I realize this must be the way she works, but still. I was expecting all this shit like "how do you feel about that" and "tell me about your mother." Perhaps that is to come.

Gah.

Thursday after Gym, when I have shown my face to Coach Clapp, Mike saunters over to me, all cocky and confident in his hoodie. He's dressed quickly after Gym, and I wonder if he even showered.

Ew.

"So, Bella, I was wondering if you have any plans this weekend?"

What the… Oh my God!

Taking my hesitation as a negative answer, he smiles widely. "Because I was wondering if you wanted to go see a movie with me?"

Panic starts. What is he thinking? Do I answer this? _Can_ I answer this? If I refuse, will he get mad? But I can't possibly go with him. Absolutely not. Out of the question.

"What's the hesitation? Just come with me. You can choose the movie. It'll be fun!"

_Not__ my __idea __of __fun_, I think, but I can hardly finish the thought before he steps up closer to me.

"I'd like to get to know you better," he says, now looking down at me he's so close. I step back until my back hits the wall.

Oh, shit.

"It'll be good, just you and I. You won't have to worry so much about the others."

I frown up at him, desperately battling my fear and the all-overwhelming urge to shove him away and run for it.

"So, what do you say? Do you want to go this Saturday?"

His hand comes up to my face and I brace myself for impact — whatever kind.

"She has plans this weekend," I suddenly hear Edward say to my right.

Mike hisses a profanity under his breath and steps back from me, leaving me the space to gulp in some much needed air.

"Does she, now," Mike says, his voice erring on threatening.

"Yes, she does."

"And what do you know about that?"

"I just know. I happen to live in the same house as her."

Mike makes some frustrated sound before he focuses back on me. "How about Friday night then?"

I start to shake my head, desperately wanting to figure out how to make it clear that I do not want to have anything to do with him at all.

"Really? Huh, busy bee," Mike mutters. "Perhaps some other time."

He's distracted by Eric who claps his shoulder and asks him something, and finally he looks away from me. On his left appears Jessica, looking from Mike to me with wide eyes, hiding nothing. She's not pleased but walks up to Mike with a smile plastered on her face, her pony tail bouncing.

I sag forward a little, relieved to be out of the spotlight for now. By God, he is persistent. I don't get it though. Back in Phoenix nobody looked at me. Did this Mike really ask me out on a date? I shudder at the thought and wrap my arms around me in protection.

"God, he is _such_ an ass," Edward mutters.

I'd forgotten he was there.

"You okay? He really has no respect for personal space. Did he touch you?"

I shake my head in denial, shocked by the look on Edward's face I can't read.

"Good. If he does, just push him away. You don't have to endure that. Ever."

I have learned at a very young age to never fight, however much I would want to. His advice doesn't sound like something that could work for me. But what is that look on his face?

I don't have time to determine it because his hands hide his expression from me as he rubs his face. When he looks back at me, he smiles. "Come on, let's get you home. I have a feeling this rain will turn into sleet and I want to be home before the roads really freeze up."

I follow him immediately, berating myself fiercely over having kept him waiting as he's clearly eager to go home.

Esme surprises us there with hot chocolate for everyone. Whipped cream and marshmallows included. Everybody sits down in the living room and Jasper even starts a fire in the hearth. I realize quickly the vantage point of the winged chair as I am closest to the fire, heating me up as it seems from the inside.

I miss my afternoon nap but I don't even really notice it. When Rosalie and Emmett come home they are granted the same treat and Esme joins us too, smiling contentedly.

The conversation turns to what Christmas will look like this year.

"Are we doing presents?" Alice asks eagerly.

"We could," Esme replies. Then she turns to me. "We like to buy each other presents for Christmas. Each family member buys something for all the others. It doesn't have to be big or elaborate, as it's the thought that counts. Usually we have a maximum of twenty five dollars per gift."

My eyes go wide at this. I don't have any money to pay for that!

"I will take you shopping," Alice says eagerly, misunderstanding my apprehension. "I will help you."

"Will you do stockings this year?" Rosalie asks her mother.

"I might. We'll have one extra to fill." Esme smiles at me again and I shift, uncomfortable.

I'm not good at gifts. Can't they just do Christmas without me?

"So, should we all make lists again and put them on the fridge?" Emmett asks.

"Yes," Esme says. "I suppose."

"I always love how the gifts stack up underneath the tree," Rosalie says smiling. "I so love this time of the year."

"So we should go shopping as soon as possible!" Alice exclaims. "I can start Saturday in Port Angeles."

"You're going to PA?" Rosalie asks, interested.

"Yes, Edward is taking Bella to the library and I'm hitching a ride."

She makes it sound so normal. My relief that she is coming along is overshadowed by the assumption that I am actually going. My alarm heightens further when I see the wide-eyed gazes of several others in the room.

Esme is quickest to recover. "I hope you'll have fun." She means everyone, but she is looking at me.

"I can come with you," Rosalie breaks the silence. "We could go together in one car. Saves gas, too."

"That could work," Alice says thoughtfully, "but I'm not sure how long Edward and Bella plan to stay in the library."

She looks at us with questioning eyes. I look back at her with my own wide gaze, still stunned that I am apparently going to the library next Saturday.

"They can go into town when they get bored," Rosalie offers. "We can meet for drinks or something and drive home together. After Black Friday I'm not really looking forward to an all-day shopping trip anyway."

"You aren't?" Emmett interjects in mock surprise. "I thought you always wanted to shop?"

Rosalie slugs his arm, seemingly annoyed.

"One can never shop too much," Alice states solemnly. "But I agree, after Black Friday I'm a bit done, too."

"Does that mean I have to buy the Christmas gifts myself this year?" Jasper groans.

Alice whips her head around to look at him, scandalized, but Esme speaks first.

"Of course you have to buy the gifts yourself! It's about the gesture, and that won't work if you're not the one choosing and buying." She's quiet then, realizing finally what I heard immediately. "This year?"

"Busted," Emmett mutters with a wicked grin.

"No, Alice just helped me last year," Jasper protests.

"An awful lot, I might add," Edward murmurs under his breath and when I catch his gaze he smiles at me.

I smile back.

"So, Saturday," Rose says, sitting forward. "What time do you want to leave?"

"No idea. Just before noon? I like to sleep in," Edward replies.

Beside Rosalie, Emmett gets up and leaves the room, bored apparently with the subject. "Hey Jazz, did you have that new computer game installed?"

"I have. Wanna see?"

Emmett nods and both leave the room to go upstairs.

"I'd like to leave a bit earlier. Ten?"

Edward groans theatrically. "That is too early, Rose."

"I can go with Alice," she says. "We can always take two cars if that's easier."

Silence falls as I wait tensely for what's to come.

"But Bella won't come if Alice isn't there," Edward finally says softly, hesitantly.

Rosalie's eyes widen a bit as she looks from him to me. The silence stretches and just before it becomes painful, she nods.

"Very well. Let's leave at eleven. Alice and I can go with you. But I don't want to go home at two."

"It's a big library," Edward says softly, and he looks at me as he speaks.

"Try to go home before it's fully dark though," Esme says quietly. She's been silent for a while, as ever present in a manner that's entirely unobtrusive. "It's getting really cold and they've warned for sleet."

Again with the sleet. I never experienced that in Phoenix.

"Okay," Edward says. "So, what's for dinner?"

**~O~**

Friday in school is filled with distraction by the notion of the upcoming therapy session with Siobhan. I have not fulfilled my assignment, because I have not initiated contact with anyone. I have, however, partaken in more interaction just this last week than in a very long time altogether. I hope this counts.

I'm upset that I am worried over what she will say. Will she be disappointed? Will she stop the treatment? If so, what will Carlisle and Esme say?

Oh my God. She didn't warn me of any consequences if I didn't do as I was told, but now I'm worried sick. I keep biting my lip until it bleeds. Even the A+ I get back in Trig can't distract me from my worries.

Before me Alice squeals mutely and looks around at me, holding up her test that says "B." I smile at her and give her a thumbs up. I am happy for her.

Jessica has a C and is sulking, but Alice admonishes her, saying that she passed the test when she was so sure she would fail.

For a moment I wonder, alarmed, if Jessica's parents will be upset if she brings home a low grade. Then again she doesn't come across as the girl that would worry about that, seeing as she often claims to forego studying in favor of more fun things to do.

Trying to shrug it off, I move through the minutes of the day. In Spanish my irritation flares as Jessica tries to claim to Lauren that Alice must have copied Jess's work during the Trig test. Considering Jess had a lower grade I think this is generally impossible, not to mention the fact that Alice would never cheat like that. Jess's jealousy is obvious and from what I can hear, she's upset at Alice's sudden peak in grades.

So Alice really got a better grade this time. Truly, I am happy for her.

During lunch, Jasper is over the moon for Alice and he kisses her soundly. I look away, flustered, uneasy. Edward chuckles and sits down across from me.

"What did you get?"

"An A plus," Alice says smugly for me after disentangling herself from Jasper's embrace.

"Really? That's fantastic!" Rosalie exclaims.

I blush and look away. Numbers just make sense to me. This grade is nothing special.

"What a way to start your school track here," Edward smiles. "Well done, Bella."

I duck further. Stop talking about me please.

"Now it's your turn, Emmett," Rosalie tries to joke.

Emmett mutters something and when I look at him, I see how he has a murderous look on his face. Cringing a little, I frown in fear.

"Oh come on," Rosalie says, pushing against him playfully. "Just give it your best shot. I'm sure you can make it."

Emmett shrugs and chews on his sandwich, obviously not convinced.

I wish I could help him but fuck me if I wasn't so scared of him right now.

Soon after fortunately the bell rings and Edward walks with me to Biology. Near to panic about the assignment Siobhan gave me, I scribble something on a piece of paper and push it towards him, hoping to God he won't be annoyed that I am initiating communication.

From behind the shield of my hair I see how Edward reads the note, looking confused. I blush fiercely and wish a hole in the ground would swallow me whole just about now, please.

"Do I have any tests coming up?" Edward repeats my question, trying not to laugh but obviously wondering why I would ask him such an inane thing.

I can't even move.

"Yeah, some," he stammers. "Why are you asking?"

_Because __my __rotten __therapist__ demanded __I__ did__ it,_ I think petulantly, but instead I shrug.

He breathes out a laugh, lost. "I have a few next week, much like you, I think," he finally answers.

It's true, I do too.

We sit in silence for a long while. We're supposed to be working on individual assignments and we both make our way steadily down the page.

"Hey, about tomorrow," Edward starts.

I look up at him slightly, to let him know I heard him.

"I know you never really agreed to come. Do you want to?"

I swallow a sudden lump in my throat away. He noticed and he's asking.

"I know it's perhaps a big step for you. And I'll understand if you don't want to. But it's truly a wonderful library and since you like to read, I'd thought you might like to go there."

When I still don't reply, he continues.

"When we get there, you can do your thing and I will do mine. We can just agree on a time to meet again. Sound good?"

Still, I can't decide.

"Just try it," he coaxes. "And see that it'll be fun. Wouldn't it be nice to be out of the house for a bit?"

That does it for me and I nod, nerves flaring and sweat breaking out on my back, but I nod.

I've done it. I've said yes.


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N I don't own Twilight**

_As ever, thanks to Sherry, Deb and Bob. Thank you, my readers, for all the wonderful, wonderful reviews. You're awesome!_

_Sometimes I get anon reviews and it breaks my heart that I can't reply. You can always consider to make an account and message me privately. You can also email me: at gmail I am doobawrites. Please contact me. You know who you are. _

_Edward plays piano in this chapter. His playlist:_ Moonlight Sonata - Beethoven; The Turkish Mars – Mozart; Comptine d'un autre été: L'après-midi – Yann Tiersen.

_I'm apprehensive about this chapter. Apologies in advance. I hope the library scene is what you hoped it to be!  
_

* * *

The drive to Port Angeles is filled with chatter, songs on the radio that are played slightly louder than others, banter and endless bickering between Rosalie and Edward. Those two are not the best of friends, still they rarely really fight.

Rosalie takes shotgun and Alice is next to me in the back. It's a full car but I'm not too tense I realize, just as long as they keep on chatting without trying to involve me in the conversation.

The weather is dreary, dark clouds wrapping the world in shrouds. All the cars on the roads have their headlights on and the wheels on the asphalt make the typical rushing sound of wet roads.

Edward parks in an underground parking garage and when we go out, Alice and he agree to text when we're going to meet up later.

Even in the garage it's bitingly cold and although I hate how it makes me defenseless, I shove my ice-cold hands into my coat pockets in the hopes of getting them warm. Being as light as I am has its perks but also its downsides — I can't keep myself warm even if I tried.

We say goodbye and part ways — Rosalie and Alice going left as we will go right.

And then suddenly I am all alone with Edward, in a very quiet and dimly lit underground parking garage.

Right.

Involuntarily tensing up, Edward either acts or is oblivious and he guides the way out of the building, onto the streets.

"The library is that way," he points. I follow a few steps behind him when he starts to walk, but after several feet he stops and turns.

Freezing, I look up at him.

"You can walk next to me, you know."

If I could speak, I would make up some sort of excuse that I don't know the way and need him to guide me.

"Bella," he starts, looking almost pleading, "I won't hurt you. Nothing will happen, I promise." A beat. "Come on, take a chance and see I am right."

He holds out his arm in invitation and I walk up to him, hesitantly, until we are side by side and he falls into step next to me, smiling at me to let me know he's all right with this.

I don't understand why he would want me to walk next to him, but there are a lot of conflicting arguments and emotions within me right now.

The library is unassuming, especially under the cover of heavy clouds. Edward follows me inside and I stop in the entrance hall to look around. Yes, it's been too long since I was in a place like this.

"Happy to be here?" Edward asks softly as he catches me smiling.

I blush and look down, biting my lip. But I nod.

"I hoped you would be," he whispers, and I can hear the smile in his words. "Want to see if we can get you a library card?"

I nod and follow him towards the desk, where a female librarian is looking at our approach over her half-moon glasses.

I sit down on the chair gingerly. Edward stands next to me, keeping his distance, finally realizing my need for space.

"She'd like to get a library card," Edward says softly.

"That's wonderful dear," the librarian says. "Do you have your identity card?"

I reach in my backpack for my wallet and give her my ID. Edward wanders off a bit but stays close, browsing through some leaflets in a stand.

"I'm sorry dear, this card says you live in Phoenix. Did you come to live here recently?"

Oh, shit. I nod.

"You can only get a full card here when you live in the area. Do you have something else with your new address on it perhaps, like a letter or a bill?"

I shake my head.

The librarian looks sympathetic. "I can give you a limited service card," she says, picking up my ID again. "You can borrow up to five items with that. Next time, give me proof of your address and you can get a full card. Okay?"

I nod, and she starts to put my data in the computer.

"What's your new address?" she asks. "I don't think you want your mail to go to Phoenix?"

I swallow at that thought and realize I don't even know where I currently live. Looking over my shoulder, I can see that Edward hasn't heard the librarian's question. Holding up my finger to indicate for her to wait, I get up from my chair and walk to Edward.

He doesn't notice me.

But I need his help for this. Gritting my teeth and with hammering heart, I hesitate for a long moment. Then I reach out and lightly touch his jacket by his elbow. He looks around and smiles when he sees me. Not upset at all that I'm asking for his help.

"You done?" he asks.

I shake my head and point at the librarian, who is now looking equal amounts of curious and confused.

Edward gets my point immediately however and he walks over to her. "I'm guessing you just asked her a question," he says kindly.

"I just wanted to know her address."

"Ah," Edward smiles again, and he recites the address so the woman can put it into the system as I try to memorize it.

He helps me to finish the subscription and the librarian gives me the temporary card and a general tour of the building. I smile in thanks and she wishes me the best of luck before she goes back to her desk.

"So, I take it you can find your way from here?" Edward asks as I look into the direction of the novels section.

Oh yes, I think I can.

"I'm going to go my own way for a bit. If you want more than five books, you can use my card," he says. "No problem. Come find me when you need me, ok? Or text me."

I nod again, and he smiles and leaves, leaving me standing in the library on my own.

For the first time in months, I am alone. I can't help but close my eyes for a moment and relax as the tension of all this time falls away. Inhaling deeply, I can smell the typical murky library scent, and when I open my eyes again I can't suppress my smile.

With new resolve I walk to the novel section of books and drown in titles, paper, words.

**~O~**

It's hard to have to make do with just five books. I have picked up several titles and put them back too, trying to make a decision. While I browse, my mind wanders back to the therapy session I had yesterday.

I had been resolved to not let down my guard this time and hadn't answered her questions at first. When she fell silent, I felt bad even though it was exactly what I had hoped to achieve.

"Mad at yourself at having worked with me the first time, are you?" Siobhan had asked suddenly.

It had taken some effort to not respond to her question, because she was so very right.

"That's okay. It's your own choice to answer my questions. It's your own choice to learn to deal."

Pressing my lips together I had steeled my resolve further.

"What are you afraid of? That I will use what you tell against you? I might. But not in the way you think. You're here for you, Bella. But I can't help you if you don't let me in."

I had been very close to writing down I didn't need help, but instead chose to remain unresponsive.

"Then answer just this one question for me," Siobhan had said. "Did you engage in communication last week?"

My blush wouldn't stay away when I thought back at the stupid question I asked Edward. Nodding once, Siobhan had smiled. "Well done. Try it again for next time. Our time is up now. I will see you next Tuesday."

I had walked away, not acknowledging her and trying to keep the confusion away from my face.

So now I will have to be back Tuesday. I'm not sure what to make of that. Somehow I had expected that if I didn't cooperate, Siobhan wouldn't want to help me. I wonder, and fear, what will happen next Tuesday. I can't even decide how I should behave then and the thought worries me.

Then again, I also don't really want Siobhan to stop seeing me, because then what will Esme and Carlisle think? Or do?

"Found anything?" Edward's voice is hushed as he slides on a chair at the table I am sitting on. Before me are seven books — I am trying to decide which one I will take with me. If Edward will take books, that is. I can't come back here to return the books by myself, and I can't expect him to help me returning the things when he doesn't take any himself.

"Looks nice," he says, his eyes scanning the books. "Want them all? You can put them on my card if you want."

I try to see if he has anything, but his hands are empty.

"I got some books, they're in my backpack."

Getting my phone, I ask him if it's okay if I take books, too.

"Of course," he says. "Didn't I just say that?"

_But I can't bring them back myself._

"I know. That's not a problem. Come on. Alice texted me, asked us if we want to join them for an hour or so. Do you want to?"

I look at him, thinking. Daring.

_Can I stay here?_

"Alone? I don't know, Bella."

Raising an eyebrow, I type again.

_I'm not a child._

"No, you aren't," he says, tugging his hair. "Of course you aren't. I can stay here with you though, if you want? I don't care much for shopping anyway."

I shrug, trying to let him know it's his decision. I don't want to keep him here.

Suddenly, a smile slowly appears on his face. "I have a better idea. Come."

He picks up my books and leads the way to a tiny coffee corner in the library.

"What do you want? Hot chocolate?"

I am about to refuse because I can't pay, but then remember I have my wallet with me. I nod as I scramble to get the money from my backpack, but Edward stops me with a word.

"My treat. Sit down, I'll be right back."

I do as I'm told and watch as Edward goes through the motions of ordering drinks for us. The girl behind the counter smiles shyly at him and Edward smiles back, and to my surprise I see that she is utterly flustered by him, forgetting her words and dropping the money when he hands it to her.

He reassures her and smiles again, and says goodbye pleasantly when he comes back to me, two mugs of hot chocolate with whipped cream topping in his hands.

"Here you go," he smiles.

I look from him to the girl and back to him, and Edward looks at me, confused. "What?"

I shake my head quickly. Again, either he's oblivious or he really doesn't care.

Looking to my right again, I can see the girl behind the counter looking back at me, her gaze shifting from me to Edward and back, and she narrows her eyes.

The urge to make it clear I am not with Edward in that way is frighteningly easy to suppress. It's none of her business, anyway.

"Cheers," Edward grins, holding the mug up to me, the whipped cream balancing precariously on top of it.

I clink my mug against his in a rare bout of reckless behavior and drink carefully when Edward looks away purposefully. The whipped cream touches the tip of my nose and when I lower the mug, Edward tries to suppress a laugh.

"There's a bit of white…" he points. Mortified, my blush explodes and my hands come up to my face to wipe away the offending cream.

Edward laughs again. "Don't worry. It's gone now." He drinks himself and discovers that he, too, can't drink without getting whipped cream on his face.

When I look up at him and see that the same thing happened to him, I point at him with a tiny gesture, and his smile grows as he cleans himself up too. We sit in a somewhat easy silence as we finish the drinks. I am relieved Edward doesn't feel the need to talk to me. Balancing being in a public space, alone with him, and drinking something on top of that is about all I can handle right now.

Still, being out of the house is glorious and I am infinitely more relaxed here than at home.

"Want another?"

I shake my head. I'm sure to get sick if I do.

"Some tea then, perhaps? Or coffee? We have half an hour left before we have to meet Alice and Rose."

Holding up one finger, Edward smiles and he's off again, buying us new drinks. Again he refuses to let me pay him back, with money that isn't even my own, no less. We finish these drinks too in easy silence and Edward helps me carry my books to the checkout. As promised, he takes two of the books on his own card and hands them back to me so I can put them in my bag.

Once outside, the cold nearly takes my breath away. Every exhale escapes in tiny with puffs, verifying that indeed, it is colder now than it was this morning.

"If you think this is cold," Edward murmurs as he looks at me, my shoulders hunched against the biting wind.

We walk back to the car and arrive nearly at the same time with Alice and Rosalie, who are carrying several shopping bags.

Alice at once starts rummaging through one of the bags and holds out something to me as Rosalie asks, "Find something nice?"

I nod at Rosalie as I take what Alice is giving me. Gloves, a thick scarf and a hat. Dark red, almost brown, the color is lovely, as is the promise of warmth they bring.

But, how to pay for this?

"Take it," Alice says, her cheeks rosy from the cold. "You need them."

She's right about that, at least. I pull the hat over my ears and wrap the scarf around my neck, not even really surprised it matches my coat. The gloves come on last, and immediately I start to feel a bit warmer.

"You're welcome," she says sweetly and I smile back, genuinely grateful. I will find a way to pay her back. I will.

**~O~**

On Sunday, Alice is gone from the house again, shopping for Christmas. She asked me to come but I have declined. The first few wish lists are appearing on the fridge, enumerations of desired gifts from Emmett, Alice and Carlisle. Emmett's handwriting is nearly unreadable and I dare say worse than mine.

Esme catches me perusing the lists and smiles. "Will you make yours, too?"

I sigh and press my lips together, unable to explain to her I wouldn't know what to ask or how to ask for it. I'd be more comfortable if they would just leave me out of this entirely.

"Come sit with me," she says, leading me to the kitchen table. Out of nowhere she has produced a notepad and pen, which she hands to me. "What would you like for Christmas?"

I shrug and shake my head. I don't know.

"Is there anything you miss from your old life? It could be practical things too, you know."

I shake my head again, twisting the pen between my fingers.

"Perhaps there's a book you'd like to have, or a movie or a CD? Alice provided you with one set of gloves, but perhaps you'd like another?"

Again I try to convey that I don't know.

"Of course you do. What's stopping you?" she asks softly, leaning forward a bit.

I swallow, hating that she seems to understand my hesitation.

"It's okay to want things, Bella," she says softly. "We _want_ you to want things. We won't take them away."

I meet her gaze and she looks so sincere. Again she slides her hand forward over the table toward me, turning it palm up in invitation.

I want it. I want it so badly. Moving the pen to my other hand, I almost move my right hand into the direction of hers. But my body blocks and freezes, and panic roars in my chest. No, no I can't.

"That's okay," Esme soothes so softly I can barely hear her. "That's okay."

We sit in silence for a while, and I wonder if I can leave or not.

"Try to make your list over the next week. It's easier for us to buy you gifts if you help us along."

Finally, I write.

_You don't have to do this. I can just sit and watch._

The look of horror that appears on her face makes me feel like I have offended her to the core.

"You are a part of this family Bella, and we want you to partake in family activities. Exchanging gifts at Christmas is something we want you to join in, too."

Silence. I search her face carefully for signs of anger.

"Tell me. Tell me what worries you so in this."

Torn, I feel like my chest cracks open wide as I write.

_I __can__'__t__ pay __you __back_.

"Isn't that the concept of gifts?" She is confused, and I am frustrated.

Esme thinks for a long moment, then shakes her head. "I don't understand."

Swallowing, and with a throat that feels suddenly tight, I write again.

_I'm scared._

I can't show her this, but she reads before I can change my mind.

"Why, honey?" So much compassion…

Oh, this is so hard.

_I always have to pay back._

My fingers shake when I write and my usual horrible writing becomes even worse. I hide the words from Esme, half afraid I am giving her ideas, but she coaxes the paper away from me and reads the words.

The silence stretches as she swallows and reads again. Then she meets my gaze.

"Here, you don't have to pay back. Not for gifts, and not for anything else you get from us."

I look away.

"I mean it, Bella."

I nod, but we both know that just words won't make me believe it.

"Thank you for sharing this with me," Esme says softly. "I know how hard this must be for you."

I don't move until she's gone from the table and I spend the rest of the day cleaning my room and bathroom, desperately trying to forgive myself for giving Esme such a dangerous piece of information.

**~O~**

On Tuesday I have therapy. I'm nearly sick with dread of facing her again but Siobhan is nice as ever, greeting me with a smile and setting a cup of tea in front of me when I sit down.

"Cold, isn't it?"

I nod, on guard.

"So, did you have a good weekend?"

I nod again, but realize that she is once more asking just innocent questions to get me to communicate. I pull my guard back up, wrapping it tightly around me.

Siobhan sits back, raising one eyebrow. "Bella, why are you here? You don't have to answer me, but have you asked yourself this?"

The silence stretches as I try very hard to not think about her question.

"Do you think it will help if you keep up this behavior?"

I don't react, forcing myself to keep still.

"Let me phrase it differently. What are you trying to achieve by acting like this? Again, don't answer me, just ask yourself this."

Fuck. Fuck it all.

"I am perfectly fine with it if you keep on refusing to talk to me. You're not here for me. But I think it's a waste of both your and my time."

In a sudden rush of boldness, I stand up from the couch.

"Where are you going?" Siobhan asks calmly.

I point at the door and start to walk toward it. Only when my hand is on the doorknob, Siobhan speaks again.

"Giving up so soon?"

I swallow, shaking because my heart is hammering so hard.

"I didn't think you would actually. I thought you would fight harder."

_She__'__s __trying __to __get __to__ you_, my mind warns. _Don__'__t __let __her __get __under __your __skin_.

"Well? What's stopping you? You can open that door and walk out."

I find I can't move. I sense she's not done talking, yet I just don't want to know what she'll say next.

"What will you do when you get home, by the way?"

_I do nothing, that's what I'll do. I'll go on being the utter failure I have always been._

"If you want to change, Bella, for whatever reason, walking out is not the way to achieve that. But you're free to go if you want to. In all honesty, I thought it was pretty soon to start therapy. Maybe you're not ready."

I hate her. _Hate_ her for making me think and reconsider.

"You've been through so much," Siobhan says softly. Her tone of voice changes, becomes gentler, compassionate. "I mean, you need more time to process it all. Do you ever even think about it?"

Gritting my teeth, I count to ten. Eleven, twelve, thirteen…

My grip tightens around the doorknob until it starts to hurt. I grip harder. It was all my fault. There's no use feeling sorry over it, because it was my fault.

"Do you dream about it?" Siobhan asks. Her voice is still so kind, so patient. A lump gets stuck in my throat. I don't want her to get through to me but everything she says is right. "Are you still so very scared? The violence stopped, didn't it?"

I can't react, can't reply.

"But it controls you still?" Her voice so soft, so understanding. "It's such a burden to bear. But you don't have to bear it alone, Bella—"

I cut her words short by banging my left wrist against the wall, the pain sharp but clearing my mind wonderfully.

I don't want compassion. I don't deserve it and she knows nothing, _nothing_ about what happened to me.

Siobhan is silent for long moments as I regain my composure, try to get my breathing back to normal again.

"Is it hard to hear me say this?"

Still, I can't react. Silence stretches as I stand facing the door, my wrist now throbbing, keeping me grounded.

"Tell me," Siobhan continues, her voice still so patient. "What you endured… do you think it was reasonable considering your wrongdoings?

No, don't go there. Don't do that.

I crumple, bending at the waist and holding myself together with my arms, but barely.

"It's hard to think about that, isn't it?" Siobhan says so softly it's barely a whisper.

I nod, unable to be stoic anymore, and cry.

"I know," she whispers. "I know."

**~O~**

The week is slow. I focus extra on my homework, trying to kill time, trying to kill my thoughts, mostly. Siobhan has made me think and I don't like it. I push it away violently, refusing to think about her words. I can't. I'm not ready to think of that. Life is easier when I can make it make sense. But my logic is starting to fail.

So I help Alice with Trig and I rehearse for tests with extra vigor, feeling it's important to get good grades in school. I spend every free second on my Gym assignment. I covertly listen to Edward who plays on the piano more and more often.

It's the typical dark weeks before Christmas when time usually seems to be standing still for me.

In the Cullen house however, time does not stand still. On various surfaces tiny bowls with sweets appear. I'm told I can take them but I don't dare. Emmett pays Esme's warnings to not take too many no heed and every time he passes a bowl he snatches a treat.

Esme has put up stockings on the mantelpiece, and there is one with my name on it, too. To my utter surprise I notice how they seem to fill further every few days. I am dying with curiosity to check my stocking, because from the outside it is obvious that there is something in it. I contain myself.

There's a strange, warm excitement in my guts however just at seeing a stocking with my name on it, filled with a gift. The feeling is alien and not unpleasant, even though I'm not sure what to make of it.

Under the Christmas tree, gifts also start to appear. I catch Alice on Wednesday as she arranges some packages underneath the tree, all labeled and carefully wrapped with bows. I see my name a few times and again that strange excitement glows.

"We have to arrange a shopping trip," Alice says softly, still kneeling by the Christmas tree. "I can help you to buy gifts for the others if you want. Do you know what you would like to buy?"

I nod. I couldn't sleep last night so I thought of what I would give the others if I got the chance. It was better than to think of Siobhan's words at any rate.

"That's good. Do you think you are up to going out this weekend? It would be just the two of us, or maybe Rose wants to come, too."

I nod carefully, not really at ease with her proposal but dying to get out of the house. And she really sounds like she wants to take me along.

"Okay. We'll figure out the details later. Hey," she adds when she sees my hesitating gaze. "Don't worry so much. We _want_ you to come."

I nod and she smiles sweetly, turning back to arranging the gifts underneath the tree.

Time moves steadily in the house, but not at school. I try to focus on the lessons as much as I can, but can't always ignore the people.

Mike Newton is impossible. Edward has warned him away a few times more and I just try to ignore him, refusing to look at him, but he just doesn't have a clue.

As long as it stays with greetings and, admittedly, one-sided conversations, I try not to worry about it too much. But it's hard. He comes too close and the urge to just push him away becomes stronger every day.

He's not nasty, just annoying. I really wish he would leave me alone, but warning him away is not helping.

Lauren and Jessica become more and more frustrating, especially when they notice that Mike has been seeking me out.

"He'll tire of you quickly enough," Lauren sneers in Spanish on Thursday. "I mean, you're not much to look at, and it's not like you put up very entertaining conversation." She laughs and Jessica laughs with her, as do some of the other students.

I focus on my book, not caring about her words. I _want_ Mike to tire of me. Deep down I hope they are right and he will leave me alone soon.

"Don't think you can get him," Jessica says haughtily. "You'll never keep him, anyway."

Frowning, I look away. Just leave me be. I'm not even going to bother and write them a note to tell them I don't want Mike. If they can't see this either, they're blind. I want no one. I just want to be left alone.

But something in Jessica's voice lingers in my thoughts and I realize _she_ wants him. Well, I won't stand in her way. Not a hair's width. They'd be a perfect pair together. My guts churn and I bite my tongue to distract myself from whatever chaos of thoughts is trying to get hold in my head.

During lunch, Mike comes over to our table, but both Alice and Edward shield me from him, distracting him so he can't get to me. I am relieved and thank them after Mike has left again.

"He's such an ass," Alice grumbles, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I wish he would just get the message."

"If he ever does something out of line," Rosalie says quietly on my other side, "don't be afraid to push him away. Alert someone, if you can. Don't take any shit from him. You don't have to accept anything from him, okay?"

I nod, not looking at her, just like she's not looking at me. Her words are fierce, but supporting. I hope it won't ever come to that, but I have a gut feeling.

And my gut feeling is always right.

Edward walks me to Gym but has to hurry to make it to Spanish in time. As Mike is nowhere to be seen, he says goodbye with his crooked smile and leaves in a rush, his long legs carrying him away quickly.

I walk to the teacher's office and knock, letting Coach Clapp know I am reporting for duty. He opens the door and greets me, wishes me luck and makes his way to the Gym room.

It's easy like that, and I am still relieved every day that this impossible problem got such an elegant solution.

Just as I turn around to go to the library, Mike walks around the corner, very late for Gym.

Where has he been in the meantime? He left Biology before I did.

"Oh, hi Bella!" he greets, his smile too big, his eyes too bright. "Are you going to work on your thesis?"

I nod, wanting to leave, but he stops me by blocking my path.

Panic explodes in my backbone. _Stay__ calm_, I reprimand myself. _Please__ stay __calm_.

"How's that coming along?"

I struggle to make sense of his words, and when I understand that he's asking about the thesis, I shrug and nod half-heartedly.

"If you ever need any help with it, perhaps I could assist you," Mike says, stepping up closer to me.

I step backward reflexively, creating distance.

"Newton! Are you coming to class anytime soon?" Coach Clapp bellows out from the door to the Gym room.

Mike blanches and sprints into the guy's locker room immediately, leaving me alone in the hallway.

I wait a minute until my heart has calmed down somewhat and go to the library, but the hour is lost. I can't focus on anything. My gut feeling is in the way.

Back at home, Esme looks me over, but doesn't say anything. After dinner, Edward plays the piano and I sit in the window seat of the parlor, looking into the darkness and listening to the music.

I'm relatively comfortable here after Edward reassured me a few times that he really doesn't mind when I come to listen to him play.

When the song dies down, he clears his throat. "Any requests?"

I turn a bit to look at him and he catches my gaze, smiling slightly. "Clair de Lune, perhaps?"

I shake my head. I'm not in the mood for that song.

"Or something more upbeat?" Without looking at the keys he starts playing a fast, light song. I recognize it, but I don't know what it's called.

Edward grins and focuses on the keys. "It's the Turkish Mars by Mozart," he says over the sound of the piano.

"God, I remember when you were learning that one," Emmett says as he walks into the room. "I fucking _dreamed_ of that song."

Edward laughs, picking up the speed of the song until he's playing so quickly I can barely keep up with the notes.

Emmett laughs and groans theatrically. Edward laughs along and finishes the song. Then he starts something completely different. I don't know it, but it's beautiful.

"Oh," Alice sighs as she steps into sight. "I know this one. I love it." She walks up to Edward and sits next to him on the piano stool, leaning her head against his shoulder as he plays. She sighs happily, closing her eyes.

I almost can't hear the music anymore as I take in Alice and Edward. She's so at ease with him and he smiles down at her, such a loving brotherly look in his eyes. For the first time I realize how close they must be. They are twins, after all.

Alice stays in the same position until the song ends, and when the last notes die away, Edward hugs her against his side.

Alice sighs again and sits back up. "Thanks. It's been ages since you played that one."

Edward nods in acknowledgement and Alice walks away again, her hand touching his shoulder as she walks past him.

They make it look so easy… They really do.

**~O~**

Friday is dark, cold, dreary. I am apprehensive about the upcoming therapy session, but there's also still this gut feeling I just can't shake.

"You're tense," Alice observes when we arrive in the parking lot.

I shrug and she lets it go. Everybody has become a bit easier around me, I think, and it has become easier for me to let them know I'm not always comfortable. They seem to understand this and give me the much-needed alone time I so crave.

It also has resulted in them leaving me alone sometimes to go from class to class on my own, and after Government, nobody is there to collect me. The teacher calls my name just as I am about to leave the room, and I turn, immediately wary.

"I just wanted to compliment you on the quality of your work," he says gruffly. "It wouldn't do to not notice it."

I look away, uneasy, as the last of the students leave class.

"You're a talented student. Anyway, enjoy your break," he tells me then, and I turn to leave the room quickly, glad to be dismissed.

The hallways are nearly empty and I turn to go toward the spot where I usually spend break time with some of the Cullens.

Mike intercepts me, saying my name in greeting. I keep walking, not wanting to be alone with him. Two corners to go. Just two.

"Hey, ehm, I meant it yesterday when I offered you my help," Mike says, tagging along. "I noticed you're a bit uncomfortable around others, but don't worry. I don't mind. I can help you with that."

One corner. One more corner. Just one.

Mike steps in front of me, stopping me. Again, I step back from him. "See? That's what I mean. I can help you with that, Bella. I think that if you just got someone who took care of you…"

I break him off by walking around him. The corner is in sight. Almost there…

Yes, I've turned it. I can see Alice, Jasper and Edward at the end of the hallway, chatting. Rosalie is there too, with Emmet. My heart hammers, I want to run but force myself to walk at a normal speed.

Mike catches up, once more blocking my way. His hand cups my cheek and I freeze, almost wetting myself in the paralyzing fear that overtakes me. "You just need a good example, I think. I can be that for you, Bella. Just trust me, and I can make it good for you."

I push his hand away, panicking. I don't want his words. I don't want him near me. Unable to make it through the hallway to get Alice, and not wanting to bother her with my impending, massive panic attack, I push Mike further away from me and turn left to enter an empty classroom.

This hallway is such that the classrooms only have windows in the outer wall, and a tiny window in the door to keep an eye on the room. I close the door behind me, hoping to God that Mike got the message and will leave me alone. I go to the corner, out of sight from the tiny glass in the door.

I am gasping for breath, my chest already aching with my hyperventilation. I sink down on the floor to my knees and dig my nails into my palms. The pain calms me somewhat but I am so upset, so shocked. What Mike offered me makes me sick, and to top it all off I pushed him away. _I_ touched _him_.

But he cupped my face. My skin prickles and burns where he touched me and I rub my cheek angrily to get rid of the feeling.

Behind me, the door opens and closes softly.

"Are you okay?" Mike asks.

Oh no, don't let him be here. I turn so quickly it makes me dizzy and get up, still hyperventilating and panicking, seeking a way out and away from him. But he's coming toward me, his hands held up in surrender.

"Calm down."

I move to my left but he simply alters his course and he's still coming my way. With gut-wrenching fear making my legs feel like lead I try to walk around him, but he's too near me now, and he places his hands on my shoulders to stop me.

"Calm down," he says again. "I won't hurt you. You don't have to be afraid."

His touch… Oh God help me. He's pulling me toward him, and when I resist he pulls harder. My throat closes up in panic and I see black spots dancing in my vision. I can't shut down now, it's too dangerous. I have to get out of here.

I throw my arms up to push his away and he blinks in shock before a sudden grim look of determination settles on his face. Before I realize what he is doing, he has turned me and hooked his elbows under my armpits, bringing his hands up to the back of my head.

In utter horror I feel how the movement forces my arms away from my body, rendering them useless. His fingers interlink on the back of my head, pushing my head forward, my chin to my chest. Jesus fuck this _hurts_.

My entire back is against his front, I can feel every inch of him. "This is for your own good," he tells me, his voice harsh with the force of his movements.

In my head, I'm screaming, but even the mental scream is cut short because I shut down completely, going limp and falling down to the ground with Mike still holding me in this impossible position.

"That's right, just relax now," he says.

We're on the floor, and his legs come around mine, but I don't feel it anymore. I'm far away, feeling as if I am looking down at the scene from above. Mike keeps on holding me, using way too much force, putting strain on my neck. It reminds me of the last night with Stefan and I pull back further, retreat deeper into my mind.

In that moment, the door of the classroom bursts open with a loud bang.

"Michael! What the fuck!" Edward roars. Quick footsteps come near and I'm pushed forward and back, and then Mike's grip is gone from me and I am alone.

"I was helping her, you idiot!" Mike shouts.

Are they fighting? Edward is shouting at him. "Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

Not really hearing anything, I curl up in a tight ball, my eyes unable to close. I can see the dust on the floor and the wall of the room, and then Alice's face as she lies down in front of me, looking into my eyes.

She's crying.

I don't really register it.

Behind me, sounds of struggle. Raised voices.

"Can't you see what you've done?" Edward hisses.

"She was panicking," Mike defends himself.

"Because of _you_!" Alice snaps, her voice high. "You _idiot!_" She turns back to me. "Bella, can you hear me? Please Bella, are you okay?"

I can't react. I can't do anything. I can't even blink.

"Shit, what happened?" It's Emmett's voice.

"_Mike_," Edward says by way of explanation.

More sounds of struggle. "You made her panic like that? Shall I make _you_ panic like that?" Emmett's voice is dark, protective. Angry.

I can't move. I want to see, to protect myself, but I can't move.

"No, man. Let go of me," Mike says.

"No," Emmett growls. "You're not getting away with this. We've warned you away, Bella warned you away. This is assault, and you're going to pay."

"Whatever," Mike says haughtily. "I was helping her."

"Some help," Edward snaps.

"Bella?" Alice's voice is tiny.

"I called mom." Rosalie. "She's on her way. Fuck off, there's nothing to see here. Yes, you heard me. _Leave._"

Are there students? Oh, no.

"Jasper, can you go out and wait for mom?"

"Somebody kindly explain what happened here." Principal Greene.

Too many voices. I shut down further. I can't do it anymore.

"Hang in there, Bella," Alice says softly. "It'll be all right."

**~O~**

Voices blur together until it's one chaos of sounds I can no longer make any sense of. The floor is cool, the cold creeping through my clothes and into my bones. Yet I can't move.

I hear my name multiple times, but I can't keep focused long enough to hear what they are saying. It's best to stay here, to hide.

I'm sure I'm in for it now.

There's nothing I can do but wait.

**~O~**

"Bella?" Edward. "Bella, can you hear me? Can you give me any sign you can hear me?"

"She's not reacting, Edward." Alice is still lying in front of me, trying to look into my eyes. My vision is blurry now. I haven't blinked in such a long time I can't see much anymore. "Bella, can you get up?"

No.

"Can you lift her?" That's Esme. Oh Esme, I'm so sorry…

"I don't know. She's really not responding."

"I think she can hear us," Alice says softly. "Bella? Everybody is gone now. We're going to take you home, okay?"

Silence.

Movement, behind me. I can't see. I'm scared.

Please don't hurt me.

Edward's voice, closer by now. "I'm sorry, Bella. I'm going to lift you now. I'm sorry," he says again. His voice sounds so tight.

A hand under my shoulders, an arm under my knees.

"Don't be afraid, it's just me," Edward says softly. "Here we go, one, two…" On three I leave the ground.

I'm so scared, but there's nothing I can do. I am locked up in my own mind.

Edward holds me against his chest, leaning back a bit for balance. My head rolls with the shift in gravity and comes to rest against his shoulder.

I know this scent.

My arm dangles in nothingness.

"I have you," Edward says quietly. "I won't let you fall, Bella. We'll take you home now, okay? I'll bring you to the car."

He starts to walk, my head rolling against his chest with every step. At the door of the room he stops.

"Her arm."

With enormous effort I have my brain signal my arm to pull it in. It feels like it weighs a thousand stone, but I manage to do it. My hand comes to rest against Edward's chest, but I can't get it to move again. I can only hope he won't mind.

"See?" Alice says. "She's aware."

Edward steps out into the deserted hallway. I can only see ceiling, partly obscured by Edward's chest and arm. But the atmosphere in the hall is different, open. Fear overwhelms me and my hand clenches into a fist involuntarily, grasping Edward's sweater tightly in my hand.

"Hold on to me," he whispers so softly I'm sure only I can hear. "I won't let you down, Bella. I won't leave."

**~O~**

The car ride home is a blur. I am still unable to do anything when Esme pulls up into the garage. She's on the phone to Carlisle in the car. I can't focus on her conversation. I can hear no words that would draw my attention even in this state.

"Bella, can you walk?"

Are you kidding? I can't even blink.

"I'm going to lift you again," Edward says. "I'm sorry, I know you much you hate this, but we have to get you out of the car, okay?"

His arms around me and he counts again, preparing me to be moved once more.

"Where do I take her?" Edward asks.

"Her room?" Esme suggests.

No, no I don't want to go there right now. The hand that is resting against Edward's chest again turns into a fist once more, pulling on the fabric on Edward's sweater.

"Bella? Is that a yes or a no?" Edward asks softly. "Can you release your fist if you want to go to your room?"

I clench, with all my might I clench.

"The library," Esme suggests. "I'll get some extra pillows. She can lounge in the window seat?"

My hand releases. The library sounds so very good to me right now.

Edward sets course for the library slowly, navigating smoothly through the house. Esme walks past him at some point, holding a bulge of things I can't define.

His scent with every breath I take.

It's all hazy. It's still so hard to focus. And then I remember how Mike's chest pressed into my back and I retreat even further.

"Ssh," Edward hushes. Did he notice my reaction?

He carefully lowers me on soft cushions, cradling my head for a moment as he places it gently against a pillow. My breathing picks up a little at the unease his touch brings, but he releases me as quickly as possible and steps back so Esme can place a blanket over me.

My head rolls so I can focus outside, looking out the window, seeing nothing.

"Bella?" she asks softly. "Take your time coming out. I am so sorry for what happened. Mike was really out of line and he will have to face the consequences for his actions. You are not to blame for what happened, I want you to know that. We're here for you, okay? We're not angry. Just take your time. We're near."

Her words swirl inside my head, but the only meaning I can derive from them is that she doesn't seem to be angry.

I'm so numb.

"Edward, you have to go back to school, honey."

"No, mom. I don't want to leave her."

"I am here, and your dad is on his way home. You can easily go back for the last three lessons of the day."

Carlisle is coming. I retreat further and what little strength I had gotten back leaves my body again. I sink deeper into the window seat.

"I have ten minutes before I have to go back. I'm staying here until then."

"That's okay, Edward. And thank you, for helping. Thank you for stepping in."

From my peripheral vision, I see Edward shaking his head. "I was too late. He was already on her when I came to find her."

"You helped, Edward."

"I should have noticed it sooner."

"You can't always be there for her."

"What if I hadn't seen her, mom? Would she have come out at some point and never told us what had happened?"

The silence is heavy but in my head the answer rings.

_Yes_.

**~O~**

Voices, again. Esme talking. She's close. Am I still in the library?

Bright light in my eyes but I can't even squint against the flare. "Her pupil reactions are good and her breathing is steady. I guess she just needs time to come out again," Carlisle says.

A beat.

"God, I can't _believe_ anyone would do this to her," he suddenly hisses, turning away from me. "Couldn't that kid see how fragile she is? Look at her, hasn't she been through enough?"

His hands go through his hair, messing up his immaculate hairdo.

"I know, Carlisle. I am upset, too."

"I want that kid suspended. Hell, I want him removed from that school. He had _no_ right to do this to her."

"Ssh," Esme soothes. "Let's not upset Bella."

"I'm not angry with her. How could I ever be? How can we expect her to heal when idiots like that Newton kid act like that?"

"I know. I never thought something like this could even happen."

"What is this world coming to," he says, softer now. "How can anyone who looks at her even think of doing her wrong?"

Rustle of cloth, from the corner of my eye I see them standing close together.

"Let's not crowd her," Esme says quietly. "She needs time and space to come out again. Bella? We're going to the living room now. Come out whenever you are ready, okay?"

They leave the door ajar and I sit in silence, unseeing, hearing the faint sounds elsewhere in the house. The others come home, muffled voices far away.

Nobody bothers me. I just need to sit here and process, I think. It's weird, I never was this lucid after shutting down, nor did it ever take so long to come out. Perhaps I could if I used enough will power, but I find I can't muster the energy. Basically, I couldn't care less.

The softest of piano notes drift through the door and to my ears. The song starts hesitantly and it sounds as if the player tries to start over several times, but I know the song and I know it's part of it. It's the first song I heard Edward play, when I came back from doing groceries with Esme.

The song fills my senses and makes me come back to myself. I find I can blink more easily, I can move my fingers, lick my lips. Swallow. Stretch my sore back a little, stiff from having been sitting in the window seat for so long. Move my jaw, my neck. My hands, and then my arms.

Finally, I can sit up, feeling dizzy, heavy. The events finally come back to me with astute clarity. Mike seeing me panic, trying to calm me down in the most bizarre way possible. Holding me in some sort of grip, immobilizing me. Thinking he'd succeeded when I shut down and all the fight left me.

Edward, shouting, pulling Mike off me. Protecting me. He carried me home. It didn't even alarm me, which alarms me now. He was so kind. Helped me.

He pulled Mike off me. He had been angry at him.

He fought for me when I couldn't.

Like Emmett. Like Alice. Like Rosalie. Even Jasper. They were all there and they helped. Me. Helped me.

Carlisle saying that he wasn't angry with me, but with Mike. Wanting him expelled.

And Edward carried me home.

My legs finally have the strength I need to get up and walk to the open door of the library.

Edward looks up at me as I lean against the door frame and as he plays the last notes of the song, he smiles comfortingly.

None of all the expected emotions surface. Instead, I dip my head in thanks and smile back.

* * *

_*chants* Everything happens for a reason... Mike will not get away with this, I promise!_


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N Twilight is not mine.**

_Hello all. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! You are awesome! Thanks for all the messages too - I'm trying to reply to you all! _

_Chapter 40... To me it's a milestone. Thanks to everyone who is taking this journey with the Cullens and Bella, and with me. This chapter is extra long, to celebrate!  
_

_I've been very insecure about this chapter. Endless thanks to Sherry, Deb and Bob, who read version after version of this. Lots of thanks too to Mels78 and Darcysmom, who stepped in to help me out this one time. You all rock!_

_I have posted an epov of the end of chapter 39 in the companion fic Shreds. Read it for a full picture (or if you want to know how Edward felt when Bella grasped his sweater). You will learn that in this chapter, Bella doesn't know what the Cullen brothers know. Enjoy!_

* * *

I'm surprisingly calm after the event. A certain numbness has settled over me when I shut down and it seems to linger, preventing me from thinking back too much on what happened.

What swirls in my mind on repeat however, are the words of the other Cullens. Emmett's dark voice, asking Mike if he should make him panic like that. Edward, asking Mike what he had done. Rosalie, keeping other students away, protecting me from more mortification. Alice, on the cold, dirty ground before me, crying. Even Jasper had been there, getting Esme. I don't even remember Esme arriving.

I can't remember what happened after Principal Greene stepped into the room and it frustrates me to no end.

What will happen now? Carlisle told Esme he wanted Mike to pay for this, but what will they do? What will they do to _me _when they find out what really happened?

What will the other Cullens do when they realize they jumped in to protect me from something I had started myself?

Because I started it. I pushed Mike away, didn't I?

Rosalie catches my gaze when I walk from the kitchen, on my way to my room. She doesn't say anything, but she seems to be searching for something I don't know. I do hope she can tell by my expression how grateful I am that she kept the other students away. It was she who understood that I didn't want to be seen.

I wish I could thank her, and it's not the first time I think this.

They leave me alone, mostly, I notice. Looking at me with worrying gazes, afraid I might break down again I guess.

Edward is the only one who dares to come closer on Friday night, when maddening thirst for something sweet has driven me from my room one more time.

He leans on the breakfast counter as he regards me fixing a drink. With a sideways glance at him, I get a second glass and fill it for him. He accepts it with a smile.

"You okay?" he asks after a long silence.

I nod slowly, hiding behind my drink.

Edward shifts his weight to his other foot and drinks, his throat bobbing as he swallows. "I don't even know what to say. I'm still upset over what happened."

Oh no, is he upset that I needed help? I plead with him with my eyes, and when he sees my gaze he hastens to speak.

"Not with you, silly! With Mike."

I can only blink and Edward pauses. Then he frowns. "Why would I be upset with you?"

Blushing, I look away. When he realizes he's not going to get an answer, he frowns again. "I'm not, at any rate. How could I be?"

Jasper calls him from the living room, and he looks over his shoulder into the direction of the voice.

"Duty calls," he smiles apologetically. "Will you be okay?"

Eh, yeah.

As he leaves, I need a moment to collect myself.

I'm getting more and more apprehensive for them to discover the real truth.

This apprehension roars fiercely when Carlisle and Esme sit me down early Saturday afternoon, just as Emmett, Jasper and Edward have come back home after a trip to the store.

Esme and Carlisle tell me that Mike will be suspended from school for three days. My fear of him wanting retribution for this explodes and my eyes go wide as I start to shake my head.

What happened was my fault. He should not get punishment for that.

"No, listen to me," Carlisle says softly, but sternly. "What he did was assault, Bella. Other students have seen how you tried to walk away from him and he wouldn't let you. He followed you into the classroom and the next thing we know is that he was holding you to the ground. This is not acceptable behavior and he will face the consequences for that. Even if you don't think this is necessary, the school thinks it is." A beat. "Personally I would have liked to see him expelled, but since there were no lasting injuries and it was his first time to be out of line, he'll merely be suspended for a few days. He was wildly out of line, there's no doubt about that."

"Not to mention that you, as well as the other children, have warned him off and told him to leave you alone," Esme adds. "What he did, Bella, it's really not acceptable. He had no right to do what he did."

Her voice breaks and I feel the need to comfort her. Instead I tilt my head at them. They feel really strongly about what happened.

But my behavior set him off, didn't it? If I hadn't panicked, this would not have happened. I write this down.

_My fault. I panicked._

"Why did you panic?" Carlisle asks, carefully neutral. "Can you tell us?"

Ah fuck.

"Was it something Mike did?"

I nod, uneasy. But I pushed him away after all, so it's not so weird he'd come back for me to get retribution. I started it.

"Bella, it's important to us to know what happened exactly," Esme says softly. "We won't be angry with you, even if you feel you were in the wrong."

"It's okay," Carlisle adds. "Can you show us what he did?"

I'd rather die, but they're not going to let this go. Besides, I really think it was my fault that he acted like he did, and I don't want him suspended. So perhaps it's best for them to know what exactly happened. And so I force myself to move, but my eyes tear up in distress regardless. I cup my own cheek in the hopes they will understand.

"He touched you like that?" Esme asks perceptively.

I nod, and write.

_Told me he would make it good for me._

Esme's eyes flash but she hides it quickly again. "What happened next? You're doing wonderful, Bella. You're helping us, and yourself with this."

_I walked away._

"That was very good of you," Esme says. "Very strong. What happened next? Did he follow you?"

I swallow and nod.

_Into the empty classroom. Wouldn't leave._

"He followed you when you made it clear you wanted away from him?"

I nod and choke up as I write further, upset I am so distraught over this, but now that I am writing, I can't stop.

_Held me, hands on my shoulders. Pushed him away. He_

I can't write anymore, too upset to form the words.

"Is that when he held you down?" Carlisle asks.

I nod, tears spilling over and dripping from my chin into my lap.

Carlisle looks away and curses under his breath. "He had no right to do that to you. You made it clear to him you didn't want him around and even if you hadn't, what he did was wrong. Thank you for telling us. This was not your fault, Bella. Not at all. And it's not your fault you panicked. Are you okay?"

I can't answer his question. I am not okay. I shall have to spell it out.

_I pushed him. I started it._

"You feel like you had this coming because you pushed him away?" Carlisle clarifies.

I nod, choking on my sobs as I try to hold them back. It's ridiculous I am crying over something that's my fault.

"But tell me, why did you push him away in the first place?" Carlisle's voice is gentle, patient. As much as I don't want to, I listen to his words and think.

I pushed him away because he touched me.

And I don't like to be touched.

"He did something you did not like, and when you walked away he still came after you. It is perfectly justifiable that you would push him away. It's self-defense. Can you understand that?"

Silence falls as I try to process these words. Still, they don't make sense. I've been taught to not fight back. By pushing him, I started it. I underline these last words on the notepad and show them again.

"Have you learned that it is better not to fight?" Esme asks softly after a long moment.

I don't have to reply, I think they can see the answer in my eyes.

"Bella, I don't know how else I can try to explain to you that what you did was _right_," Carlisle says, his voice still patient and gentle. "You did not want to be touched and he had no right to touch you against your will. You pushed him off. It was self-defense," he repeats.

I look at him blankly. From a very young age I have learned that if someone wants something, I am to give it. However much I don't like it.

Then Esme speaks again and my gaze shifts to her. "You are master of your own body. I know that in your past this has been blatantly disrespected, but here, _you_ are the one who decides who touches you and how. We are so proud of you for having tried to fight Mike off. It was a normal reaction to do so, too. We certainly don't blame you for fighting him."

It's the word _normal_ that gets to me. The concept of being normal has been in my mind so much lately and now Esme tells me that fighting for yourself is part of being normal? I need time to think.

"You see?" Carlisle asks. "What happened was not your fault."

Oh no, that's not true. Because if I had not pushed Mike away, he might not have held me down like that. I write down as much.

"What would have happened if you had not pushed him away?" Esme asks kindly. "Would he have left you alone?"

Unbidden, images of what could have happened come to my mind. He might have been gentler, but he would not have stopped. An arm around my shoulders perhaps, a forced hug. Maybe even more than that, but my mind refuses to conjure the image. The thought of him touching my like that, compared to the more forceful result of my wanting him to leave me alone, is somehow worse.

I shudder and look down at my lap.

"What happened was horrible. But wouldn't you think it is easier to come to terms with, because you tried to prevent it from happening?"

I have to think about that. In hindsight it didn't feel right at all to have fought, but in that moment all I knew was that I wanted Mike away from me. Thinking of possibly having allowed him to touch me in a gentler way would certainly not have made me feel better afterwards.

But it all clashes so violently with my sense of self. Why should I even fight a guy like Mike off? Have I not been told all my life that I had it coming?

"It'll take time to change your views," Carlisle says softly. "I can only hope that for now, you will believe that what you did was not your fault. Of course, Mike reacted to your behavior, but this does not mean that you asked for it. You pushed him away. That is a clear sign saying 'no.' Mike had to respect that and he didn't. And for that, he will face the consequences."

His words make sense. However much it confuses me, they make sense. By pushing him away, I wasn't asking him to become forceful. Of course not. But I started it, didn't I? Did Mike not have the right to become violent because I was violent with him? Forced into complete honesty, I write again.

_I was violent first._

Carlisle sits up a little. "Violent? Tell me, when you pushed Mike away, was it your intention to hurt him?"

I shake my head. Of course not. I would never hurt anyone.

"And would you ever even consider doing to anyone what he did to you?"

My eyes go wide at just the notion of this.

"So, you were not violent. You were using appropriate measures to defend yourself. Mike used an excess amount of force on you. He should have stepped away. You did not push him without reason, did you?" He is adamant about this point, it seems.

But, no, I didn't.

"Very well. Think about our words. And know that we fully understand and support you in what you did to protect yourself."

I swallow, and everything goes blank for a moment before my thoughts all come crashing back full force.

It's not my fault. Well it technically still is, but they seem to think that my behavior was not enough to justify Mike's actions with me. They're on my side and they support me, even after I have told them the complete truth.

The sudden realization makes me swallow and I tear up so quickly that fat drops once more roll down my cheek. I don't even try to hide them.

They're on my side.

"Bella? What's wrong? Are you upset?" Esme asks, worried now.

It takes a moment before I can shake my head and Esme looks at me intently before she smiles gently. "Relieved?"

I nod and a fresh wave of tears overcomes me, overwhelmed by this conversation and the epiphany that followed.

We talk some more, and I have never been as relaxed in Carlisle and Esme's presence as I have been today. They're not upset. Esme gives me a tissue and a glass of water and she and Carlisle thank me again for being honest with them. They also praise me again for having tried to push Mike away.

Slowly but surely the realization kicks in that they really think I did nothing wrong.

Alice darts into the room when she feels the tension is gone and sits down between her parents, looking at me and taking in my tired face, my red eyes and blotted cheeks.

"I guess we're not going shopping today, huh," she says, but she's not accusing.

My mouth falls open at the forgotten appointment.

"Don't worry, you have other things on your mind," she smiles. "We can go tomorrow?"

"Perhaps she needs a few days to calm down after everything that happened," Esme starts, but to my own surprise I shake my head.

Tomorrow sounds good. I could use the distraction after all that happened. Fresh air would be appreciated.

Alice claps her hands and squeals. "Yay! We're going to have so much fun!"

"Are you sure, Bella?" Esme asks carefully.

I look her square in the eye and nod.

She smiles and nods back. "Very well. You know you can use your credit card, right? No feeling guilty over that. We gave it for you to use."

"Oh don't worry," Alice grins, "I'll teach her how to use it properly."

Carlisle rolls his eyes theatrically and groans, smiling. "Don't max it out, okay?"

Alice huffs. "Even if I did, it would be spent on gifts for you all, so I don't see any reason for complaints."

"Alice," he warns, cocking an eyebrow but still looking friendly.

"Sure, sure," she replies, not at all impressed by his tone. "But if we see things Bella needs, we can buy them, right?"

"Of course," Esme says, looking at me. "Anything you need. You still have so few clothes. Winters are cold here, Bella. See if you can buy some decent shoes, and an extra coat would be nice as well."

Anxiety settles in my stomach at her words, but for the first time I believe that she means it when she says I can buy things.

Alice squeals again. "Okay, I'm going to check the lists of the others, so we have an idea of what we can buy. Oh and after that I think Jasper and I might go out. I don't think we'll be home for dinner," she tells Esme in the same breath.

She's gone with a gust of air the moment her mother nods and I am alone with Carlisle and Esme once again. The ease with which the children are around their parents here will never stop to amaze me.

"Tell her to calm down when she gets too much," he says. "Did you have any other plans today?"

I shake my head.

"Perhaps now would be a good time to come with me to check my library, for your Gym assignment?"

He stands up in invitation and I follow him, albeit nervously. I am still very much on guard around Carlisle but I find his easy demeanor forthcoming and even though I keep looking for signs that his mood is changing, I end up staying in his office for a good few hours.

He encourages me to write down the subjects I want to do a bit of research on and he pulls out book after book, opening them at certain pages and explaining to me the human anatomy. He talks for hours about the psychology of it, he tells me about rehabilitation and how if affects patients. He mentions phantom pain and when I look up at that, he correctly interprets my interest and digs up a journal article focusing solely on that.

He loves to teach and I love to learn. Who would have known this could be so easy?

By the end of the afternoon, I have a pile of books and material that will keep me occupied for weeks. Carlisle helps to carry them to my room and places them on my desk.

"Keep them as long as you need them. I just have them for show," he winks.

I nod and when he leaves, I stay in my room to look through the books. I am fascinated by the colorful images and the mountain of knowledge that far surpasses what I would ever need to know for the thesis for Gym, but which I plan to take in no matter if I will ever need it in my future life at all. Very carefully, I try not to think about all that has happened. I shake my head when I remember feeling Mike's body pressing down on me. The revelation that my foster parents are on my side, even after I have told them everything, makes me lightheaded and leaves me with a weird feeling of anxiety that I can't seem to shake.

When it's fully dark outside I go down to help Esme for dinner, but she dismisses me, telling me we're having pizza.

I wander to the living room where Emmett and Edward are gaming.

"Oh, good you're here," Emmett says, looking up at me. "I was just stopping. Want to take my place?"

No, not really.

"Hey, just wanted you to know, I don't think Mike will come close to you ever again. And if he ever bothers you, just give me a sign." Emmett's eyes are sincere as he speaks, a fierce protectiveness is clear in his face. "Nobody can touch you like that, understand?"

I swallow and nod, and the silence grows. I don't know what he will do when he learns the truth, if he will be as understanding as Carlisle and Esme have been.

"We have your back," Edward says as he looks over his shoulder at me.

"Exactly," Emmett nods.

I look at them both, not knowing what to do.

"Oh, we have a new game for the Wii," Edward says suddenly, randomly, to break the silence. "One where you have to work together. Want to try that?"

Emmett gets up from the couch and stops before me, looking down to catch my gaze. "You okay? You must have been shocked yesterday."

I nod, unable to look away. He is _so_ tall.

"Mike is an ass," he says. "And he was in the wrong yesterday, not you. Whatever happened before he jumped on you, he shouldn't have done that and he knows it. Don't ever let him think you otherwise." He leaves the room after that and I stand alone, needing a moment before I can refocus and look at what Edward is doing.

He is going through the motions of switching controllers and booting the right console before I have told him if I even want to play, and he thrusts a controller in my hand the moment I hesitantly sit down next to him.

We're on the same couch now, forced to sit in front of the television by the limited range of the receiver.

Edward starts the game and while the introductory animation plays, he talks.

"Perhaps this is more fun for you. We'll have to work in a team for this, instead of against each other." He pauses and chuckles humorlessly. "Sometimes I feel like you're afraid to win and to lose."

My silence answers his statement and he sighs, then sits back as he pauses the game. "You okay? After yesterday?"

I nod, slowly.

"I'm sorry I had to carry you yesterday, I hope it didn't upset you too much."

I can't really reply to this.

"Did you even notice it?" he asks, and I can hear the real curiosity in his voice.

I nod almost imperceptibly.

"I was just wondering about that," he says softly. "Do you remember grabbing my sweater?"

My blush explodes and I don't even have to nod to answer his question. He must be annoyed I did that.

He laughs, but seems suddenly shy. "I didn't mind, you know. I just wanted you to know that."

The tips of his ears tinge red and I'm frozen for a moment before I look back at the screen again. How would he know I was afraid he would mind me holding on to him? And why is he blushing?

I'm confused, to say the least.

"Anyway, as Emmett just told you, Mike won't bother you anymore."

I glance at him from the corner of my eye. Did they do something that they are so sure about this? Do I even want to know?

He starts the game and even though it takes me a few minutes to get used to the controls and the movements, he was right in that it's easier for me to play, because we work together.

My character dies more often than his does in the beginning, but after a while I get the hang of it and find ways to help Edward's character on the screen. Getting into the game, I appreciate the distraction and we both become all the more fanatic. When we defeat a certain end boss after three fruitless attempts, his smile is victorious.

Turning to me, he raises his fist in slow motion, his grin wide. "Fist bump?" he asks, and once again the word 'disarming' echoes in my mind. I raise my fist too, very hesitantly, and slowly, Edward brings his to mine.

We touch the briefest of moments before he pulls back again. "We're a good team," he states, smiling.

I look at his smile, at his eyes. I'm actually relieved that yesterday has not changed his attitude toward me. Nothing seems different. At least, it doesn't feel that way.

Just as Edward offers a next round, Esme calls that dinner is ready.

"Can we eat by the TV?" Emmett asks as he comes downstairs. Rosalie follows him and Carlisle appears behind her. Alice and Jasper are still out.

Esme shrugs. "Sure, for once. Help me set the table then."

Emmett goes to help and I stand between living room and kitchen, a bit lost to be honest.

"Hey," Edward says suddenly. "Why don't you join us for dinner?"

Behind him, Esme stills and looks up, expectant.

This is the first time I am invited to join them like this and I want to, I really want to. I don't know if I can eat but I want to be there. I look at Esme, silently asking her if it is all right. When she nods, I nod at Edward, who smiles and nods back, leading the way into the living room.

And so I eat with the family for the second time, nibbling on a bit of pizza as the rest eats and chats and watches TV.

I haven't eaten enough by far but when I help to clear away the remnants Esme whispers that I can eat more later if I want. When I look up at her, she smiles. "Thank you for joining us. Did you like it?"

I nod. I did.

**~O~**

Saturday night I spend in my room. I need some time alone after all that happened and I sit at my desk, seeing nothing, wanting nothing. Finally I turn on the TV and flick through the channels until I come across some sort of Christmas movie. I leave the TV on without really watching and pull a piece of colored paper from a desk drawer.

Drawing and cutting, I make tiny paper angels like I used to make with my mother when I was very little. There was never money for Christmas decorations but she taught me how to make angels out of paper circles. When I have a bunch of them, I arrange them on my desk, in various sizes and color combinations. Each angel has its own face, its own hairdo.

It's silly and childish and I wonder why I even made them in the first place. Sighing, I decide go to bed early, completely empty and exhausted after the past two days. I only now realize I missed the appointment with Siobhan. For once I will trust that Esme has notified her and that none will blame me that it happened.

I mean, she would have brought it up earlier today if it were the case, right?

Again I feel like my life is spiraling out of my control. And I don't like it at all.

**~O~**

Alice has the gift of good mood, I think. She's chattering away happily when we drive to Port Angeles in Esme's car. Alice is so tiny behind the wheel but she's a good driver, so I'm at ease next to her in the passenger seat.

She tells me about school, about Christmas, about her designing projects. She asks me what I want to be when I grow up, but I can't answer that question because I've never thought about that. For so long my life has been solely trying to make it through the day, that I never really spent any thought about the future.

"Of course it must be hard," she says when she parks the car in the same underground garage Edward used the week before. "With you not talking and all. Do you ever think you will talk again?"

I have to think about her question. I've been living in the 'now' for so long I never really realized what it would mean for my future. In the end, I shrug to let her know I don't know.

"Do you ever think about talking?" she asks next. She's genuinely curious but her questions make me nervous, making me think about things I have been carefully ignoring for years.

I shake my head to answer her.

"Do you talk in your dreams? This is the last question," she smiles, dimples showing in her cheeks.

I shake my head again. No, I come to realize. Even in my dreams I have become silent. It's a weird discovery.

Alice guides the way to the shops, keeping up a stream of conversation, talking about every possible thing a girl like her could talk about, I guess.

She changes tack like only she can do. "You said you had an idea of what you wanted to buy?"

For some, yeah.

"Tell me," she smiles, her eyes dancing in expectation. And so I list on my phone what I had in mind for some, and for others she gives me helpful suggestions.

We browse through the shops, and it takes Alice some serious convincing before I am sure I can use my credit card to pay for the gifts. She also asks me now and then in certain shops if I see things I would like, but I'm hesitant to point things out.

It's crowded in the mall, but I find my way around people easily. Everywhere Christmas decorations are up, lights are twinkling, and Christmas music drifts out from every possible direction. The shoppers are all in a good mood, as I've observed is often the case just before Christmas.

There is also a strange feeling of satisfaction in carrying multiple bags from multiple stores. I can only hope that the others will like my gifts. I hope they will accept them.

When we're at a store that sells all sorts of tiny home decoration things, Alice points out pretty wall decorations in the form of violet butterflies.

"So beautiful," she says longingly. "I'd love to have them."

Since she doesn't buy them, I make a mental note that it would be nice if I could get them for her when I get back here. At least it's something I know for sure she will want.

Alice gets me to sit down in a tiny bar and we have hot chocolate. She's obviously pleased that I am sipping the drink with her chattering along. Not for the first time I realize that she seems to be completely at ease with me. My silence doesn't seem to bother her and she rarely asks me questions I am unable to answer. She's good at keeping the atmosphere light and I can tell she keeps a close eye on me, to see if I am getting stressed.

It gets me stressed just to know that she should watch out for me for that, but that's something I won't ever be able to prevent completely I think.

When we're on our way again she stops at a shoe store.

"Come on."

After some serious convincing from her side I try on a pair of very nice, very sturdy and very warm winter boots, but I don't dare to buy them even with Alice telling me time and time again that I can. Finally she calls Esme and pushes the phone into my trembling hands, and only after my foster mother reassures me I can buy the shoes with my credit card, do I purchase them.

I also buy a hooded vest and some extra socks and underwear. The latter are purchased quickly, when Alice is momentarily distracted by more fanciful lingerie.

It feels good to be out. Alice is easy to be around with and she's not any different around me after what happened last Friday. It's exactly the day out I needed and thankfully, she doesn't bring up Mike. She praises me for the gifts I buy the others, making me shy of course.

We also buy some beautiful wrapping paper and lace to wrap them when we get back home. Alice halts in her tracks when we pass a store that sells fabric and I go in with her, enjoying her pleasure in browsing through the shop and eventually buying some yards of blue taffeta silk, together with yarn and a zipper in the same color. I almost choke when I see the price, but Alice doesn't blink and smiles when she pays and accepts the bag from the saleswoman.

In turn, when I slow down my steps when we pass a delicacy shop, Alice encourages me to go in and I spend a fun few minutes looking at the treats that are displayed, thinking of all the things I could make with them. In the end, also encouraged by Alice, I buy myself some macadamia nuts, a treat I haven't had in years.

"Keep them away from Emmett," she whispers conspiratorially. "He's positively addicted to those things."

When dusk settles we go home again, rosy from cold and exhaustion. I feel a strange mixture of unease with a rare feeling of contentment after having spent this day out and basically having done as I wanted, even treating myself to something nice and buying shoes and clothes.

Esme awaits us with hot drinks and wants to know what we bought. Alice tells her that the presents are of course a surprise, but she shows Esme the fabric she bought, as well as some other things.

Reluctantly I show Esme my new boots and she compliments me on my choice. I also show her the rest of my purchases save for the underwear, not because I want her opinion, but because I want to make sure it's okay I have spent money on them. She's all smiles and happiness and I am relieved to see that she is okay with what I got.

It's all incomprehensible to me and Esme laughs when she sees I am unable to process for a moment that it is all right to spend money, to buy things I need.

"Get used to it." She used those exact words when I just arrived here, I remember.

Alice walks up with me to my room to drop off my new things and when she steps inside, she sees the paper angels I have left on my desk. Before I can stop her, she's walked around the bed and picked them up, turning them over in her hands.

"These are cute," she says. "Did you make them?"

I nod, embarrassed to have been caught making such a childish thing.

"How do you make them?" she wonders.

Reluctantly I unfold one of the angels to show her how they are made.

"That is awesome," she says, grinning. "I never knew you were so creative. You should put some down on the mantle in the living room."

I shake my head, mortified.

"Why not? They're pretty," she barters. "Perhaps I'll make some too. We can make a little family." She giggles, looking at me with sparkling eyes. She's not at all condescending over this childish piece of handiwork.

So to my own surprise I let her pick out two of the angels and she takes them with her when she goes back downstairs, telling me she'll put them by the tree.

I stay upstairs, needing time to recuperate after having been in a crowd for so long. I pick out some wrapping paper and start to prepare the presents I bought. I have almost everything I need. Perhaps I can ask Edward to help me with the last few things when we go back to the library to return our books.

Oh shit, that reminds me, I need new identification. Finishing up wrapping and labeling the gifts I take them with me when I go down again to put them underneath the tree. I have to ask Esme about a new ID.

Emmett is all eyes when he sees me coming down, and asks me immediately if there is anything for him. I nod and he's up from the couch immediately, wanting to see which present will be his.

His curiosity is entertaining and I'm not even really tense when he kneels down next to me to have a better look at what I am placing underneath the tree. He stretches out his hand to reach for a gift that has his name on it, but all of a sudden Alice is on his back, trying to prevent him from reaching his goal.

"Oh no you don't!"

Emmett, almost undisturbed by Alice's tiny frame, just gets up as she is still hanging on his back and she squeals and laughs, gripping him tighter now — not to bring him down, but to not fall to the ground.

He walks around the room, a grin dimpling his cheeks. "I feel like something's weighing down on me," he muses, pacing a little as Alice laughs and begs for him to let her down.

Her feet are dangling almost a foot above the ground, and I can understand why she would be hesitant to just let go. Jasper looks on, amused.

"Jasper, come help me," Alice begs, breathless after having laughed so much.

He gets up, smiling too at the spectacle, and he gets Alice off Emmett's back. Alice wraps her legs around Jasper's waist easily as he takes her in his arms, and they exchange a kiss.

Emmett, smiling too, turns around. "She's like a hawk, that one," he tells me.

"You'd still secretly open up your presents and rewrap them if you got the chance," Alice says as she slides from Jasper's embrace.

Jasper laughs as Emmett pouts. "Would not," he says.

"Oh you so would," Jasper laughs. "Don't deny it."

Emmett shrugs, conceding, and grins playfully.

"Dinner!" Esme calls from the kitchen then.

"Will you join us?" Jasper asks, and the invitation has me off guard.

Alice doesn't hesitate however and she extends her hand in invitation. "Come on. It's your choice," she says with a sweet smile.

So, I choose to eat with the Cullens again.

I even manage to get some actual food in my stomach.

Did I say I felt like things were spiraling out of control?

**~O~**

Sunday night is dedicated to homework in my room. I have a Government test tomorrow and one for Spanish on Tuesday. Halfway through the evening I realize I forgot to ask Esme about my identification. Again. Not wanting to cut into her time with Carlisle I stay upstairs and remind myself to ask for it soon.

Not able to sleep, of course, after all the excitement of the day, I take my macadamia nuts and slip down the stairs just after midnight. I need some fresh air, to clear my clouded mind. I shrug into my coat and step out onto the porch. It's dry fortunately. The ice-cold wind seems to go straight through my clothes but I like it and I turn my face into the direction of the breeze to catch it more fully.

My cold hand slips into my pocket and I get some of the nuts, popping them into my mouth one by one and enjoying their rich, slightly salty taste.

A whisper of a sound behind me tells me the door is opening, and when I look over my shoulder I see Edward stepping out, lit from the back from the dim light emanating from the house.

I suppress a smile and roll my eyes a little as I face front again. Who else than he could it have been?

He chuckles and joins me at the railing, leaning forward on it and looking out into the darkness. "Thought you might like company."

I shrug, and for once feeling very, _very_ bold I get my own phone from my pocket and type.

_I'm not one for entertaining conversation._

He reads and his smile grows. "I beg to differ," he counters. "I mean, not that I wouldn't love to hear the sound of your voice, though."

Even my thoughts stutter at his admission. He wants to hear my voice? What? _Why?_

He chuckles at my confusion. "Do you not wonder sometimes? What your voice would sound like?"

_No use._

"Perhaps," he muses. "I know I wonder, sometimes. But even without talking, you're fun to chat with," he assures me, and again I am speechless, no pun intended.

I shove my hands into my pockets, lost for a moment, and the package with the macadamias crunches.

Alert as ever, Edward tilts his head at the sound. "What do you have there?"

Ah, shit. I had hoped to have some more before I would lose them. I pull out the nuts to show him, prepared to give them to him, and his eyes go wide. "Can I have some?"

I give him the entire bag and his fingers brush mine when he accepts it from me. His hands are warm still, especially against my cold skin. It still feels weird to be touched though, and when he gives the tiny bag back to me I make sure we don't touch. I am surprised however. I never expected to get them back in the first place. Hiding my confusion, we share the nuts until they're almost gone.

When I offer him the last few, he shakes his head. "You bought them. Thanks for sharing though, they're so good."

I nod and shove the bag back into my pocket.

It's cold and we stare out in the darkness for a while, our breaths coming out in white steam around our faces. It must be freezing, but even though I always hated the cold, I find I don't detest it right now. It's refreshing, it clears my head.

"Are you calm again after all that happened?" he asks, still looking forward.

I nod, realizing he can see me move from the corner of his eye.

"You nervous about tomorrow?"

Shrugging, I let him know I don't really know. It's pointless to worry over how it all will go.

"Well, Mike won't be there, so he won't bother you. And we are there for you if you need us. Like last week, only I wish we could have been there sooner."

As I don't know what to say to this, we're quiet again. It happened how it happened, and I can't make sense of Edward's apparent desire to have been there sooner. Didn't he say the same thing to his mother when he brought me home last Friday?

After long minutes, Edward stands up straight and checks his watch. "We should go to bed," he says. "Don't you have a test tomorrow?"

I nod, amazed that he even remembered.

"Come on," he says, inviting me to go in first.

I step away from the railing and make my way toward the door when all of a sudden I lose my footing on a frozen patch on the floor.

For a second I have the horrible feeling of falling as my feet slide away from underneath me, but the next moment I feel two strong arms around me and I fall against Edward's chest.

He holds me up until my feet find grip again and then he sets me upright, his hands lingering on my arms to make sure I'm all right.

I swallow thickly, my heart hammering in my chest.

"You okay?" Edward asks, ducking his head to meet my gaze.

My eyes are wide and I know my shock must show on my face. But I nod. I'm beyond rattled, but I'm okay I think.

We look at each other for a long moment, and I can think of nothing, can do nothing, until he looks away and opens the door for me.

I step inside carefully and he follows me, locking the door and turning off the kitchen light. He walks after me up the stairs and bids me good night. Even in the dark there is something in his eyes I can't define, a certain softness I can't explain. He must think me really stupid for having fallen like that, but he caught me.

He could have let me fall easily, but he didn't.

I go to sleep with the cold still in my hair, and can't shake the feeling of Edward's chest against my back and his arms around my body, and how starkly that differed from what Mike did just two days before.

**~O~**

Edward is so kind after all that happened. I would have thought he would look down on me for having fallen, but he doesn't even refer to it. I would have thought he would distance himself after having had to carry me, but it really feels like nothing has changed. He's still the same around me, polite and patient.

During first break he asks me how my Government test went and I let him know it was okay. He tells me about a homework assignment he got for Spanish and how he loathes the language. I smile when he tells me a funny story about how he out-witted the teacher in Spanish once, and how the teacher has hated him ever since.

He keeps up the conversation, distracting me from the curious gazes from others. I look around anyway, but I know Mike is not here. He was not in English this morning, and he won't be in this school until Thursday.

Word is going round and I can hear shards of whispers, and instead of hatred, I see pity around me, and confusion and misunderstanding. I don't like it and focus on the ground, trying to ignore it all.

"They knew Mike was wrong," Alice says softly during lunch. "They're just wondering what happened."

"Word is that he tried to molest her," Rosalie says. "Which isn't so far from the truth."

"His reputation will be ruined, for sure," Jasper says. "What goes around…?"

From their table, Jessica and Lauren scowl at me. They are angry, but I hadn't expected any different.

Angela comes back from the lunch line and asks quietly if she can know what happened. I think she didn't want to bring it up during Government, with the test and all.

"Mike attacked Bella," Emmett says bluntly. "And now he is suspended."

"Oh my gosh!" Angela exclaims, turning to me. "Are you okay Bella? You must have been so shocked!"

I keep my gaze focused on the tabletop.

"He's such an idiot," she says spitefully. "He doesn't know when to stop. I didn't know he was that bad though, but I think he'll learn his lesson now. When will he be back?"

"Thursday probably," Rosalie says. "But if it were up to me he'd never return."

"Me too. And nobody would miss him," Angela replies.

"Jessica would," Alice smiles slyly. "But she can go after him. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Very," Angela agrees, then blushes and looks down, a little flustered at having been caught gossiping.

The rest of the day flows calmly. With Mike away I find I can relax a bit at school. I'm not happy with the looks and questioning gazes and the few people that actually come up to me to ask me what on earth happened, but without the chance of running into Mike I find I don't feel the compulsive need to look over my shoulder to see if he's near.

I guess his stupid actions unsettled me more than I originally thought they would.

After school I am happy to be home. Briefly I consider taking a nap, but I decide against it. I want to be rid of the habit.

Edward waits for Emmett to come home after school and then goes to Port Angeles with him and Jasper to buy Christmas gifts. Rosalie kisses Emmett goodbye in the living room, warning him to buy real gifts.

I look at her questioningly when the guys have left, and she smiles as she clarifies. "Emmett thinks it's hilarious to buy windshield wipers or turtle wax."

"Or dog toys," Alice adds. "And it's so totally not funny. But with Edward and Jasper there, we might stand a chance."

"It's probably books with Edward," Rosalie smirks. "He never knows what else to give."

"Books are better than paper towels with flowers on them," Alice shrugs lightly, and Rosalie smiles in response.

"So, Bella," she says, "Want to go for a walk?"

Not seeing a reason and not daring to deny, we get our coats and step out onto the porch, into the garden. I'm careful where I put my feet, remembering my fall from the day before with sharp clarity, even if I am wearing my new boots which should give me better grip on slippery surfaces.

The world is covered in a thin sheen of white, an ice-like cover that actually looks beautiful to me.

"So, how are you?" Rosalie asks as we walk slowly in a wide arch around the house to the back yard. Her breath comes out in white, and she has an adorable knitted hat on her perfect hair.

I shrug and nod slowly.

"You sure? Friday was harsh."

I shrug again, not comfortable talking about it and not sure what she wants from me.

"Did you try to fight him off at first?"

I nod, looking at the ground before me.

"Good. I hoped you'd done that."

My body language must tell her that I'm not impressed. He brought me down, didn't he?

"You can't always win," she says quietly, interpreting my reaction correctly. "But at least you tried to fight."

For a moment I wonder why she is saying this, and if she perhaps knows more than I'm aware of.

"Perhaps it's easier to cope when you know that you tried to fend him off?"

Carlisle and Esme implied much the same last Saturday. It's curious Rosalie mentions it, too.

"I know it would for me. I'd have busted his balls."

_Yeah, well, I couldn't reach them_, I think harshly, but at the same time I think that such violence might not have gone down so well.

We walk along in silence for a few moments.

"We're here for you," she says softly. "We're protective of our own."

They're on my side. Rosalie knows that I tried to fight Mike and still she seems to be supporting me. Somehow I seem to feel lighter, suddenly.

"You really don't like to be touched, don't you?"

Her question is sudden and pulls me from my thoughts. Still, I feel no need to reply to this. It's pretty obvious, isn't it?

"It's so hard to get for me," she says gently. "I mean, I would go crazy if I wouldn't be touched. I love it when Emmett hugs me or caresses me. I love to hug mom and dad even though I don't do it often anymore." She's silent for a moment. "Would you want it?"

I swallow and look at her, surprised. What?

"To be touched?" she clarifies, misunderstanding my wide eyes. "Would you want it? Or, let me ask it differently, wouldn't you like to like it?" She frowns a little at her own helpless phrasing, but I think I know what she means.

I don't know what to answer though to this question I have asked myself multiple times. I also wonder how it is that suddenly all the Cullens seem so very interested in my shortcomings and what I think of them, and if I would want to change them.

She regards me for a moment, her big blue eyes searching my face without any judgment whatsoever. "Or do you not think about it too much?"

I nod slowly, glad for the out she's giving me.

"I'm just curious," she continues. "Feel free to not answer me, but I really wonder, can you tell the difference? I mean, when Mike held you down that must have been traumatic, but then like when Edward carried you, did you know it was with a different motive?"

I think my eyes flare a little. Of course I know the difference between touch meant to soothe or help, and touch meant to hurt.

Her smile is almost bashful. "Sorry. And you dislike positive touches, too?"

I look at the ground again, trying to keep my pace even. We've reached the very back of the garden and are about to turn back toward the house. The frozen grass crunches softly under our feet.

"Why?" she asks, and her voice is little more than a whisper.

Instead of answering, I sigh. I can't possibly begin to explain why I don't like to be touched. My body's reaction to touch I think is a result from my conditioned response. I don't want gentle touches, because they can turn into violence. And if they don't, I know I'll want more, which I don't deserve. It's better to not know what I'm missing.

So it has come to a point where just a graze of contact makes my skin prickle like it's burning.

See, I'm not entirely stupid. I know I have developed some mechanisms to cope with my life. So? They work just fine to me.

"It would drive me mad," Rosalie smiles humorlessly. "It would drive me absolutely bat shit crazy mad. I don't know how you cope. But then again, you're so strong, so much stronger than any of us."

We've reached the house again. Rosalie leaves the unfinished conversation and me with a smile and disappears into her room once we have gone in. Her words resonate and leave an echo in my mind.

**~O~**

"How have you been?" Siobhan asks. She's kicked off her shoes and has curled up in her seat, her hands cupping a mug of tea as she sits back. "It was quite a rough week for you, wasn't it?"

I look at her, unsure if I should respond and how.

"Esme called me," she says, "to cancel the Friday meeting. Do you want to talk about what happened?"

I shake my head.

"Tough. I do."

I actually roll my eyes before I can stop myself. Why ask if you're going to push through anyway? Undisturbed, she continues.

"You were held to the ground by a guy. That must have been a shock to you. You shut down, I was told. It took you hours to get out again, is that correct?"

I nod, seeing no reason or way to avoid this conversation. Her words are almost crude, but refreshing in their clarity.

"I'd like to know some more about that. When you shut down, was this a voluntary action?"

Again I confirm.

"And coming out? Do you decide when you do that?"

Shaking my head slowly, I wonder if I should pick up the small whiteboard to add some nuance to my answers.

"Not always, perhaps," Siobhan muses. "When this guy came at you, what did you feel? Write it down for me if you will."

When I do nothing, she continues. "Work with me. I promise you I won't make you relive everything. You're here for _you_ and I wouldn't ask you this if I didn't think it would help you. Give me the benefit of the doubt."

Chewing my lip, I finally reach for the whiteboard and write.

_Fear. _

"Just fear?" she asks, her voice neutral.

I think for a moment and write down 'anger' too.

"Ah," she says, smiling slightly. "What did you with that anger?"

_Pushed him away._

"So you stood up for yourself. Was there a specific reason for that?"

_Didn't like it. Wanted him gone._

"You chose yourself. What made you do that?"

_Was afraid_.

I feel like we're going in circles.

"You've been afraid before, haven't you?" she asks gently. "Did you fight then?"

I shake my head, clenching my teeth.

"But now you did. How did that make you feel?"

Stupid therapist. But thankfully she seems to be changing tack. I shrug to answer her question. It didn't help. I wasn't strong enough. Again. As usual.

"Try to write down for me what you think."

_It was useless._

"How was it useless?"

_It happened anyway._

Siobhan nods slowly. "I will come back to that later. What happened after you fought and he held you? You shut down, and Esme told me her son carried you to the car and then into the house, is that correct?

Yes.

"Were you afraid then, too?"

I think for a moment. No, not really. I didn't like it, but he told me exactly what he would do. He was very considerate, come to think of it.

"Angry, perhaps?"

Her questions confuse me and they remind me of Rosalie's wondering if I could tell the difference between good and bad touch.

But I frown a little and I shake my head.

"Why?"

I hate her 'whys.'

_Edward was helping_

"Mike was trying to help too. That at least is what he said."

_That's different_

"How is it different?"

I huff and sit back, annoyed and needing time to think.

_Motives I think. _

"Can you explain that further?"

_Edward has other reasons than Mike to help_

Besides, I doubt Mike was helping, even if he said he was. I shudder when I think back to his body against mine. Shit.

Siobhan sips her tea, waiting patiently as if she wants me to go on. I wipe the board clean with my sleeve and think of what else I could write, but I can think of nothing.

"Could it perhaps be that Edward offered help, and Mike forced it on you?"

Yes! That's it!

"But if I am not mistaken, there was little you could have done when Edward picked you up. You were shut down."

_It's different. _

Siobhan is silent for a while. "Very well. I believe you."

I write, because I can tell that she's not believing me at all.

_Edward never forces me to do anything. Mike forced me to the ground. _

"Would you react the same if Edward had done that to you?"

Yes, I nod. It would have been worse even, because if Edward would have done that, it would hurt deeply. But then again, somehow I am pretty sure Edward would never do such a thing.

Siobhan sips the last of her tea. "I'm curious. What Mike did, do you think it was acceptable? He did have your best interest in mind, he says."

I blink a few times.

"Be honest with me. I won't judge," she encourages.

_No. Not acceptable what he did._

He hurt me and I don't think what he did can ever work to help someone.

My therapist nods. "That's good. And it's very good of you to only accept what feels good to you."

My eyes go wide.

"Is that so surprising to you?"

Blank, I stare at her.

"You have the right to determine for yourself what is acceptable and what not. Clearly you felt that what Mike did was unacceptable. I think it's a good thing that you stood up for yourself and didn't feel that you had to go along with him."

Is she actually praising me?

"Bella, before you came to live with the Cullens, would you have tried to fight like that?"

No, I wouldn't. It wouldn't even have occurred to me. Except for that last night with Stefan, of course.

"Then why now?"

_Don't like Mike. Don't want to be held down._

She reads and nods, but instead of speaking she sips her tea.

"You probably don't realize youself how far you have come already. You fought someone who told you he had your best interest at heart. But you were able to see that what he was doing, was not right. He may have thought that he was trying to help, but he all but attacked you. You made it clear multiple times and still he did not leave you alone. I am sorry that you had to go through that. It must have been upsetting."

I look away. It was.

"Did you think at first that he was in the wrong?"

Slowly I shake my head.

"What made you realize it?"

_Carlisle and Esme explained it to me_

"Does it make you feel different in retrospect, now others are telling you that he was wrong and you were right to be upset?"

When I can't answer, she smiles. "Just think about that question for yourself. How does it make you feel that the entire family was there to support you?"

One word suffices.

_Alien_

Siobhan smiles. "It's new for you, I think. How did you feel after it all calmed down again?"

We reflect on my emotions and spend the last part of the hour talking about my weekend, and Siobhan points out that I have recovered quickly after the event, even going out with Alice on Sunday.

Although I would not call it 'recovering,' she does make me realize that not long ago, I would have needed days to get back to normal.

By the end of the session I feel pretty good, and I realize I am starting to trust her. She rarely makes me really uncomfortable and she truly seems to understand when I reach my limits and when I can talk about things.

And so far, she has kept her promises.

I don't think I have ever written so much in an hour in my life, and more so, I don't think I ever _wanted _to.

**~O~**

Wednesday in school I'm nervous. At the end of the day, Carlisle and Esme will come to the school for a meeting with Principal Greene. Mike and his parents will be present too.

I don't like it.

Rosalie tries to smile reassuringly and Emmett comes to tell me that if I want Mike's ass kicked I only have to give him a sign. Jasper is quiet but Alice tells me it's because he is so angry about what Mike did, he's beyond words.

Edward tries to cheer me up during Biology but I'm clenching my jaw and basically just willing this day to be over with.

But it seems they're all supporting me. I've been standing alone for so long it feels all very weird, and I am afraid to rely on their words.

After Gym I go to the main entrance of the school where Carlisle is just arriving in his black Mercedes. Esme is sitting next to him.

I hate to inconvenience them both in the middle of a day. Again.

Edward, Alice and Jasper greet them as they pass and while they go home, Carlisle and Esme walk with me to the Principal's office.

Mr. Greene is waiting for us and he guides us to a meeting room, where there's more space to seat people than in his office. He holds open the door for us, but Esme halts outside and turns to me.

"Are you ready for this?"

I meet her eyes and can't reply. Somehow she seems to understand this because she smiles reassuringly and then precedes me into the meeting room where she waits for me to enter too.

The others are already there. I recognize Mrs. Newton from the store all those weeks ago. Mr. Newton is a burly man, rounded chin, belly tucked underneath his flannel shirt. Mike is next to his father, his arms crossed and a thunderous look on his face.

I recoil and hide behind Esme, and wish I could go sit behind her as well. Instead I take the chair next to her, as far away from Mike as possible, and tug at my sleeves in unease as I can feel three gazes burning on me.

"Well," Principal Greene starts, sitting down at the head of the table. "We're here to discuss what happened last Friday and to prevent it from happening again. Mike, do you know why you were suspended?"

"I was just trying to help," he replies, obviously annoyed.

Esme tuts and Carlisle sits back. I take in their reaction, a bit surprised.

"That's not what I asked," the Principal says.

Mike huffs and looks away.

"But he was," Mrs. Newton says. "He knows Bella is severely traumatized and when she panicked, he used a well-known technique to calm her down."

"A very controversial technique that is known to do more harm than good," Carlisle says flatly, but I can hear the ice in his tone.

"It's proven it helps," Mrs. Newton snaps. "And truly he just wanted to help."

"Even so," Esme says, "he didn't do much good. And from what I have understood, Bella tried to push him away multiple times before he forced her down to the ground."

"I never forced her down!" Mike flares up, indignant. "She went all limp or something, so I thought I was helping, that she was relaxing."

"You didn't wonder why she became completely unresponsive?" Carlisle asks, incredulous. "That hardly counts as relaxing, I'd say."

Mike shrugs and looks away again.

"Mike, I shall ask you again, do you understand why you were suspended?" Principal Greene's voice is authoritative. He continues before Mike can answer. "Even if you were trying to help, it was clear that Bella did not want you to help. She tried to let you know several times that she was not charmed by your advances. You holding her in a grip that, proven to help or not," he adds as he looks at Mrs. Newton, "is not fitting considering she had made it known she did not want you to help in the first place."

"Not to mention the reason she was panicking was you," Esme adds in a sharp voice.

"Is that so?" Mrs. Newton asks, surprised. She turns to Mike. "You didn't tell me this."

The silence stretches. I'm looking at this meeting like a tennis match, and I cannot believe that Carlisle and Esme are defending me.

Hell, _Principal Greene_ is defending me.

"Was she?" Mr. Newton asks his son.

Mike says nothing.

"Was she?" Mr. Newton asks again, more urgently now.

Mike huffs again and shifts in his seat. "I was only trying to help," he repeats.

"I didn't ask you that," Mr. Newton replies, much like the principal did earlier. "I asked you if she was panicking and if you had anything to do with that."

"She wasn't at ease," Mike finally says. "But honestly, I really think that if someone would just show her, give her a good example, she wouldn't be so uptight."

Esme gasps and covers her mouth in surprise.

"What?" Mike says. "She just needs to learn there's no need to be scared."

"And you thought you would do that by forcing it on her?" Carlisle asks, again incredulous.

"I thought it would be like in cold water," Mike mutters, his voice less strong now. "Jump in at once and it's not so bad."

"Michael," Esme says exasperatedly, "even if you were trying to be helpful, this wasn't the way. And I think it's troubling that you did not notice Bella's obvious wish to be left alone."

"But, was she panicking because of you?" Mr. Newton presses.

Mike looks at the tabletop and grumbles something.

"Speak up," his father demands.

"Might have," he mutters.

"By God," Mr. Newton breathes.

At my side of the table, three people sit stunned.

"I never expected you to be like that, Michael," his father says. "We are not done talking about this when we get home. And you are grounded until the New Year."

Mike's eyes go wide and he takes a breath to speak, but his father interrupts him. "Don't even start."

I swallow in alarm at the tone of his voice.

"I suppose we can put an end to this meeting," the Principal says. "Mike, I think it will be clear for you that you are not allowed to be close to Bella again or harass her for that matter. If you are caught again, the consequences will be more serious."

Silence.

"It would also be appropriate if you would now apologize to Bella."

"Sorry." The look on Mike's face is murderous and I shrink back in my seat. When Mr. Newton focuses on me, I cower further.

"I'll make sure he'll never bother you again," he says sincerely. "I thought I had raised him better than that. Please accept my apologies for what happened."

With wide eyes I nod slowly.

The principal ends the meeting and we all get up to leave the room. Outside, it has become almost fully dark.

Mike's parents linger for a bit, to apologize again to Carlisle and Esme and to me. Mike is standing at some distance, forbidden by his father to leave just yet.

"You're not very talkative, are you?" Mrs. Newton says motherly as she turns to me. She gives me the creeps.

"She doesn't speak at all," Mike spits, obviously pissed.

"At all?" Mrs. Newton asks him. "I thought you meant she was just quiet." She looks at me again. "Can't you speak?"

"She chooses not to," Esme says kindly but shortly, then turns to me. "Ready to go home?"

Oh yes, very.

The adults say goodbye and Mike scowls at me. I shrink back from his gaze, uneasy. I can only hope that he will leave me alone from now on.

I also hope that his punishment won't be too bad. Even though I don't like him, I'm still worried a bit.

Back at home I am too tired to process the meeting. All that sticks right now is that Carlisle and Esme stood up for me against the others, and that Mike's parents seemed to change their opinion too when they learned that I was panicking because of Mike.

"You okay?" Esme asks as I help her to set the table.

I nod slowly, but I am lost in my thoughts.

"Are you worried about school tomorrow? I'm pretty sure Mike will stay away from you."

I'm not so worried about school or Mike. I'm just tired right now. I take my dinner in my room, not feeling up to eating with the Cullens after this stressful day, and besides, nobody invited me. I don't want to abuse their hospitality. After dinner I collapse onto my bed and fall asleep almost immediately, only to wake again the next morning when Esme knocks on my door, telling me it's time to get ready for school.

I'm still tired. My steps are dragging and Alice interprets this as apprehension to go back to school now Mike is back. I don't even have the energy to contradict her and all the Cullens are once more around me like a shield, ever watchful, ever supportive.

Mike just glowers at me and has people either walking away from or swarming around him. He is the center of attention, and even though he may not like the cause, he clearly loves the result.

I'm pretty sure that his version of the story of what happened is slightly different from mine, and when I hear others talk I know my suspicions were correct. During first break I catch the gossip that I had lured Mike into the classroom and asked him for help, and that afterward I had made it look like I never wanted him close to me at all. Mike is the victim, and now people look at me like I've turned green.

"Ignore them," Rosalie says. "It will die down. The people that matter know the truth, and that's what matters."

It's the strangest feeling, this. To have people on my side and me believing that they truly think I wasn't in the wrong, even after hearing Mike's version of the story.

They believe my word over his.

Who would ever have thought this would happen?

During lunch, there's something else in the air. I haven't seen the weather forecast, but apparently there is supposed to be snow, and it is supposed to start today.

"Have you ever even seen snow?" Rosalie asks me.

I nod. Back in Chicago there was enough all right.

"I didn't know it snowed in Phoenix," she says, genuinely surprised.

I write on a napkin.

_I am from Chicago_

She reads. Emmett reads, Alice reads, Jasper reads and Edward reads.

Oh, fuck, I should have thought this through.

"Chicago? I thought you were from Phoenix?" Rosalie asks, confused.

Alice, curious, pushes a piece of paper towards me to write on.

_Grew up in Chicago. Then moved to Phoenix._

"Your real parents were in Chicago?" Edward asks carefully.

I nod, looking away. My mother was, at least. I don't even remember my father. I can't recall my mother ever even mentioning him.

"Wow," Emmett breathes.

The silence is tense and it's like they all realize that their family is not my first foster home. I thought they knew this.

Suddenly, gasps and elated cries fill the room and the tension is broken as lots of students hurry towards the windows.

It's snowing.

Thin flakes are twirling down from the grey skies, and already the snow is getting heavier. The atmosphere in the lunchroom is quickly lifting. I hear shouts about snow fights in the parking lot after school.

I look at the white without much emotion. I don't like the cold, or the wet.

Except for last Sunday night on the porch. With Edward.

"It's staying!" somebody shouts excitedly, and more elated sounds rise from the student body.

"Awesome," Jasper says, carefully happy.

Alice looks at me and meets my gaze with sparkling eyes. "A white Christmas. Could it be more perfect?"

"Oh Ali," Emmett snorts. "There's no such thing as white Christmases in Forks. This snow will be gone again before the weekend is over."

**~O~**

Siobhan tells me almost exactly the same when I huddle into the corner of the couch in her therapy room on Friday. I'm cold, goose bumps cover my skin underneath my clothes.

"You're not impressed with a possible white Christmas?" she asks when she notices my lack of enthusiasm.

I shrug, noting wryly in the back of my mind that I am starting to feel pretty comfortable with this therapist.

"What does Christmas mean to you?" she asks. "Do you tend to look forward to it?"

I shake my head slowly. Somehow she always chooses subjects I don't want to talk about, but in the end I know that she'll do it in a way that makes me talk about it anyway.

"How come?"

I shrug, looking away.

"Are you uncomfortable talking about this, about Christmas?" she asks, and when I meet her gaze I know she knows the answer.

She is silent for a long moment. "My dad was a drunk." Her voice is soft. When I look up at her in surprise, I see her gaze is focused on the coffee table in between us. "Especially during Christmas. It was worse then because he was at home, and he hated the holidays."

I'm so stunned I don't even know what to think.

"My mother and I always tried to make the most of it, even though my father would be unpredictable and violent. We never even had a Christmas tree. I never got any gifts."

Siobhan shifts her gaze to me and meets my eyes. "He used to beat us. And not only when he was drunk. I usually spent my Christmas holiday inside, hoping the bruises would have healed once school started again."

Oh, Siobhan!

I swallow thickly as I hear her words and I cannot believe, I simply cannot believe what she is telling me.

"There wasn't always a reason for the violence. But if I did something wrong, like breaking something, or being in the way, I was in for it."

This can't be happening. Is she really telling me that her past is similar to mine? My heart has picked up speed as I try to process her words. Siobhan lets an easy silence stretch and gives me time to think about it all.

"You see, my past is similar to yours. This is why you are here, with me. You are not alone and you are not the only one. When I got away from it all, I had years of therapy to come to terms with what happened, and to be honest I still have days when it's hard to deal. But I also realized early on that I was not alone, and that I wanted to help others like me."

I think I'm gulping, but I can't seem to close my mouth.

"This surprises you?"

I nod slowly, incapable of doing anything more.

"I asked your foster parents to not tell you I am a certified peer counselor. I wanted to see how and who you are before you knew about my past. Now tell me, does this change your view of me?"

I shake my head, still wide-eyed.

"Yet you are afraid that when others know about your past, they will turn away from you."

I am. But it's different.

"Can you tell me why you think that is?" She's so gentle and calm, and just, I don't know, admirable?

I write.

_It's different._

"You say that a lot. Do you mean your situation is different?"

Yes, it is.

"Of course it is. No two lives are the same. Can you explain how yours is different?"

I think for long moments, but come up with nothing, because I don't know where to start. Finally I hold up my hands in a defeated gesture and Siobhan nods.

"Perhaps in time you will be able to give me an example. Are there similarities, too?"

I nod slowly, still baffled that this woman has a similar past. That is, if she's telling the truth. I decide to go with a safe piece of information.

_Stefan was drunk sometimes_

"Was he only violent when he was drunk?"

Swallowing, I shake my head. I know this is the reason I am here, but still it catches me by surprise to be suddenly talking about this.

"When he was violent, did he have a reason for that?"

I nod automatically. It was always triggered by something I did, even if I didn't realize it.

"And you were the reason?" she guesses.

I fold in on myself, wrapping my arms around my waist. I don't want to be reminded of my own failure. I thought that this therapy wouldn't be about that.

"This makes you uncomfortable?"

Meeting her eyes, I convey with my gaze that of course this makes me uncomfortable. Is it even needed to ask that question?

"How so?"

By God. I don't think I like her anymore. I write down the obvious in hasty letters, my scrawl almost unreadable in my distress.

_My fault. _

"Your fault? The violence, all that he did, you think it was your doing?"

I nod, tears building up and spilling over. I wipe them away harshly with my sleeve. No use to cry over things I did wrong myself.

Siobhan sits forward, making me meet her gaze.

"Let me tell you something. It wasn't your fault."

My thoughts stutter and I blink. _What_?

"It was not your fault."

* * *

_Oh... _

_Disclaimer: I would have loved to hang Mike by his big toes and use him as a pinata doll. However, strictly speaking he wasn't so far out of line as to actually press charges. This is the best that could be done... officially._

_Thanks for reading. Until next time!_


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N I don't own Twilight. Which is why I get to write fanfiction!**

_Your reviews never stop making me smile. Thanks to all that read and enjoy! Thanks to Sherry and Bob. I'd be lost without you. Thanks to Deb, who showed up on my doorstep last Wednesday. We were supposed to Skype, but she flew out to be with me until Saturday instead. Best. Surprise. Ever._

_Some of you asked why Siobhan would divulge her past like she did in the previous chapter. Siobhan is a certified peer counselor and uses her own experience to help others. She told something about her past because in this case it would help Bella. I am using some creative license here :)_

_Now, where we left off last week..._

* * *

_Siobhan sits forward, making me meet her gaze. _

"_Let me tell you something. It wasn't your fault." _

_My thoughts stutter and I blink. What? _

"_It was not your fault." _

**~O~**

Preposterous.

Siobhan sits back and looks at me, expecting something, apparently. I'm stunned. I would have thought she would understand, since at least part of her past is similar to mine. What she's saying here is so ridiculous and far beside the truth it's almost funny.

Of course it was my fault.

"What are you thinking?" she asks.

I shrug, looking away. The bit of trust I had come to have in this woman is shattered. She doesn't know what she's talking about.

"You don't believe me?"

Meeting her gaze, my expression should convey that no, I don't believe her.

"That's okay," she says. "Can you tell me why you don't believe me?"

I press my lips together and frown, not willing to divulge my wrongdoings.

The silence stretches. How can she be so relaxed after what she just claimed? I should leave. She's obviously not fit to do her job.

"Tell me," she encourages. "Why don't you believe me when I say that what happened wasn't your fault?"

Angry enough to overcome my normal reluctance to use words, I write.

_Why else would it have happened?_

Something flashes in her eyes but she hides it so quickly I can't determine what it was. It had to do with my words, I think.

"I don't know," she answers my question. "But that doesn't mean it's automatically _your_ fault."

I huff, crossing my arms defensively. Of _course_ it was my fault.

"Did he tell you it was your fault? Stefan, I mean?"

Yes. And Laurent. And my mother. But I'll be damned if I tell Siobhan about that all. She just knows about Stefan and that's enough.

Siobhan nods, as if my acquiescence makes any sense, as if she expected that I would indeed say yes. So if she expected it, why would she even state that it was not my fault?

"We talked before about how the amount of violence did not seem to fit your wrongdoings. Do you remember this?"

I nod, once.

"How do you feel about that now?"

_Deserved it._

"You really think so?"

One nod again, and some strange anxiety flaring in my stomach.

"Tell me, and please be honest with me here, is there still violence in your life? With your new family?"

My head is moving from left to right before I even notice it.

"Did you change?"

What?

"Are you so much different from how you were before, when you were still with Stefan?"

I don't know. Not consciously, but I must be doing something different. And I've been doing a whole lot less in terms of household chores. So if anything, it should have become worse.

No, that can't be right.

"Have you done things wrong in your new home? Things where you thought you deserved punishment for?"

I curse my blush when it flares, and Siobhan takes that as a 'yes.'

"And, what happened?"

_Nothing happened_

I don't like the pleased look on my therapist's face. Not at all.

"There was no violence, no punishment?"

No.

"Any idea why?"

No. Perhaps it just hasn't happened yet.

"I want to go back with you to the moment you left the house of your foster father and went to find Renée. There was a reason that you left."

It's in my file, and I don't answer obvious questions. Besides, she didn't ask, she stated. I feel no need to reply and I don't think I want to know where she is going with this.

"What made you leave him?"

I just look at her, unmoving.

"Fair enough," she says. "I suppose I know the answer to that question. But you went to find Renée, you went to find help, correct?"

Silence.

"What happened just before you decided to leave — would you consider that your fault, too?"

I nod slowly, getting desperate to know where she is going with this. I feel like I am floating in space with nothing, no certainty to hold on to.

"Here's why I am confused. You say it's your fault, right? You are convinced of this, you just told me that you deserved it." She takes a breath. "But if it was all your fault, why would somebody like Renée not simply send you back home? Why would she go out of her way to arrange a family for you? Why would she let you stay in her house for the two weeks or so it took for her to fly you out to your new home?"

I don't have an answer to any of those questions. I went to Renée because she was the only one I knew and because I wanted to _live_. Or, more specifically, because I did not want to die.

My head is reeling at this contradiction in my own logic. Why did I run, if all was my fault? I have been so convinced of that for such a long time, but I did run. Why? And why did Renée not send me back?

Without really realizing I am shaking my head slowly, seeing nothing as I try to process the myriad of questions that is wreaking havoc in my mind.

"Our time is up for today," Siobhan says as she gets up and walks to her desk. "I think I've given you enough to think about for now. Here is my email address. If you want to talk, or have any questions, feel free to email me. I will always reply as quickly as possible."

I accept the card from her, shoving it into my pocket. When she walks to the door to open it and let me out I leave the room, still beyond coherent thought after all that Siobhan said and asked.

**~O~**

I'm stuck in my thoughts. Siobhan's words roll through my mind and I can't let them go, but I can't just accept them, either. There must be something wrong with her logic. There must be.

I find I am biting my nails in my stress, my frantic attempt to make sense of my thoughts. I've never bitten my nails before and I see several worried gazes on me Friday night. I had come down to sit with the family at their request, but their gazes set me off and before the evening is half done I leave them, going up to my room. I need to be alone.

Not my fault. It's not possible. I shake my head, frowning. It's simply not possible. Or perhaps she did not mean everything? Because I know for sure that for a lot of the things I did I only have myself to blame.

Yes, that must be it. But then she had an awful peculiar way of formulating it, didn't she? Because she asked me first if I thought that I brought the punishments on to myself, and then all of a sudden she said it wasn't my fault.

But isn't it almost the same as what happened with Mike? Perhaps I did bring it on, but never purposefully so. But that would mean that Siobhan is right and that indeed it wasn't my fault.

That's not right.

Of course it was.

They said so themselves. My mother when she left. Laurent when my mother left. Laurent when he got arrested. Stefan when Irina got mental. Stefan when I left him.

When I left him.

I fought, for myself, to live. I think that's not connected to things being my fault or not. I simply didn't want to die at that moment. However faulty I had been.

No, it can't be any different than being my fault. I was told so and they knew me, at that moment. Siobhan doesn't know me. She's seen me all of what, five or six times now? As if she knows.

I huff and sit back in the rocking chair.

She doesn't know. Nobody knows. And it's better that way.

Esme won't leave it alone though. As agreed, we go shopping on Saturday. We leave after a late breakfast or early lunch. It's the second to last weekend before Christmas and it's going to be crowded in the stores.

She tries to make conversation in the car and on our way from the car park to the mall, but I am lost, locked up in my thoughts and it makes me feel even worse.

I feel bad enough already over taking up her time to go shopping with her, and now I'm being impossible to add to it.

Fuck.

After following her around numbly into three shops, she suddenly stops and turns to face me. Distracted as I am, I almost walk into her and I look up to meet her eyes, surprised and alarmed.

She looks at me for a moment before she looks around, finally guiding me into a tiny café. "Come on."

She finds us a place in the back, with a clear view of the door. It's calmer than I would expect in this time of the year.

Esme is quiet until a waitress comes to take our order. The girl is young and bored and tuts in annoyance when Esme tries to coax a drink of choice from me. Finally she orders a cup of coffee and a hot chocolate and the waitress leaves again.

My foster mother turns to me and I feel so bad, so bad for behaving like I do and being unable to stop it.

"What's wrong?" she finally asks, and I blink at the gentle patience in her voice. I'd expected some anger, at least.

Slowly, I meet her eyes, studying her features for any sign of frustration.

"Something is obviously bothering you. Please talk to me."

I look away again. It's impossible, Esme. I'm so sorry.

Esme leans forward a little, tilting her head to catch my gaze. "I won't be angry with you. Why don't you just tell me what is ailing you, I'm sure you'll feel better after."

She's interrupted by the waitress who places the drinks on the table. "That'll be four fifty."

I reach in my backpack for my wallet, but Esme stops me and pays herself.

"Don't be afraid to accept things from us," she says when the waitress is gone. "We _want_ to give you things, I thought you knew this by now." Her smile is gentle, but the atmosphere is tense.

"Let me in. Did something happen? Do you want to go home?"

I shake my head quickly. I love to be out, and I'm actually pretty relaxed around Esme. I just have too much to think about right now, and I hate that I am inconveniencing her on top of that.

She thinks for a moment. "Was it the therapy session?"

I nod without meeting her gaze.

"You don't have to tell me what you discussed in there, that's private. Was it a good thing or a bad thing that happened?"

I'm still looking at the tabletop and see how paper and a pen are gently pushed into my line of vision.

_I don't know._

"You're undecided?" Esme guesses, and I nod.

"You've been so pensive since yesterday," she says softly. "I'm guessing that what she said unsettled you."

Again I nod.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

No, I'd rather not.

"Okay. Just know that you can. I'm not a therapist, but I am a mother, and sometimes it can feel good to just vent without having to be afraid your words will be analyzed."

I suppress a laugh, and she asks me what's so funny, smiling herself. Feeling bold, I write.

_When I speak it's always an event_

She laughs in spite of herself. "That is true. Perhaps if you did it more often, it would become less of an event, as you call it."

Oh, nice try, Esme. I stopped communicating for a reason, and that reason has nothing to do with not wanting to be an event every time I _do_ use words.

"But, I promise you, if you just want to talk about it, I will listen. Let me be that person to you."

I sigh, anxiety flaring at the prospect of talking to Esme about this. I'm not even sure if I can, even if I would want to.

And I don't want to.

"Okay," she says, interpreting my silence correctly. "It must be hard for you, I get that. But if you can't tell me what's wrong, can you then tell me how I can cheer you up? I had hoped this could be a nice day out for us together."

Oh Esme, I'm so sorry for my incompetence. I hide my face in my hands as my failure washes over me.

"Don't do that," she says softly.

When I don't reply, I feel her fingers close carefully around my wrist. I freeze up, but let her pull one hand away from my face. The other goes down with it, and I meet her eyes.

"I was not berating you. I was just wondering how I can make you feel better."

Her eyes are sincere and almost automatically, her hand shifts until she's holding mine, and I'm holding hers in return.

And even though my heart is exploding in my chest and my breath is picking up, and even though cold sweat is breaking out on my back in the automatic fear and panic that takes hold of me at the feeling of her touch, I am touching her.

And I don't want to let go.

**~O~**

Our drinks go cold, unnoticed. We sit in the café, our hands clasped. It's not uncomfortable, though it is tense. Her hand is warm, her skin heats mine. It feels… good I think. Alien. Scary. But warm, too. And soft. And secure.

Not safe. I won't go there yet. It will never be safe. But it's… secure.

She's not using any force, simply folding her fingers around mine. I'm sure that if I'd move, she'd pull back. So I don't move.

Then her phone chirps in her purse and the connection is broken. I blink and pull back, suddenly uneasy with having been so vulnerable, and willingly so.

Esme doesn't check her phone. Instead she asks me if I should like anything to drink. "I think these got cold," she says.

Is she flustered? There's something going on with her. She's uneasy, not meeting my gaze. Is she upset over what happened? Is she angry that I held her hand for such a long time?

Oh no.

I tilt my head a little, trying to meet her gaze.

When she finally looks at me her face is tense for a moment, until it seems to split in half with her huge smile.

"I'm so sorry," she says, looking away, and I frown in confusion. "I know I'm not supposed to make a big deal out of this," she continues, unable to suppress her smile, "but this was a big deal. For me at least. How are you? Good?"

I nod hesitantly, and she smiles wider. "Did that feel good?" she asks softly.

I nod again, but slowly. This was a rarity. I hope she will understand this. I still don't like touch and I want to have as little as possible of it.

Esme simply beams. "Want another drink? We can make a plan of action for the rest of the day," she says, getting calmer again as her excitement over this 'event' has faded a bit.

And so we order our second drinks, ignoring the questioning look of the bored waitress as she collects the cold, untouched first round we ordered. Esme pulls the pen and paper towards her and we make a list of what we would like to buy or what shops we'd like to check out.

When it's getting dark, we're finally on our way back to the car. We're both carrying several bags, not only with gifts but also with things Esme needed for the house, and things she said I needed for my wardrobe.

I am already wearing my new coat. I must admit that I really like it. It's black and long, wrapping my entire body in comfortable warmth. It's also in the right size, which means it's less bulky than the Burberry I've been wearing until now. Besides, this coat is way warmer, sufficient for the winter.

Esme is an excellent driver through the snow. The main roads have already been cleaned and when we arrive in Forks, where the roads are still covered in a thin layer of dirty white, she drives carefully. I feel safe with her in the car. It's a peculiarly fuzzy emotion.

She has helped me with some excellent suggestions for gifts, but she also encouraged me to give her my own ideas. She approved of them all, and told me to buy the presents. When I protested that the items were not on the wish lists, she smiled. "That's exactly why it's so wonderful. They won't expect it and they will love it."

I'm not so sure. Then again, if they don't like what they got they can throw it away. They probably will, too, I think as I bite my lip.

"Come on," Esme pulls me from my thoughts. "Lets get our things inside. Do you want to rest or would you like to help me for dinner?"

Of course I help her for dinner, and when the cooking is done and Edward asks if I want to join them, I do after Esme says that I am welcome to do so.

That night more snow falls, and when I wake on Sunday morning the room is filled with that typical light, the world hushed in the silence that snow brings.

It's not really early anymore and I slip into my clothes to go downstairs for breakfast. Esme, Carlisle, Emmett and Rosalie are sitting at the kitchen table. The smell of fresh toast makes my stomach growl, and Esme looks up to greet me with a smile.

"French toast?" she asks as she gets up to pour me a cup of coffee.

My stomach growls again and as she indicates for me to sit down, she sets a place for me at the table.

I remind myself that it is my choice to eat here, and that I can leave if I want to. But everybody is in a good mood, so all looks well.

"Hey, Bella, did you see the extra snow yet?" Emmett asks with sparkling eyes.

I nod at him as Esme places a piece of mouth-watering looking French toast on my plate.

"This just begs for a snow fight," he says, licking his lips. "Want to join?"

My gaze shifts from the window back to him. I'm frozen in my seat, knowing that he wants me to say yes, but also knowing that I'm unable to do so.

"Think about it," Rosalie chimes in. "Emmett doesn't play fair, anyway, so it's no wonder if you'd rather pass."

"Aw, babe, that's not true," Emmett protests.

"It's _so_ true and you know it." She laughs.

Emmett turns to me. "See what happens here? I'm found guilty without a trial."

"Very Kafkan," Carlisle agrees.

I smile at his reference, and Carlisle meets my gaze, smiling back when he realizes I know the book.

"Whatever," Emmett says, shrugging the unknown term off. "I can play fair."

"Of course you can," Rosalie smiles. "If the rules agree with you."

Emmett huffs, but he's smiling as well.

I love the easy banter between those two.

Footsteps and voices on the stairs announce that Alice and Jasper are on their way down.

"Oh, French toast," Jasper says happily. "Good morning all."

They join us at the table and we eat together. They chat leisurely, a relaxed Sunday morning atmosphere in the room. Esme meets my gaze from time to time and smiles, and one time she gently clasps her hands together on the table, reminding me of the moment we shared yesterday with a glow in her eyes.

I think this is her way of telling me that she liked it.

When the breakfast things are cleaned away, Edward finally trudges down the stairs. His hair is all over the place, and he's wearing a longsleeve and pajama pants. He yawns and rubs his face, getting himself a mug of coffee while Esme fixes him some of the leftover French toast.

His eyes are still tiny from sleep when he sits down with us.

"Good morning," Carlisle says pointedly after a minute of silence.

"Morning," Edward replies, a crooked smile on his face.

"Man, if I didn't know any better I'd say you had a pretty rough night," Jasper jokes.

Edward smiles and sits back to stretch, his long arms rising above his head. I can see the faint tremor that runs through his body as he pulls his muscles taut. "Just a short one," he says as his arms come down again. "Couldn't sleep."

"Again, Edward?" Carlisle asks, a hint of worry in his voice.

Edward shrugs. "Just not a morning person."

Oh I can relate to that. The best time of the day is the night.

"So, you gonna come out with us then?" Emmett asks. "This snow begs for a fight."

"Sure. You coming too, Bella?"

"No, because apparently I don't play fair," Emmett says before I can react.

"That's true," Edward muses mockingly. "Maybe I should reconsider, too."

Emmett frowns and sits back. "Fine. I'll go make a snowman then."

"No," Esme says, and I look at her in surprise. "Unless you make a _normal_ one."

Snickers fill the room and I find myself wondering what sort of snowmen Emmett used to make. Not a type Esme would approve of, it seems.

Emmett gets up. "Well, _I_ am going out. Anyone who cares to join me, consider yourself welcome."

Rosalie gets up with him, as do Jasper and Alice. They all disappear upstairs to get dressed warmly for a day out in the snow.

"You not joining them, Edward?" Esme asks.

"I wanted to go to the library first today."

"The roads aren't cleared yet after the fresh snowfall, I think," Carlisle says. "I don't think it's such a good idea for you to go and drive now."

"Shit, I hadn't even considered that."

Esme smiles. "Join the others then. Who knows how long this snow will last. It could be gone tomorrow."

"Yeah, I can do that. Besides, I would have liked it for Bella to come but her new ID isn't ready yet I think?"

With a shock I realize I had forgotten, again, to ask Esme for a new card.

"What?" Esme asks, confused.

Edward looks to me. "You didn't tell her?"

"Tell me what?" Esme asks, looking from Edward to me.

"She needs a new ID," Edward replies for me. "Her old one is still on Phoenix. She can't even get a library card now."

Esme covers her mouth with her hand. "I totally didn't think of that. I'm so sorry Bella. Why didn't you ask?"

Shrugging, I make a gesture that tells her it simply slipped my mind.

"We'll get on that as soon as possible. I mean, I hope you intend to stay here for a while, so you'll need a new card."

I nod, searching her eyes, and she smiles. "Now, what will you do today? Are you sure you don't want to join the others?"

No, I don't.

And as such I find myself in the library with a mug of tea, huddled in the window seat. There's a heater underneath the bench, and it's ridiculously cozy and warm here as I look out over the snow-covered garden. From my vantage point I can see the other Cullens drift out, jogging through the snow. Huddled in scarves, hats and gloves, they look rosy from the cold, and happy.

The first snowball hits Alice in the back and she turns quickly, trying to hit Emmett in return. Instead, she gets a handful of snow right into her face and she sputters, laughing, trying to prevent the snow from leaking into her collar.

I watch them play. They run, trying to hit each other. All five of them, they're laughing, careless. They stumble every now and again, and one time Emmett slips and falls flat on his back. He laughs so hard I can hear it through the double glass of the window.

After a while Carlisle joins them, and he has an uncanny aim, hitting everybody easily as he dodges the others. Rosalie finally sneaks up from behind and jumps on his back. She manages to wrestle him to the ground, face down, and the others take their revenge, showering him with handfuls of snow until he's almost completely covered.

Carlisle gets Rose off him and overpowers her by tickling her sides. Her squeal makes me smile and she rolls off him, squirming until he lets her go.

They're so careless and free. Carlisle is playing with them, he's not angry at all when Rosalie tackles him, and Rosalie is only laughing when she's being tickled by her father. A strange, unknown emotion churns in my guts and it's not a pretty feeling. I frown.

Behind me, the door of the library opens and Esme comes in, pulling the rocking chair closer to me and looking outside with me for a while.

"Don't you want to join them?" she asks softly.

I exhale wistfully. I wish.

"Is it too wild for you?" she asks carefully.

We both look outside as Alice squeals and we see how she's being tackled by Jasper.

I shake my head, to my own surprise.

"Talk to me," she says, holding out a notepad and pen.

I take the utensils from her but make no move to write. Instead I sit back in the window seat, my legs covered by the afghan I borrowed from the living room. The same afghan I put over Edward just after I arrived in this house.

"What's stopping you from joining them?"

Do I answer? I figure I don't have so much to lose anymore. Esme knows so much about me already, I have given her so many things about me she could use against me. One more can't hurt. If she turns against me, all will be lost anyway.

_They wouldn't want me_

Her silence is tense and I can hear her swallow. "What makes you think that?" She sounds like Siobhan.

Instead of writing I just look at her, letting her see _me_. Who would want me? Who would have me?

Her expression shows me she doesn't understand.

So, with a sigh, I write.

_I'm not good. I do everything wrong. I'm in the way_

"Stop," Esme interrupts my writing. "Do you really think that?"

I nod. Would I say it otherwise?

"I don't think you see yourself very clearly. Why do you think this?"

_Was told so._

"I think deep down you know you're wrong, Bella. Did Stefan tell you that you were 'in the way'?"

Yes. And my mother, and Laurent.

"Well, here you aren't," she states firmly. "I also don't agree that you're not good, and that you do everything wrong."

I look at my lap. She will never get it.

"Bella," Esme says softly, and her pleading tone makes me meet her gaze. "How long will it take for you to realize that we accept and love you unconditionally?"

**~O~**

Sunday night I lie awake in bed long after I have heard the rest come upstairs. I am considering going out to sit in the living room for a bit, maybe even make some hot milk, but I'm not entirely sure that Carlisle has gone up to bed yet. And if I am going downstairs I will want to be alone.

Turning to my other side I slumber for a bit until I hear Carlisle's footsteps on the stairs.

Ha, see? I was right.

I wait for a good half hour, tapping into a skill I haven't had to use for quite some time now – the ability to stay awake without much effort. When I am certain he is asleep, I slip into my robe and slippers and creep down the stairs.

Making only a tiny light in the kitchen I heat up milk in the microwave, putting extra sugar in it for the sweetness. Then I curl up on the couch, hands wrapped around my mug, afghan wrapped around my legs.

I sit back and close my eyes for a moment. Hmm, blissful. In a full house like this it's hard to find a quiet moment, except when I am in my room. And I get cabin fever in that room sometimes.

Before my milk has cooled down enough so I can drink, I hear socked feet on the stairs. Craning my head, I see Edward step into the living room.

I shake my head and roll my eyes playfully, and he laughs bashfully.

"Sorry. Want to be alone?"

I shrug. He's here now, isn't he? Besides, I know he's not the only one having trouble falling asleep.

He disappears into the kitchen for a few minutes and I hear the buzz and then the ding of the microwave, and moments later he appears with his own mug of hot milk.

Without blinking or hesitating he sits down at the other end of the couch, making me hurry to pull in my feet to create some distance. Jeez, he could have sat down somewhere else.

"I don't bite, you know," he says as he pulls one leg underneath him and sits to face me.

With a nod and a shrug I conceded that indeed, I know.

"So how are you? Last week before the holiday?"

Yeah, it is.

"Oh shit, I don't have my phone." He reaches into the drawer of the coffee table and comes up empty. "Yes or no questions then," he smirks, and a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth too.

He sits back and settles deeper into the couch. "We can try to go to the library during the holiday. If you have your new ID by then, you can get your own card and get anything you want."

I nod, a little wistfully. It would be nice to be able to do that. It would be nicer even if I could go to the library by myself.

"I have to go sooner though, I think. I have to read _Coraline_ for English. Do you know it?"

No. Interesting title, though.

"I mean, I guess I could find a synopsis and then work with that, but I'm a good student and all that, so I won't."

I smile at his words. I couldn't imagine him cheating like that.

"Anyway, I thought I'd get it early so I can finish it before Christmas. Let me know if you want to join then. I'm not sure if we can get Alice to come this time, though."

I sip my milk.

"Just let me know," he smiles, and he copies my gesture.

We sit in silence for a while, drinking the hot milk. I love how the beverage warms my stomach and as such my body. I've been so cold over the last few days, it's been miserable.

"How's counseling going?"

Ugh, I so don't want to talk about that.

"You seemed a bit tense when you came home last Friday. Almost as if you were upset."

I shrug. I wasn't really upset. Just rattled to my core. But I've come to the conclusion that Siobhan can't possibly be right, so I've tried to put it to the back of my mind.

I am more than a little apprehensive though to go back on Tuesday. What will happen if she finds out that I don't agree with her? She's supposed to be always right, right? Because she's a therapist and has a degree to help fucked up people like me?

But what will happen if I can't agree with her? Do I lie? But I can't lie. And certainly not about something as fundamental about my life being my own fault. Because it is.

Right?

"Hey, come back to me," Edward says softly.

Drawn from my thoughts, my eyes move to focus on him slowly.

"Wow. You were completely zoning out there for a moment. I'm guessing that what happened Friday made you think?"

Yeah, you can say that again.

"But that's supposed to happen, right? That you start to think about things?"

I don't know. Is it? Renée never made me do that.

"Did you talk yet about what we talked about before we started? About you coming to terms with what happened?"

I shake my head. Not yet. Not really.

"Okay. Forgive me by the way, what happens there is between you and your therapist. I don't mean to pry."

We drink again.

"Do you feel like there is progress, though?"

Progress? No, I'm not sure. It's all still exploring, I think.

"But it feels okay?"

I think for a moment about his question. I hate Siobhan for turning my world upside down and I'd rather don't go back there. I hate how she picks my brain and shatters my logic.

But yeah, I think it feels okay.

**~O~**

Siobhan does not bring up the mayhem she created in my mind during the last session. At least, at first. Instead, she chats about the snow, about Christmas, about her plans and mine. She asks if I have started communication since that first time she asked me to do it.

She asks me, now that I have had time to think about it all, what my answer is to the question why I am here.

Unable to put my chaotic thoughts into words, I write down something that entails it as fully as possible.

_To be normal_

"Do you consider yourself not normal?"

I shrug. Isn't that obvious?

"Can you tell me why?"

Oh, where to start. I can't participate in games. I'm a social cripple and not because I don't talk. I'm always afraid, then again I think I am rightly so. I always fuck up. I don't know. I just want to be normal, but I think at the same time I will never be. Too much has happened, and I'm malformed to begin with.

"What are you thinking?" Siobhan asks softly.

_I don't think I can ever be normal_

"Not everybody would consider that a bad thing," she smiles. "A lot of people would give anything to be not normal."

Not I.

"What makes you think you can't be normal?"

Might as well tell her everything, I think. I have to think about my words though.

_I see others and I can't be like them_

"Elaborate." She's patient, encouraging.

_I don't know. In interaction, or playing. I saw the family play in the snow last Sunday._

"And you wished you could join them?"

Yes.

"Why didn't you?"

_I didn't want to be in the way_

"Did they say you would?"

No…

"But you felt like you would be."

_They have been so nice so far. I don't want to push my luck._

Siobhan sits forward. "You think it's luck that your new family has been nice to you?"

Yes, I do. I meet her gaze with wide eyes that I want to convey my sincerity.

"Some stroke of good luck, then," she smirks, and now she makes _me_ sit back.

Huh. Good luck tends to avoid me. I've even told Siobhan this not so long ago. I guess that's why she is referring to it now.

"But, if you want to call it luck, by all means," she says leisurely, sitting back again. "It would be more relaxing though if you would start to accept that this is your new reality."

I cross my legs.

"Just to be clear here — you think the Cullens are only nice for you for the time being, right? That they will turn against you any moment?"

How she guessed this I don't know, but she guessed right, so I nod.

"Why would they be nice to you in the first place?"

I don't know. I've been racking my brain about that, too.

"Could it be because you are simply a nice person? Easy to like?"

My brows rise in surprise. Hardly.

"Then what else?"

_So I won't run?_

"But if you are such a horrible person, why would they even keep you?"

Bit by bit, my logic crumbles. I shrug to answer her question.

"Write down what you think for me."

_So they have someone to blame_

"Ah," she says. "There is so much in that one sentence. I can't even cover that all in what's left of this session. You feel like you are the one to be blamed for everything?"

Yes.

"Even if it's not actually your fault?"

Yes.

Oh.

* * *

_Bit by bit her logic crumbles... Let me know what you think?_


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N I don't own Twilight**

_I don't own a psychology degree, either. The therapy sessions are a figment of my imagination and I am not claiming they would go like this in real life. _

_Thanks for reading and reviewing. You're all awesome! Thanks to Sherry, Deb and Bob, my Team Torn, for helping me and listening to my endless wailing._

_An early update for you, because I think this chapter is awesome. Enjoy!_

* * *

Stupid therapist.

I hate her.

Or at least, I wish I could.

She makes me think about things I've considered a given for so long I stopped evaluating them.

And she's right.

I can't stand it that she's right.

Not about things not being my fault. I mean, that idea is still utterly ridiculous. But she _is_ right about me thinking it's okay to have the blame placed on me for everything. It's easier for people to place the blame on others and since I'm doing so many things wrong to begin with, I guess that it's only to be expected I'm at fault for those other things too.

And now Siobhan tells me that this is not okay, and not normal, and not to be expected.

That woman puts my world upside down and like I said, I really wish I could hate her for it, but I find that I cant.

Because the more I think about what she said, the more appealing the notion becomes that perhaps I'm not always at fault, and perhaps it's not normal to be blamed for _everything_.

However, I have to be careful about that thought. An appealing thought doesn't change who I am as a person and it never will. I have to live with all the things I have done wrong.

Perhaps Edward was right. Perhaps I need to tell Siobhan that that is what I want to work on. Change myself, so I can become a better person, however impossible I deem that thought. And if that's not possible, something I think she will agree with, perhaps I can ask her to help with coming to terms with the guilt I bear, to forgive myself for my mistakes perhaps.

Gah, it almost sounds like redemption or something. Scary.

I wish I had some distraction from school, but in the last few days until the Christmas holiday, we're not getting much homework. The teachers are relaxed, some even chat with the class about their plans for the Christmas holiday.

The snow has been melting steadily, and for now it looks like there won't be a white Christmas after all.

The students are not as upset over that as over the fact that they didn't get the possibility of snow days from school.

Mike, mostly recovered from his downfall after the 'incident,' scrapes the last bits of sludge and ice together and tries to engage other students in a snow battle. Jessica squeals very girl-like and ducks away when Mike aims at her.

I look away when I see that Jessica is doing everything to get his attention. Even I know that she's trying to flirt with him. It makes me sick. What she would ever want with him is beyond me.

What any girl would ever want with any guy is beyond me.

I cross my arms against the cold in the cafeteria and huddle deeper in my seat during lunch. Alice and Rosalie are having soup and it must be delicious, as is the promise to have something warm in my stomach.

Eating in such a full room however is not on my list of actions I am willing to do. Instead I just look at the steaming bowls they have in front of them as they chat. Rosalie is in a good mood, looking forward very much to the upcoming holiday.

After today there are two days of school left, and the last Friday before the holiday never really counts.

"You okay?" Edward asks suddenly on my right.

I meet his gaze and hunch my shoulders immediately after. The movement has made a fresh ripple of goose flesh travel over my body. I just can't get warm today.

"Cold?"

I nod.

"Guess this is different from Phoenix," he smiles. "Do you want something? We can get your coat?"

No, that's not necessary. It would be weird to wear my coat in the cafeteria. People are looking at me enough as it is.

I shiver again. Rats.

"I'll be right back," he says, and he's up and out of his chair before I can wonder what he's going to do.

"Heh," Rosalie smiles on my other side. "Hopeful man."

I frown and look at her, trying to figure out what she means by that.

"He's buying you tea," Alice says softly, nodding into the direction of the deserted lunch line, where sure enough Edward is receiving a container from the lady behind the counter. "Look."

I think my jaw drops.

Edward comes back with the covered cup and places it before me on the table. I look up at him, confused. If he thought I was going to drink it, he's sorely mistaken.

"Don't look so worried," he chuckles. "Just put your hands around it. It's warm."

I never even considered this and his kindness overwhelms me. As I wrap my hands around the cardboard cup and the heat seeps through my frozen fingers, a new shiver travels through me. Edward chuckles and I smile at him, thanking him I hope with my expression. How nice of him to do this for me. As my hands finally get warm, Siobhan's words come back to me. _'__Could __it __be __because__ you __are __simply __a__ nice __person?__ Easy __to __like?__'_

I shake my head a little to expel the thoughts. I can't even begin to comprehend the possibility that someone, or several people even, would like me for _me._

"You're pensive today," Rosalie observes. "Have been for a while, too. All well?"

I meet her gaze and nod slowly. Just a lot to think about, I guess.

It's getting harder and harder to ignore Siobhan's arguments. It's getting harder and harder to find arguments against her logic.

But that doesn't automatically mean that she is right, right?

It can't be.

"Not worrying?" Rosalie continues her questioning. She slides her phone towards me over the table so I can talk.

_Just a lot to think about_

She reads and nods. "If you ever want to talk, I'm here."

She says it off-handedly, like she couldn't care less, but I know that she really means this offer.

And it means a lot to me that she would say that, because somehow I know that if I ever wanted to chat to her, she might not consider it a burden.

The bell rings, interrupting my thoughts, and with a shock I realize that I was actually thinking that Rosalie might like me.

I sigh and get up to go to Biology.

The world doesn't make sense anymore.

**~O~**

Thursday is gray and dark, and I find that I am fighting sleep all through the day. I've slept like shit last night, dreams waking me every five minutes, or so it felt. And they weren't all bad dreams, but weird. I dreamed that Stefan dropped me off at the Cullens, leaving me at their driveway with a suitcase in my hands. Only in the dream, I didn't know the Cullens and they didn't know me. I had to walk the mile long driveway to their house and hope they would take me in.

I dreamed of walking through the forest in summer. Looking up and seeing the sun shine through the leaves, feeling the warmth on my face.

I dreamed of the first time I got my period. Laurent had noticed, since I lived with him and I didn't know where to go with all the blood between my legs. Not long after, Laurent came to my bed and crawled on top of me for the first time. '_You__'__re__ a _petite femme _now,__'_ he had rasped in my ear. I was twelve.

Sighing deeply, I rub my eyes and shake my head a little to get rid of the memories and to wake up a little more.

"You okay?" Edward asks softly in Biology.

Yeah, I'm good.

"Okay," he says, but I can hear in his tone that he's not convinced. "You look tired," he adds after a while.

I shrug. The holiday starts soon, I have a hope to catch up on my sleep. But god, my eyelids are heavy. I rub them again.

How I wish I could just put my head on my hands and close my eyes, if only for a minute…

Edward pushes a piece of paper towards me. Eight underscores are drawn, with a space after the fifth. I look at him with questioning eyes.

"Hangman," he clarifies. "Want to play?"

Is he really asking me to play a game with him? I can't believe it. I nod my consent hesitantly, and he encourages me to start guessing letters.

Within a few minutes I have guessed that the word is _apple__ pie_.

He smirks when I guess right. "It was the first thing I could think of," he says by way of explanation. "Your turn."

My eyes go wide at his request.

"Come on, it won't kill you," he coaxes. "Just think of a word."

Finally I settle on _library_, which is ridiculously easy, and he's guessed it in no time. He takes his turn to have me guess the next word, and we play five or six times until the bell rings.

"You more awake now?" he asks as we pack our bags, a lopsided smile tugging at his mouth.

I nod and smile back, and he bids me goodbye before he leaves the classroom to go to his Spanish class, his long legs carrying him away swiftly.

Coach Clapp asks me to stay in his office when I come to report at the beginning of Gym class, and I sit on the extra chair, fidgeting, until he comes to get me. What does he want, what did I do wrong?

The office is on the second floor has two windows — one that looks out over the schoolyard and one that gives a view of the gym room. I look down on the students that are slowly filing into the room, all in the same shirts. Some are wearing shorts, some sweat pants.

I recognize Mike's blond hair and Jessica's ponytail before the have turned so I can see their faces. Today is volleyball, apparently, and coach Clapp is putting up a net as he instructs two other students to distribute the soft balls amongst the others.

The coach blows his whistle and divides everyone into groups. Then he appoints a few students and gives them whistles to referee. The class starts playing quite quickly, which makes me think this is not their first volleyball lesson. When everybody has started, the coach leaves the Gym room and appears in the office moments later.

He leaves the door open, and I can tell he's not making a deal out of it but that he's doing it deliberately all the same.

"So, Bella, how are you?" he asks as he takes the seat at his desk.

I nod to let him know I'm okay.

"I was wondering how you are progressing on your assignment. All going well? Do you have any questions?"

He looks out over the gym room for a moment, to check if all is going as it should, before he focuses on me again.

Looking at his desk I note a pile of post-its and a pen. Hesitantly, checking his face for approval, I reach for both and write.

_Can I show you?_

"Of course."

I get the organizer with my work from my bag and hand it to him. The clippings that I found, the journal articles that Carlisle helped me to find. I show him the research I've done and the outline I have made for the paper I have already started writing.

Finally, I look up at coach Clapp. He's too silent and my heart sinks. It's not good enough. I sit back in my chair and wait to be chastised.

"Bella, I don't know what to say," he starts.

Mentally, I brace myself. I knew it. I should have done better than this.

Coach Clapp is looking for words, browsing through the organizer I left on his desk. He's probably trying to find a way to let me down gently. Should I tell him he can just be honest with me?

"Have you been working on this outside of Gym hours too?"

I nod.

"I'm just speechless," he laughs.

Oh shit, is it that bad? Damn.

"This is amazing."

_What_?

"This is so much more than I expected you to get done for the entire year. From what I can see right now, this is excellent work."

I blink. I'm stunned. More than he expected me to do for the entire year? What?

"Wow, Bella. I don't know what to say. I'm actually very interested in the ultimate essay."

I exhale shakily and the coach notices.

"This surprises you? I thought you were well aware of your qualities."

I don't know what to say.

He smiles. "You can work on my computer until the end of class if you want. It's always so cold in the library."

I smile widely at him before I can stop myself and he laughs. "Stay here until the bell rings. Perhaps you'd like to observe the Gym class for a bit. I have to go back now." He looks through the window. "Not much playing going on anymore, I see."

Following his gaze, I see that most of the students are no longer playing the game as they are supposed to. The coach appears below me moments later and calls the class to attention again, starting the second part of the lesson.

I use the teacher's pc to google some information, but spend more time observing the students play until the bell rings and I can go home.

Being as tired as I am, I ask Esme if I can nap before dinner. She takes in my fatigued state and sends me to bed with a smile.

When I wake again it's fully dark. I plug in the light string that Rosalie has given me, casting the room in an orange glow, and draw the curtains.

I check my journal to see if there is any homework I may have missed that has to be done tomorrow, and then decide to go downstairs to see if I can help for dinner.

As I descend the stairs, I hear a loud voice.

"So I got an F, big deal," Emmett says. "I'll live."

"It's not your first, Emmett," Esme says softly, calmly. "You have to get your grades up if you want to go to college or university."

"Maybe I don't want to go," Emmett replies sulkily. "Maybe I'll just quit after high school and get a job."

"Don't be ridiculous, Emmett," Carlisle reprimands. "Of course you are going to college."

"What for? I won't ever become a doctor. I don't have Edward's brains. I'm just bound to let you down!"

Underneath his anger, there's insecurity, and the fear to disappoint. I know it. I know it so well.

"Of course not!" Esme exclaims. "What makes you think that?"

"I'll just never be as smart. And I'll never get Trig. Big deal."

"Perhaps you could consider tutoring."

"No!"

"Emmett, we agreed that you could have practice in favor of extra classes, if you kept your grades up. You will have to keep your part of the deal," Carlisle says sternly.

"No. And besides, it doesn't matter!" Emmett shouts, startling me in his sudden anger. "It's not like I need it later on. Playing is the one thing I'm good at, and you're taking that away from me."

"This is not what's happening and you know this," Esme says. "We're not keeping you from your sports completely. As soon as your grades get up, you can go back to the extra practice again. Be reasonable."

"No. I'm done being reasonable. I don't see why I should waste even more time on a subject I couldn't care less about."

I hear quick footsteps and he rounds the corner so quickly I can't step away from my spot on the landing of the stairs. He bumps into me as he is setting course to go upstairs, the full length of his body crashing into mine.

Gasping violently, my entire body convulses at the contact. I whirl away against the wall, my arms up to my face in an automatic posture of defense.

"Sorry," he mutters harshly, before he turns to go to the living room, plopping down on the couch with a huff.

Alice appears from upstairs and sees me, utterly alarmed leaning against the wall. "What happened?"

"I walked into her," comes Emmett's voice from the living room.

"Och you twat, couldn't you watch were you were going?" Alice snaps.

"Are you going to give me a hard time now, too?" Emmett spits back, appearing from the living room again. "I can't help she moves around this place in fucking stealth mode!" Emmett points at me as he says this, blaming me for being in the way.

It figures. I'm always in the way. I cringe at his words.

"Emmett, language," Esme says harshly from the kitchen.

Alice looks from Emmett to me. "You okay?"

I nod after a moment. I'll be okay. I just need to get my bearings back together, is all. And truth be told, I _was_ in the way.

"You know, Emmett," Alice then says. "Bella is good at Trig. Maybe you could..."

"Oh for fuck's sake, get off my back already," he says, exasperated, and then stalks away, disappearing into the garage. Moments later, I hear a car start.

"That could have gone better," Carlisle says as he appears into my vision.

I exhale a shaky breath. It could have, indeed.

"God, what's _wrong_ with him," Alice complains, walking to the couch and dropping down in it with a huff.

I am still at the landing of the stairs, willing my heart to calm down. Emmett snapped at me, and he accused me of being in the way, which I was.

I don't know what to do now. To my own horror I feel my lower lip tremble and fat tears spill over before I can stop myself.

"Oh Bella, don't cry, don't be upset," Esme says as she walks out of the kitchen and sees me. "Emmett wasn't angry with you. Did he scare you?"

I can't reply. I'm just crying, standing here like the useless piece of shit that I am.

Alice has returned from the couch and walks up to me. Her voice is soft when she speaks. "He snapped at me, too."

_But__ he __didn__'__t __tell __you__ you __were __in __the __way_, I think.

"This is ridiculous. I'm calling Emmett right now to come home and apologize," Carlise says, already walking towards the phone on the side table.

I shake my head vehemently at Esme. Carlisle doesn't have to call Emmett home, and especially not for me.

Carlisle sees me and puts the phone down again. "He _was_ out of line. He'll apologize when he gets home."

"Where did Emmett go?" Rosalie asks as she appears from the garage. "He just ran past me and raced off."

"We tried to talk to him about his F in Trig," Esme says.

"Oh, that. Yeah. He's stressed out. He doesn't want to lose practice."

"He'll have to. We made a deal," Carlisle says.

"Bella is good at Trig," Alice offers off-handedly. "I mean, she explained it all to me, didn't she?"

"Bella is one year below Emmett. Even if she considered helping him after how he treated her, she'd have to spend a lot of time catching up to even help him," Carlisle says, meeting my gaze.

"Emmett didn't mean it," Alice says. "You know how he always says stupid things when he's angry."

"But he got her where it hurts," Esme says softly, her gaze shifting to me as she speaks. "He's not angry with you though."

I shrug, realizing they might think I mean this in a gesture to say it doesn't matter. It doesn't, actually, but not for the reason they think. I _was_ in the way, after all.

"Well, he's gone for now. I hope that when he comes back he has calmed down," she continues.

"He just doesn't want to spend the entire holiday studying," Rosalie says. "He's been worrying for weeks over this test. He doesn't get it, but his teacher is such an ass. He never explains it in a way that Emmett gets. It makes him feel stupid."

Yeah, I got that idea, too.

They talk for a bit more, until Esme leaves to go and make a late dinner. I rush to help her, wanting to make up for what I did wrong earlier.

"You're pensive," she says after a while.

I shrug again, but Esme stops what she's doing and turns to me. "Talk to me."

_I_ was _in __the __way_

"With Emmett?"

Yes.

"That wasn't your fault. He was just upset, and then he was probably very shocked that he hadn't noticed you. He must have been upset after bumping into you, because he knows how much that affects you."

I bite my lip, thinking about her words. The way she explains it would make Emmett a very nice person. Of course she would defend her own son. But it still doesn't work.

_It's still my fault_

"How?"

_He__'__s__ upset __because __he __has __to __consider __me. __He __never __chose __to __have __me __in __this __house_.

My hands tremble when I give Esme the note.

"That's not how it went," she says softly, looking up from the note to meet my gaze. "When Renée called us to ask if we could take you into our home, we talked to everyone at length. We asked them if they were okay with you coming here. They knew you wouldn't speak and that you would be… distant perhaps, at first at least. They all agreed to have you here. Had they not agreed, Renée would have found you another home. We did give them the choice."

She looks at me for a moment before she turns back to chopping the vegetables again, giving me space to let her words sink in. So they had a choice, and they all said yes.

Still I can't shake the feeling they didn't know what they bargained for.

**~O~**

Friday in school is spent at leisure. The teachers don't give us much to do during class and in Biology we get an assignment that everybody depicts as funny and hilarity-inducing, but which freaks me out.

With tiny pins we are supposed to softly prod our partner's fingers, trying to figure out how sensitive the skin is. It's all for the realization that even if you think you can feel something on every tiny part of your skin, you can't.

The other is supposed to close his or her eyes and let the partner prod.

Edward sees my alarm and smiles reassuringly. "You can do me? You can push a little harder if you want to take revenge for my carrying you," he grins.

I can't hide my laugh and Mr. Banner smiles as he drops two pins and a piece of millimeter paper on our table. Edward puts the pins into the paper, about two millimeters apart, and hands me the device. Then he closes his eyes and holds up his hand.

"Just the hand," Mr. Banner warns as he gets back to the front of the room. "You will want your partner to at least _somewhat_ know what to expect."

Mike has teamed up with two other students who don't look too happy they have to work with him. I look away and focus back on Edward again. My heart is hammering in my chest as I press the paper with the two pins softly against his fingertip.

"Two," he says, smiling.

I prod a different spot.

"One. Hey, that's interesting."

Swallowing, I move to another fingertips and prod. No reaction.

The palm of his hand is a 'two' but he pulls his hand away, grinning as he opens his eyes. "That tickles."

My mouth pops open in an 'o' as I try to apologize with my gaze.

"Don't worry about it," he says. "Want to give it a try?"

Eh, no.

"Keep your eyes open," he offers. "Perhaps that's easier?"

I look from the pins to him. No.

"Okay. It was worth a nod."

We write down our conclusions after the short, one-sided experiment. The silence is awkward.

"Remember," Mr. Banner says as the bell rings, "after the holidays we're going out to the greenhouses. Get the slips signed!"

Only half hearing the teacher, I hurry to get out of the room.

I was so close to giving in.

During Gym I focus intently on my assignment, trying to forget everything that's changing around me, inside me.

I'm still trying to fight those thoughts away when Siobhan calls me into her office. It's already well into twilight. These days are the darkest of the year.

"Welcome back, Bella. How are you today?"

I'm ok.

"You seem a bit tense. Is there anything in specific you would like to talk about?"

No, not really.

"Are you sure?"

I exhale, caught. I don't know where to start, though.

"Write for me. I'm here to discuss your thoughts with you, but I can't read your mind. You will have to share."

Taking a deep breath, I start writing.

_You said it's not my fault_

Siobhan sits back, seemingly relieved that I am talking. "I did."

_How do you know?_

She smiles. "You have told me yourself that you thought the amount of violence you have known was not fitting for any wrongdoings you might have done."

_That doesn't mean I wasn't at fault_

"Can you give me an example of when you were at fault? Really at fault?"

I bite my lip.

_I broke a plate once_

"Okay. That can happen. Accidents happen. What happened then?"

_He beat me_

"Did you deserve that?"

Yes. My shoulders sag and my heart is hammering in shame. I think I'm nervous because Siobhan will now learn I _am_a failure. But I can't live with this insecurity anymore. Let people know the full truth and let them turn away from me. After three months of nothing and a false sense of safety, I am discovering I can't hold my guard up anymore.

"Are you sure?"

What? Of course I am.

"Okay. I'll come back to that later. I want to know why you are so stressed. Did something happen?"

I sigh, defeated.

_I was in the way yesterday_

"Tell me more."

_Emmett walked into me. He told me I was in stealth mode_

She suppresses a smile. I can see it. "Stealth mode?"

I don't reply.

"You will have to tell me more. What happened before that? What was his mood?"

_He was fighting with Carlisle and Esme. He was angry_

"So he was angry. Then he didn't see you when he walked away, and he bumped into you?"

Yes.

"And he blamed you by telling you that you were in stealth mode?"

Yes.

"What upsets you most about this?"

_I failed and it was my fault. I was in the way_

"Okay. Let's try to reverse the roles here. What if you bumped into anyone, would you blame them for being in the way?"

Thinking back to the day we bought the Christmas tree and I walked straight into Carlisle, I know immediately that I wasn't angry with him at all. I was angry with myself, for not seeing him there.

So I shake my head, frowning a little.

"Tell me what you are thinking."

_It would be my fault_

"So, it would be your fault when you are bumping into someone and it would be your fault when you are bumped into?" Siobhan shifts deeper into the couch. "You can't win."

I blink once. No, I can't. But it's always me, isn't it?

"Let's go back to what you said before, when you dropped the plate. You said you deserved the punishment you got. What if someone else dropped your plates? Would you do the same?"

Utmost horror must show on my face as my entire being recoils at using violence like that.

"Then why should it be okay to have it used on you?"

_That's different_

Siobhan smiles patiently. "I think you know deep down that it isn't. But it will take some time for you to start realizing this."

Silence falls and I fidget, looking out the window.

"Did our discussion not solve your anxiety?"

No, hardly.

"What can I do for you?"

_What do I do?_

"That's a bit general. What do you do with what?"

_You say it's not my fault_

"I do."

_You don't know me. How can you be sure I'm not a failure?_

"Are you any different now than you were in your old home?"

Not that I'm aware of, no.

"From what I can tell, there is nothing that would indicate you are a failure as you call it."

_You don't know me_

Siobhan thinks for a moment. "Are you worried that people will turn against you if they get to know you? The real you?"

Yes.

"But your view of me didn't change when I told you that my father used to beat me. He always said it was my fault too. It was my fault that I was born. I know better now."

Oh. Laurent said something like that too, one time.

_How do you know it wasn't your fault?_

"Years of therapy and the proof that even though I didn't change, the violence stopped."

Huh.

"Does knowing of my past change your opinion of me?"

No.

"Then why would others see _you_ differently if they got to know the real you?"

The urge to say 'just because' is very much there.

"What's holding you back?"

_What if I'm wrong?_

"That is a normal worry to have in your situation. But I don't think you will be wrong."

Silence.

"Bella, are you waiting for the other shoe to drop?"

Fucking tears. Fucking, stupid, treacherous tears. I'm so tired.

"I think it won't happen. There is no violence in your life right now, right?"

I shake my head, tears still spilling over.

"And I think there won't be. I think you will be surprised to see that almost everybody in this world is more like you and less like your foster father. The majority recoils from violence."

She doesn't even know what happened with Laurent, I realize. Nobody really knows. He was arrested for fraud and I needed a new home. My not talking was thought due to the stress of switching homes.

Siobhan pulls me from my thoughts. "Our time is almost up, but I want to give you something."

She unfolds her frame from the couch and walks to her desk, where she produces a bound reader and a wrapped gift from a drawer. I accept both from her, the question clear in my eyes.

"This is my diary," she says as she gives me the reader. "I typed it all out and now give it to choice people to read. I think it might help you, too. It's my life story, basically."

I swallow as the bundle of papers suddenly feels heavy in my hands.

"I don't expect you to read it, or to have finished it by the time you come back here. But like you, Bella, I always believed that I was the one at fault, whatever went wrong, whatever happened. I have learned that it wasn't. Perhaps if you read this, you will recognize some things."

She hands me the wrapped box. "This is a Christmas gift. I hope you will use it."

She walks to the door of her office and opens it for me to let me out. As I walk past her, she meets my gaze. "Merry Christmas, Bella. May it be the best so far."

The trust in her eyes and the conviction in her voice makes something flutter in my stomach and I smile at her, my eyes filling up with unexpected tears.

Siobhan smiles back and lets me out. I wipe my face quickly before I go to meet Esme in the waiting room. To my surprise I see that she is holding some bags she didn't bring in with her when we arrived here.

Following my gaze with her eyes she smiles. "I did some quick errands while you were in there."

I nod. Fair enough.

"How did it go?" she asks as we set course to the car. "Did you get a gift?"

I nod again, to answer both questions. Siobhan is really starting to pick my brain and her words cling. 'You can't win.'

I can't.

"If you ever want to talk about anything, you know I'm here, right?" Esme asks. She brushes my hand as she walks next to me to emphasize her point.

Startled, I pull my left hand up and touch the skin she brushed, balancing the two things Siobhan gave me in my arms, then look up at Esme in surprise. She merely smiles at me and unlocks the car. "Come on. Let's go home."

It turns out that Esme has bought the most wonderful treats to celebrate the holiday. There are chocolates in varying forms, sizes and flavors, and I help Esme to arrange it all on plates and bowls.

"You really have an eye for presentation," she praises me and I blush involuntarily.

She smiles and leads the way into the living room. Emmett and Alice are on their feet immediately, Emmett going to Esme and Alice coming up to me.

"What have you got there?" she asks. She peruses the contents of the bowl I am holding and picks one, smiling at me. "I love Christmas," she whispers.

Esme and I put the bowls on the table in the living room and she returns to the kitchen to make drinks for everyone. I turn to follow her, but Emmett says my name softly to get my attention.

Wary, I move to face him. Alice is looking on as Emmett gets up and comes to me. As always, my back tenses up and I'm ready to run.

He looks… pained?

In the background, I can hear Edward on his piano.

"I'm so sorry for yesterday," Emmett says as he looks down on me. "Honestly. I was really stupid to say something like that to you. It wasn't your fault I ran into you. I should have looked where I was going."

I look at him, unblinking. Is he really apologizing?

"I was angry and I said something stupid. I hope you're not angry with me."

I shake my head, my eyes still wide.

"Okay, good. And I'm not angry with you, you know," he continues, smiling a little now. "I'm really not."

Silence falls and stretches as he searches my gaze for something I don't know.

"Ask her," Alice says from behind him on the couch.

Ask what?

Emmett turns. "No, I couldn't. I don't want to burden her."

"Just ask her," Alice says again. "If it's too much she'll say no."

Emmett huffs as he turns back to me, his gaze searching mine again. Then he frowns and plops down on the couch, grabbing a chocolate cookie as he goes.

"Emmett was hoping you might help him with Trig," Alice blurts out. Emmet glares at her, but she ignores it. "Would you?"

"You don't have to," he says quickly. "I mean, it'd mean you have to catch up on senior year Trig and that in itself is too much to ask."

Why I find myself nodding is beyond me, but I am nodding.

"Is that a yes?" Emmett asks.

I nod again.

"Oh my God." His smile lights up his entire face. "You really would? That is awesome," he beams, and this time when he sits back in the couch, his smile is victorious.

"But not tonight though," he says, suddenly earnest. "Not before Christmas, even."

"Perhaps you could give Bella your books," Esme says as she walks back into the room with a tray with mugs. "That way she can prepare."

"Yes'm," Emmett says, and he's up and out of the room quickly.

As he disappears up the stairs, taking them two at a time, Edward stops playing his piano and he walks into the living room. He stretches languidly, smiling.

"Two weeks of bliss. Oh how I have been looking forward to this."

"Do you guys have any plans?" Esme asks.

"Shopping," Alice announces proudly.

"Eh yeah," Edward agrees. "I have to buy some gifts, still."

"Me too," Esme says. "We can go out together?"

His eyes light up and soften at her offer. "I'd like that, mom."

"Let's go Monday," she offers. "We're going to the reservation Sunday and we have this dinner thing tomorrow."

"Dinner thing?" Alice asks, curious.

"Oh, just some formal Christmas dinner Carlisle has to attend. You know, plus one."

"Oh, so we're going to be home alone," Emmett grins as he comes back down again, having caught the last bit of the conversation. He places his Trig books on the coffee table before me.

Esme's gaze shifts to me. "Are you okay with that?"

I shrug. Why not? They shouldn't change their schedules because of me. I'll just lock myself in my room or something.

"No funny business," Esme warns as she focuses back on Emmett again.

He laughs lightly, amused. "As if."

We chat for a while, and Esme tells me a bit more about the reservation. They usually go there some time before Christmas, to meet up with the families there. Carlisle goes to see what he can do for Billy Black, Jacob's father who is in a wheelchair.

"You can come, if you want to," Esme invites me.

"Oh you should, Bella," Alice pipes up. "The reservation has the most beautiful beach. I'd love for you to see it."

I need a gesture that tells others I want to think about it. Alice sees my hesitation and smiles. "Think about it. It's really beautiful."

"It is," Edward agrees. "I haven't been there in ages. Maybe I'll come, too."

Esme smiles and gets up for dinner. I get up to help her, but she gestures for me to remain seated. "I made a casserole this afternoon. I only have to put it in the oven."

She pauses a moment. "I have made ice cream, too."

Emmett, Alice and Edward all loudly approve, and I find I'm smiling. Esme's ice cream is delicious.

**~O~**

Saturday I spend in the library, lounging in the window seat. I have not unwrapped Siobhan's gift yet. I have decided to keep it in my room until Christmas and then see what she got me. It's incredibly nice of her to have bought me something.

With a shock I realize I should have gotten her something as well. Perhaps I can give her something when I go back there again. That's the spirit right, you give back what you receive?

I have Emmett's Trig book on my lap. I've started at chapter one, hoping I would be able to make sense of it without having to work through the end of my own book, and to my surprise it's all very clear to me. I do some exercises to test myself and am pleased when they're completely faultless.

It's a good feeling to know that I can do this. Then again, numbers just make sense to me.

I work through the afternoon, until Alice knocks on the library door, holding a mug of tea.

"Hey, don't overwork yourself. It's your holiday too, you know," she smiles.

I shrug. I like Trig. To me, this is relaxation.

I thank her for the tea and she sits with me a little, chatting about her plans for the holiday. "They're expecting snow again," she says with a smile. "But it's supposed to come after Christmas so it's all insecure. Don't you just wish to be able to see the future sometimes?"

I breathe out a laugh. Yeah, I would.

Esme peeks around the door of the library and steps in when she sees us. "I hoped to catch you here. What will you do for dinner tonight? Shall I leave money so you can order take out?"

Alice looks at me. "Can we cook together?"

Eh, yeah, sure.

"Are you sure, Bella? You don't have to," Esme tells me.

I know. But it's been a while since I cooked properly and I like to cook. Esme knows this. So when she and Carlisle have disappeared into the garage, I go to the kitchen to see what I can make. Alice is behind me, curious and eager to help.

We finally settle on club sandwiches, simply because they are easy to make even though they are a lot of work. When Edward comes home he helps us, too, and he tells us about his friend Ben he visited and how they played video games during most of the afternoon.

"He is infatuated with Angela," he says, shaking his head. "But he really doesn't notice it."

He moves away when Alice pokes his side.

"What was that for?"

"Nothing."

He narrows his eyes but doesn't say anything as dinner is ready. He goes to call everyone and when he comes back, he proposes we eat in front of the television.

"Join us?" he asks me, and I pick up my plate to move to the living room. Emmett has turned on a game and soon everyone is watching. I don't understand the lure of sports but I keep my eyes focused on the screen for good measure.

When everybody is done eating, I get up to fetch the empty plates. Jasper jumps up to help me too and walks to the kitchen with me.

"We don't expect you to do this," he says when he insists on putting the plates into the dishwasher himself.

I rummage in the kitchen drawer for a tiny notepad and pencil.

_But nobody else does_

He smirks. "That is true. But that doesn't mean we expect _you_ to do it."

I meet his calm gaze.

_I want to do it_

"And we want to help you," he replies. "It's a two-way street, isn't it?"

Emmett calls him from the living room to tell him the commercial break is over, and Jasper meets my gaze one last time before he leaves the kitchen.

I stay behind, confused by his words. What did he mean by 'it's a two-way street?'

Crossing my arms I sigh, frustrated. The world just doesn't make sense anymore.

I have been in the kitchen for well over twenty minutes when Alice comes looking for me. "Hey, are you okay?"

I take a deep breath and man up. Yeah, I am okay. Or I can act like I am. It's what I've done for an awfully long time and I can do it some more.

"Come on," she says, clearly not buying it. "Let's get the others some drinks and have some fun."

"Fun" in the Cullen household consists of a movie night. After endless bickering about what movie to watch, they finally decide on a horror movie and a comedy.

And because horror movies only are fun to watch late at night, the comedy has to go first.

Rosalie and Alice hop up to go make us all popcorn as Edward gets the movie ready. I huddle up in the winged chair, cold as always. The Cullen kids are not allowed to make a fire in the hearth when the parents are not at home.

Edward notices my shivering and gets up from the couch, handing me the afghan after having pulled it out from under Emmett. I accept the blanket from him and pull it over my lap, but I am still cold.

I'd rather go to bed, but they have asked me to please stay.

The movie is funny, even to me. I'm smiling several times when the others are laughing, and the atmosphere is light.

I suppress a shiver again and hunch my shoulders a little more, trying to fight off the cold.

"Be right back," I hear Alice whisper and she's up and away before Jasper can ask her where she's going.

Minutes later she returns, holding some kind of stuffed animal. An elephant. She holds it up to show me and then walks over to drop it in my lap. It's heavy, much heavier than I expected and in the next moment I feel the heat coming off the thing.

"Meet Elephantias," Alice says. "He'll keep you warm."

"We still have that thing?" Rosalie asks, laughing. "I thought mom threw it out years ago."

But Esme didn't and the animal is warm. I can't help myself when I pull it under the blanket onto my lap, pressing it against my stomach.

Oh but this feels good! A wide smile appears on my face before I can stop myself.

Everyone snickers good-naturedly at my behavior, but I don't even care. This thing is _hot_ and it feels warm against me. I huddle deeper in the seat and focus back on the television again, trying to get the attention away from me.

It works. Within moments everyone is looking at the TV screen again. I'm fighting the desire to pull the elephant under my sweater, so it's even closer to my skin.

When the movie is done, Emmett gets up to switch the discs as Jasper and Rosalie go get us new drinks.

"Is it still hot enough?" Alice asks. "Just put it in the microwave on max for two minutes, and you're good to go again."

I nod in thanks and after a quick bathroom break and some bickering and banter, we settle down for the second movie.

It's not as scary as I feared it would be, but when I look at the others after perhaps twenty minutes I can see that Alice is all but hiding behind Jasper. Emmett is as tense as I have seen him, clearly not such a big man when it comes to these types of movies. Rosalie is stoic, and Edward flinches when a predictable scare moment occurs.

The movie is about a group of women who descend into a cave, trailing a route they think is well known. When it turns out that the leader of the group lied to them, and that nobody ever got out of these caves alive, panic is born. It gets worse of course when dark creatures seem to linger in these caves, only seen by the night vision of the camera.

I sit through the movie, not very impressed, and almost laugh when Alice squeals. Jasper holds her, his fingers caressing her hair comfortingly. "It's just a movie. The director stands just out of view."

Almost lulled by the predictability of the movie, I find I nearly jump out of my seat at the last twist of the plot, and now the others laugh at me.

"You really didn't see that one coming?" Emmett says, once more all bravery.

"God what a dreadful movie," Rosalie sighs as she sits forward, stretching a little. "I vote for music."

"Oh yes!" Alice says, clapping her hands. Rosalie beats her to the stereo system and starts browsing CD's. I get up to use the bathroom and before I am done I hear music blasting through the speakers.

When I reemerge I see Rosalie and Alice dancing opposite each other, moving to the quick beat of a song I have heard countless times on the radio.

The way they dance leaves little to the imagination and Jasper and Emmett look on, mesmerized.

Edward looks at his sisters with an entirely different gaze, but looks amused nonetheless.

"Come on, dance with us!" Alice invites and she pulls Edward up, trying to get him to move to an utterly feminine song.

He laughs, but doesn't move. Instead his eyes dart to look over Alice's shoulder and he meets my gaze before he looks back at Alice. "I don't feel like dancing."

"Aw, you're so dull," she complains, and after one more fruitless attempt to get him to move, she shifts her focus to Jasper and starts dancing with him in a manner so intimate I have to avert my gaze. From my peripheral vision I can see how Rosalie is doing the same with Emmett.

Frozen, I remain in the hallway between the kitchen and the living room, and I don't know what to do.

"Guys, be civil," Edward tries, but Rosalie retorts. "Be _normal_, Edward."

He rolls his eyes, exasperated.

When Alice and Jasper start kissing and Rosalie and Emmett look like they are about to, I tear my gaze away and run up the stairs, out of their sight. They obviously want some private time. They don't need an audience.

I tear my clothes from my body and duck under the covers, choking on the sobs I am trying to hold in.

I know it exists. I know I will never have it. I thought I had come to terms with that.

Then why does it hurt so fucking much?

Outside my door, I hear Edward going up and disappear into his own room. His footsteps are so heavy I imagine he's annoyed, too.

But I don't and I can't blame the two couples downstairs. What they are doing is normal. I know this. It's my fault that I can't handle that.

But why did Edward retreat to his room?

**~O~**

Scrambled eggs for breakfast will never get old. After clearing away the dishes, we all pile up in two cars and set course to the reservation. I'm nervous about meeting all these new people, but Esme has assured me I will probably only see Jacob again, and his father, Billy Black.

Only Jacob's sisters are home from college, and Sue Clearwater is over from her house to help prepare a lunch for us all.

Sue Clearwater, the doctor that checked my throat a lifetime ago.

With Sue Clearwater come her two children, Seth and Leah. Their father doesn't like the crowds and chooses to stay home. Seth, Emmett, Jasper and Edward go outside immediately to play some ball. Jacob follows them after some encouraging from his father. Carlisle and Billy disappear into Billy's bedroom so they can talk in private.

Sue inquires about my throat and seems pleased to hear all has fully healed.

Jacob's sisters are gone quickly, going out for the afternoon, fortunately. Alice and I help Esme and Sue to prepare a lunch for so many people. I'm shy and tense, and Esme notices it.

"If you want to get some fresh air, you can just go," she says softly. "I know this must be chaotic for you."

"What is her problem?" Leah asks Rosalie in a loud whisper.

"_Her_ problem?" Rosalie says back in a normal voice, the hostility as clear in her voice as it was in Leah's. "She doesn't have a problem. She just doesn't like hostile people."

"Score," Alice mutters under her breath as she hands me a knife to cut the sandwiches, and I halt in my movements, realizing that Rosalie just stood up for me.

Again.

I don't eat during lunch. There are too many people present. I manage to sit down at the table with everyone though, and by making sure that everyone has everything they need, filling glasses with water or juice, and jumping to help every time, only Esme and Alice notice that I don't actually eat anything.

It's very crowded in Billy Black's place. It's a tiny wooden house, a cottage more than a house, with three bedrooms, all on the ground floor. The house is red on the outside and rusty on the inside. It's pretty obvious no woman lives under this roof.

After lunch Billy and Carlisle retreat again.

"Let's go to First Beach," Jacob says.

"Oh yes, let's," Alice says enthusiastically. "Are you coming along, Bella?"

"Oh have you never seen First Beach?" Seth asks. I estimate him around thirteen. He's young but looks older than his actual age.

I shake my head slowly.

"You have to see it. The weather is fair enough, you should be able to see for miles." He grins from ear to ear and I find his boyish enthusiasm endearing.

In the end everyone but Carlisle, Billy and Leah go out to the beach. It's easy to walk there from the reservation, maybe twenty-five minutes tops.

Seth is talking animatedly to anyone who cares to listen. Jacob indulges him I can tell, and Seth looks up to him, which is also very clear.

I hide behind Alice and Esme, folding my arms around me and very uneasy with so many men present. Alice walks with me, chatting about random things and about how she is sorry about yesterday.

"I really didn't notice you were so upset. I'm sorry."

I get my phone from my pocket and type.

_What you did was normal, right? It's my bad that I can't deal_

"But we could have refrained from rubbing it in your face like that," she says softly.

I can't think of a reply. I don't agree with her.

"I can hear the waves," Jasper announces happily and he races Seth to the surf. Jacob jogs after him, and Emmett doesn't stay behind.

Sue and Esme laugh quietly. "Boys will be boys," Sue says.

"Hey," Edward scowls playfully, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets against the cold.

"Come on Bella," Alice says brightly. "Want to see the sea on this side of the coast?"

She leads me out and makes me pick up my pace until we can see the waves. I love the ocean. It's vast, it's forgetting and it's ruthless. Never-ending, always repeating, it washes away sorrow as it takes what it wants.

"Cool, huh," Alice says as she comes to stand next to me.

I sigh, feeling emotional for some reason, and start walking again to reach the water.

The guys are playing in the sand and Edward has joined them now. Some kids were already on the beach, playing with a ball.

When they spot the others, they stop playing and run towards them. A boy and a girl who I think can't be older than eight, go to Edward. Edward kneels down in the sand and hugs them both, picking the girl up with him and twirling her around. The girl squeals in delight and is smiling brightly when Edward puts her down again. The boy is next, and Edward makes a show of almost dropping the kid before he catches him and swings him around.

"He's good with kids," Alice says softly next to me. "He really is."

He is. The children flock to him for some reason and he's so relaxed with them. They don't mind to be picked up by him at all, in fact it seems they are eager to get his attention. Edward is laughing, the low timbre of his voice carrying over the sand.

I swallow a lump away as I take in the carefree scene. I have never seen such a thing before. I can see that Esme and Sue are looking at Edward too, who is now chasing the two kids towards the rest of the group. Then they all join in a game of catch.

I look at them play and smile a bit. The girl that Edward twirled around is distracted from the game and her gaze falls on me. With fresh determination, she trudges through the sand and comes my way. When she has reached me, she looks up at me.

"Hi! Are you new here?"

I nod, unsure what to do. I've never interacted with children before.

"I'm Casey," she says, smiling brightly. "Who are you?"

"She's Bella," Alice says, kneeling by the girl.

Casey looks from Alice to me. "Can't you talk?"

Alice smiles sweetly. "Her throat hurts a little."

"Oh! Are you sick?"

"No, not really," Alice answers for me. "Only her throat hurts a little."

"My tummy hurt yesterday," the girl says, shifting her gaze between Alice and me. "But mommy gave me hot milk and then it was better."

"That's good, honey. I'm happy you feel better now," Alice smiles.

The girl looks up to me and suddenly hugs me fiercely, wrapping her tiny arms around my legs. Before I can even decide if I should touch her in return, she lets go again.

"I hope your throat stops hurting soon." She smiles brightly, a gap showing between her front teeth. Then she's off to join the game again.

I'm a bit flustered.

"Can't blame the children," Alice says lightly, smiling at me. Her words hook into my mind and I cling to them.

Alice and I are asked to join the game too. I refuse but Alice goes to play after I assure her it's okay. Instead I walk along the water for a bit, feeling the ice cold biting wind on my face and knowing that I need time to think, to process everything that happened lately.

It's becoming hard to comprehend.

"Hey Bella, wait up!" Edward is calling after me, and even through the wind I can hear his footsteps on the sand. "Wanna go for a walk? There's a clearing a little further, with driftwood. Would you like to see that?"

I look at him warily.

"Oh Jesus, I won't do anything. Don't you know that by now?"

I take a deep breath and nod, seeing logic in his words, and so we walk up along the water. He's quiet at first, commenting every now and again on the beauty of our surroundings. "You have to look out front," he chuckles at one point. "If you keep looking down you will only see sand."

When we reach the clearing, it's more of a lagoon than anything. There is a beach all around it and there is beautiful driftwood. It truly is a breathtaking scene and Edward smiles at me when he sees me taking it all in.

"Told you it was beautiful."

You did.

"Let's walk around it and go back after that. I just really need to be away from the hormone factory," he says, more to himself than to me it seems.

We walk for little while longer, not speaking. The silence is easy again and I wonder if I should try and start some conversation, like Siobhan encouraged me to do. However, before I can think of something, he speaks.

"Are you okay?"

I get my phone and type.

_Are you?_

He's taken aback by my question, I can tell. His hand goes to his hair and I'm about to start apologizing for asking this, but he speaks again.

"I will be, I guess."

As if on cue, we move to sit down on a fallen tree. It's wet, but my coat is long enough to keep my pants dry. Edward just doesn't seem to mind.

_What's wrong?_

He looks surprised by my question and looks at me to meet my gaze. "I don't want to burden you with my petty worries."

I'm sure they are not petty, but I recognize his words. How often have I reasoned my sorrow away?

_Tell me_

"You sure?"

I nod, suddenly very much wanting to know what's bothering him. I want to know _him_. It's always about me. He's always so interested and worried about me. Let it be about him now.

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know. I saw you were upset yesterday, when the others started dancing in the living room."

I shrug it away.

_I'll live. What about you?_

He laughs briefly. "I'll live, too."

_That's not what I meant_

"I know. But I'm not sure what you mean."

I am already shaking with the tension that roars through my body. This is something completely new to me and I don't want to say the wrong thing. But he's troubled, I can tell.

_You left the room too, yesterday_

"You heard, huh?"

Oops. My blush is expected and unwanted. I look away to try and hide it.

"But, yeah, I left the room. There was nothing left for me there."

Something in his voice makes me look at him. Something… What is it, longing?

He laughs humorlessly. "I shouldn't be bothering you with this."

_You're not bothering me_

"I am. I can hardly tell you I miss affection, do I?"

He snaps his mouth shut after he has spoken, as if he said too much. He looks out over the water again, his body tense.

I swallow and type.

_You can_

He looks at the screen from the corner of his eye. "Yeah, I just did." He exhales. "I'm sorry."

My gaze must convey my surprise. What is he sorry for?

"Because you obviously shy away from all contact, and here I am complaining that I'm missing it. That doesn't strike you as odd?"

_We're not the same people_

He smiles at me.

Contemplating for a moment, I force myself to type and ask him a question I think will answer a lot of questions for me. Hoping to whatever higher deity that he won't be pissed, I push the buttons to form the words.

_Why do you miss it?_

He meets my gaze after he has read my question. Well, at least he's not angry. Not yet. "I like the feeling of safety that it brings I guess," he says softly, his voice carried away with the gusts of wind that whip at our hair and clothes.

"I like knowing you're wanted, cared for. Loved. And that you can give the other that same feeling, too."

I'm inhaling every word he says. The way he describes it makes me want it, too.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

He awaits my reaction, but I'm not sure if I look too eager to answer his question. "Have you known it? I know you don't want it right now, but have you known it?"

I dig my shoes into the wet sand before me as I nod. Yeah. My mom used to hold me every night until I fell asleep. Until she met Laurent, that is.

"Do _you_ miss it?"

My breath hitches, involuntarily. It takes me some time to answer, but I do it. And I write it, even though I could very well nod.

_Yes._

He swallows thickly. "Then why lock it out? Why keep everyone away? Mom would love to hug you I'm sure."

_I know_

"Then why?" He truly wants to know and truly doesn't understand.

I thought I did, once upon a time.

_Can't lose what you don't have_

"Are you afraid to lose it? That won't happen, you know. Not here, not with us."

I play with the phone in my hand, not replying. Words mean nothing. Empty promises, easily discarded in favor of actions that hurt deeper than the sharpest knife can reach.

_That's not all_

His words are the last I expected him to say. "I know."

My surprised gaze makes him clarify, but he swallows before he speaks, tension clear in his face. "You're afraid of pain, aren't you?"

I want to run and hide. I didn't know it was this obvious. I'm about to tell him that it doesn't matter, that I brought it on to myself anyway, but in my mind I can hear Siobhan's voice telling me that it wasn't my fault and it stops me from forming the words.

"Were you hurt a lot?" he asks softly, his voice almost inaudible over the rush of the ocean.

I bite my lip and swallow as I focus on my hands in my lap.

"I'm sorry."

His words are so soft, so sincere. Tilting my head a little so I can see him from my peripheral vision, I can see how he is looking at me intently.

"I can't even begin to relate. I mean, mom and dad never even so much as struck us, not once."

_They didn't?_

His surprise is genuine. "No. Never."

My exhale is shaky, and nerves boil over in my stomach, but Edward continues talking. "And we did some pretty bad things, especially when we were younger. Emmett stole something from a sports store once. He was grounded, but not beaten. And I had a temper when I was younger. I used to break things." He becomes bashful, not completely at ease with his admission. "But mom and dad never hit us. Not once. And I calmed down. It takes a lot to get me angry. Ask the others."

Biting my lip again, I find that I doubt his words. I've seen him perhaps not angry, but on the verge of upset quite a few times already. It's now or never, I think, and I confront him

_I've seen you angry_

He reads my words and actually smiles, crookedly. "I've never been angry with you," he corrects lightly.

When I look at him pointedly, he nods once. "I feel very… protective of you," he says softly. "When I see that others upset you, I want to make it right."

_Why?_ I think, but I don't ask him that question.

"I don't know what you have been through," he says, moving a little so he can face me more fully, "but I know that it was bad. We talked about this before, and I know that you somehow feel that it was your fault, but I don't, no, I _can__'__t_ believe that it was. And you're with us now, and things are different here. You've noticed that too, right?"

Yeah, I did. But I'm so afraid it will change. I can't shake the fear that it will. The only way to become sure, is to tell him the truth.

_You don't know me_

"Not yet," he says gently, smiling, but I shake my head to disregard his words. It's not what I mean.

_If you know what I did you would change your mind_

"I beg to differ. Are you so much different now from how you were before you arrived with us?"

No, I don't think so.

"Then I see no reason at all why I would think any different of you than I do now."

Silence falls and however impossible I thought it to be, his words take hold and settle in my stomach, adding to the first careful foundations of security that have begun to build. I sigh deeply, to try and get rid of some of the tension that has built in my chest and back.

Overhead, a lone sea gull cries out in the wind.

_I'm sorry you miss it_

"What?"

_Affection_

Oh, that fucking blush.

"Yeah, well," he sighs, stretching out his long legs before him as he leans back a little. "As long as it's not with the right person, it's all meaningless, anyway."

* * *

_All willing to tacklehug Edward right now saw 'aye.' Leave me your thoughts?  
_


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N I don't own Twilight**

_Hello all! Thanks for your patience. It was kind of fail from me to give you an early update once and then let you wait for the next. Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews and messages. Thanks for reading, period! I've had some of you ask if I even read reviews still and let me assure you that yes, I do. _

_As ever thanks to Sherry, Deb and Bob. You are my rocks, both for this fic and for my rl. _

_Who saw Breaking Dawn? I did. What did you think?_

_And now... Can you believe I forgot to tell you last week that this chapter is epov? I hope you'll enjoy it!_

* * *

"Are you ready to go?" mom asks as she brings her mug to the sink.

"Yeah, let me get my wallet," I say, skipping up the stairs quickly to get my money. When I walk back down I pause for a moment on the second floor, seeing if I can hear something from Bella's room. She has gone up there after mom told her she would be out for the day.

I have asked Alice if she would stay home today, seeing as Rosalie and Emmett are out, too. I don't want Bella to be home without another woman present, and Alice understood immediately. She called Angela to ask her if she could come over to our house instead.

And Angela is so kind, she immediately agreed.

So now I am going shopping with mom. It's been ages since I went out with her alone and to be honest, I am looking forward to it. Not only can she help me to buy some gifts for the others, I just want some time with her, as well. Ever since Bella came into our lives, things have been… vastly different.

Especially after the conversation I had with her on the beach last Sunday. She opened up to me like she never had before, telling me things she must have been carrying around for so long. There is an innate insecurity in her and I am starting to realize that she'd rather keep things hidden about herself than for us to figure out the truth. She seems to be scared that we will turn against her, or something, and this fear is so palpable I am afraid it has happened to her before.

On the other hand I can sense her desire to open up, to tell others the secrets that are weighing her down. It's such a burden she bears. I don't know how she copes.

"Where do you want to go first?" mom asks as we exit the car.

"Oh, I don't know. Do you need specific things?"

"Yes, I need cotton, shampoo, things like that, but we can get them in between. What do you need?" she replies.

"I need some more gifts."

"Very well. Let's see where we can find some."

We browse through the shops and chat lightly. Mom wants to know how school is going and how I have been feeling lately.

"You're quiet," she observes as we sit down for a hot drink.

"Just thinking," I shrug.

"You're always thinking, honey," she smiles. "Let me know if you need to talk about it."

"Yeah, I will."

We sit in silence for a moment and the waitress brings our drinks. When mom has put some sugar in her cappuccino, she talks again.

"Are you thinking about Bella?"

"Is it that obvious?" I ask, surprised.

She chuckles. "No, but I know you."

"True."

"So, are you?"

"Yeah," I confess. "She said some pretty revealing things last Sunday on the beach."

"Was it a good conversation?" mom asks, as usual completely respecting my privacy and not asking what Bella and I have been talking about. "You were gone for hours."

"Were we? I had a feeling, yeah. It was the first time she went somewhere alone with me."

"I noticed," she says, her eyes showing her happiness. "I think she's starting to trust us more. You, specifically."

"I wonder why though," I say, frowning a little. "I'm nothing special. I sometimes feel like she's expecting something of me and I don't want to disappoint."

Mom sips her coffee. "You don't know what she is expecting?"

"No," I say, genuinely bewildered. "Do you?"

She puts down her cup and places her hand on my arm. "I think she wants you to prove her wrong."

"What?"

"She's afraid of people. Her trust has been betrayed violently in the past. Perhaps she hopes that you will be the exception."

I swallow, suddenly nervous. "What if I mess up?"

"You won't. As long as you stay yourself completely, I don't think you will."

I shake my head. "The things she told me… I didn't know how to handle it."

"What did you do?"

"I told her I was sorry when she told me she has been hurt a lot before."

"She told you this?" Her gaze is hopeful, but I don't understand why. "It's good if she has someone to talk to outside of therapy. I think it's a good thing she's opening up about her past."

"But how do I deal with this?" I ask. "I'm not a therapist."

"Exactly. You're an equal."

"I don't know if I can manage it," I frown. "What if I react wrongly? She's afraid of angry people, but when I just think of what happened to her I find I am getting mad. I was livid when I saw what Mike did to her."

"You won't react wrongly," she reassures me. "Just try to stay calm and save your anger for later. Your dad and I feel the same about her and have the same reaction when we think about her past."

"And you actually know what happened," I groan, not even able to imagine what having that knowledge would do to me.

"We do," she says quietly. "And it's not even half of it."

"What do you mean?"

"She never actually told anyone what happened, Edward. All we know is by derivation or from medical files. We don't know the complete story."

I exhale, my hand going to my hair. "You know, at first I really thought it was unfair that we couldn't know her story, but right now, I'm not even sure if I want to know."

"She's been through a lot," mom says softly, looking into her cup.

"And yet she's still here."

"Yeah, she's a fighter."

Silence again. I'm not sure if I should tell her what Bella and I talked about, but there is one thing that has been on my mind since Sunday. The words bubble up and are out of my mouth before I can stop myself. "She told me she misses affection."

"Oh," mom breathes, and I can tell she realizes the enormity of Bella's confession. "She held my hand the other day, when we were out shopping together."

"She did?" I ask, smiling. "That's progress."

"Who knows," she says dreamily. "Who knows? She just might get there. We just have to let her set the pace."

Indeed.

We finish our drinks and shop the day away. I get some necessities and the final gifts, and mom buys me a dark oxford with pinstripes and a vest to go with it.

"I need a pocket watch to go with this," I grin as she pays for the clothes. She smiles when I kiss her cheek in thanks.

"It suits you. You can wear it for Christmas if you want."

"I will. I should get a high hat," I muse, and she laughs, gently swatting my arm at my mockery.

"Beware, or you'll get it for Christmas," she warns, and I laugh.

On our way home, she steers the conversation back to me. "Any plans for the holiday?"

"Not much. Read all the things I don't have time to read during school. Sleep."

"You should go out more. Get some fresh air. Might help with the sleeping thing as well."

I shrug, leaning my head against the headrest of the seat. "I'm good. I'm just not a morning person."

"You never were," she says with a smile. "Your father is worried though."

I shrug. "I'll go to him if it becomes too bad. I just feel more awake at night." I chuckle to myself when I think back to that time when Alice called me half vampire for my sleeping habits.

"Are you still set on becoming a pediatrician?" mom asks suddenly. Her curiosity is genuine and I smile at her.

"I am. I will have to look into it better to prepare, but I'm still pretty sure about this."

"You should tell your father."

"I know. But I want to be really sure. He's going to be over the moon when I tell him, and I don't want to disappoint him by changing my mind later on."

"You will never disappoint him, Edward," mom says softly. "He's proud of you regardless."

"Still. I want to keep it private until I'm sure."

"That's okay," she says. "I understand. I am happy you told me, though. I saw you playing with the children on the beach last Sunday. You really know how to deal with them."

"Yeah?" I ask, hopeful. "I'm just doing what feels right."

"Which is the exact right thing to do," she says, looking at me for a moment, and I know she means more than just my way with children now.

We drive in silence for a moment and when an upbeat Christmas song comes on the radio, I turn up the volume. Mom laughs and moves her head to the rhythm of the song.

From the corner of my eye I can tell that she shifts her gaze from the road to me for a moment, before she looks back to the road again. "Any girl caught your eye lately?"

Here we go. I chuckle. "Hardly."

"Wouldn't you want it?" she asks carefully.

I shift in my seat to face her. "I don't know. Maybe I just have to meet the right girl still, but right now I can't understand what all the fuss is about."

"You didn't feel it with Jessica then?"

"No. It felt empty with her."

"Then you haven't met the right girl yet. No worries, though."

"I'm not worrying. I'm not even looking."

**~O~**

I'm lying on my bed reading with my bedroom door open when Jasper knocks on the doorframe.

"Hey," I greet him, putting the book to the side. I'm almost finished with the book _Coraline_ and I'm rattled with the story theme.

Jasper steps into the room and takes in the organized chaos, as I like to call it. "How are you?"

"I'm good."

"Enjoyed your day with mom?"

"I did. She bought me a vest." I groan theatrically, and he grins widely.

"D'you need a high hat to go with that?" he asks happily, and I laugh.

"That's what I told her, too."

He's content, his easy demeanor floating around him like an aura. He steps further into the room and sits down at my desk, leaning back in the chair.

"You all set for Christmas?"

"I am."

"What did you buy Bella?"

I smile knowingly. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

He shrugs. "I already bought her something, wise ass."

"Really? What did you get her?"

He barks out a playful laugh. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

I laugh with him and stretch on the bed, feeling lazy and relaxed.

"Hey, do you know if Mike ever apologized to her?" Jasper asks.

I think for a moment. "No, come to think of it, I don't think he did."

Jaspers jaw clenches. "Think we need to go and remind him?"

"I don't know. I had actually hoped we could go this entire holiday without his presence."

My brother nods in agreement and looks at my desk, at the books scattered there. My computer is on screen saver, and in a sudden decision he reaches for the mouse.

"Let's see what you have open."

"Aw, man!" I protest, sitting up on the bed in a vain attempt to stop him.

Jasper scans the windows I have open on the screen and he is incredulous. "It's not even porn!"

"Who's watching porn?" Emmett's voice comes from the doorway.

I fall back on the bed, laughing and groaning. "Nobody's watching porn."

"Oh, no, _you_ wouldn't. I did find a really cool link the other day. Shall I show it?"

"No!" Jasper and I shout in unison, and Emmett looks appropriately put out.

"My God, Em, aren't you getting enough with Rose?" I ask, not wanting the actual answer.

"Oh we watch it together," he says matter-of-factly, and this time Jasper groans.

"No man, too much information, seriously."

"You should do it too, It's fun," Emmett tells Jasper with honest eyes, but then I see his hands. His fingers are twitching, to expel the excess energy that must be coursing through his body.

He's messing with us.

"Give me the link," I dare him.

"Oh, want some inspiration?" Emmett licks his lips and I can see the laughter in his eyes.

"Emmett, I can promise you that I don't," I reply flatly.

Emmett turns to face me fully and points at me. "I am willing to bet that you haven't so much as kissed a girl."

"Dude, he had Jessica, remember?" Jasper interjects.

"I said a girl," Emmett replies coolly. "Not some freakish alien kind."

"Oho, that stings," I say mockingly.

Emmett shrugs. "So? I'm right. You're a virgin on every base."

"So?" I fire back. "I wasn't about to go do it with Jessica just do have it done."

"He has a point," Jasper tells Emmett. Then he shudders. "Brr. Jessica."

I look at them. "I know, you hated her. I don't know what got into me, either."

"You were lonely," Emmett says, banter forgotten. "You wanted to know what the fuss was about."

Hearing him use the exact same words as I used to describe it, is eerie. "Well, I still don't get it," I mutter.

"Of course you don't. You could never get it with someone like Jessica." Emmett plops down at the foot of my bed, making me draw in my legs lest he sits down on my feet.

I shrug in reaction to his words. "Whatever."

"Do you miss it? Having a girlfriend?" Jasper asks, curious.

"God, is there something in the air or what?" I exclaim, rubbing my face.

Silence stretches for a moment before Emmett speaks. "What do you mean?"

"Mom asked the same thing when we were shopping."

Emmett snickers. "You _look_ lonely is all. You have this desolate look on your face like you're desperate for a hug."

Oh God, here it comes.

"C'mere, do you need a hug? Let your big brother give you some TLC," he says and he dives for me, holding me in a crushing grip that actually makes it hard for me to breathe.

Jasper chuckles, taking in my futile protests as Emmett rubs his knuckles against my skull. "So much for tenderness, huh?" he asks, amused.

When Emmett finally lets me go I straighten my clothes and try to get my impossible hair back in order.

"Trying to impress, Edward?" Emmett teases.

My gaze flies up to his and I narrow my eyes. "That's the second time you tell me this. What was it with that text you sent me?"

He's stoic. "What about it?"

"What did you mean by it wasn't you who wanted to impress Bella?"

To my right, Jasper sits forward, interested.

"Exactly what I said," Emmett replies. "I don't have to impress her."

"And I _do_?"

"Wow, Edward, are you that blind?" Jasper asks.

"Don't you go copying Alice," I warn him.

Instead of backing down he merely chuckles. "Who was she alone with for hours on end last Sunday?"

"Me," I frown.

"Who did she go to the library with?"

"Me."

"Who pulled Mike off her?"

"Me, but Jazz, if you had been there first, it would have been you."

"I wasn't there first, because I don't have an extra set of eyes that focuses solely on her."

I fold my arms across my chest. "What are you two implying?"

My two highly annoying brothers exchange gazes before they look back at me. "We are implying," Emmett says carefully, "that you might see Bella in a different way than we do."

My mouth opens and closes a few times before I can speak again. "I don't think so."

"That's okay. I mean, nothing lost if we're wrong, right?" Jasper says.

"Why are you thinking this?" I ask.

"Think, man," Emmett says, leaning back against the footboard of the bed. "You two _always_ seek each other out. You're the only one she actually talks to."

"That's not true," I protest. "She talks to Alice, too. And to mom."

"Seriously, Edward. Bella wrote me a note for the first time ever last weekend," Jasper says.

"I don't think she ever even talked to me like that," Emmett muses. "No, I can't recall she did."

"So?"

Emmett shifts to lean on his elbow. "So, what we're saying, is that you have some kind of bond with Bella that we don't, and won't ever have."

I exhale and shake my head, frowning, thinking. "I don't understand what she sees in me."

"Me neither," Emmett jokes lightly, "but she's drawn to you as much as you are drawn to her."

"I don't understand it," I say quietly. "And you are seeing more than there is. I just think she's a nice girl. Is that so weird?"

"No," Emmett says, but he's hiding a smile. "It's not weird." He gets up from the bed. "Anyway. I'm going to watch a movie with Rosie."

"Didn't you have a link to share with us?" Jasper asks teasingly.

"What link?" Emmett asks, genuinely surprised, and then he laughs. "I was kidding."

"No shit," I mutter, but we all smile.

"Whatever, I'm off, or she'll have my head," Emmett says, and he turns for the door.

"Pussy whipped," Jasper calls after him in a cough. Emmett flips him off without turning around and closes the door behind him, leaving Jasper and me alone in my room.

"Don't tell me you seriously haven't considered everything we just told you," Jasper says, turning serious.

I meet his gaze levelly. "I haven't. There's no use analyzing this. I think she's a nice girl, that's it."

"Sure," Jasper replies, but it's not at all accusing. "We are all just wondering why you feel so drawn to her."

"Alice, too," I defend.

"Dude, listen to me," Jasper starts, and I bite my tongue from interrupting him. I don't like where this is going.

I don't like that in all likelihood, he will be right.

"Bella is violently afraid of men. Hell, when I first met her, she _ran_. She's been shying away from me ever since, and I don't feel the need to seek her out. I _know_ I make her uncomfortable. And Emmett? He may have shared a moment or two with her, but she makes very sure she's not alone in the room with him, in case you haven't noticed. And then there's you. You sit out on the porch together more often than not."

"You noticed?" I ask, surprised.

"Of course I noticed. Everybody noticed. And she's been alone with you on the beach last Sunday. You were gone for hours, out of sight, out of hearing range."

"That doesn't have to mean anything. Besides, you remember how she panicked the first time I met her?"

Jasper leans back in the chair. "True. And you're right. It doesn't have to mean anything at all. But I think it does. She's afraid of all men, yet she spends most of her social time with you."

I shrug. "There's nothing there."

He's silent for a long time. "Are you sure?"

Ugh. "No." A beat. "But even if there _were_ something, it's no use and it will never develop. I don't think she will ever be able to have a relationship at all. I just think she's a sweet girl who deserves to be happy. That's all."

Jasper smiles, understanding. "But you feel drawn to her."

"You don't?"

He holds his hands up in a surrendering gesture. "No, sir. She's too damaged. I wouldn't even know where to begin."

I rub the back of my neck. "I find it not so hard to interact with her. She keeps up a good conversation. Is it really so difficult for you?"

"I'm completely lost when it comes to her. She's so afraid, I have no idea how to deal with that."

Frowning, I let his words sink in. "I don't want to think that what Bella and I share is something special."

"You don't think so, and Bella probably doesn't think so, either. And that's good. Even if you can just become friends it will work miracles for her healing process."

My gaze snaps up to his. "I'm not doing this because I think I can heal her."

He's not taken aback by my venom. Instead he smiles again, his eyes calm and trusting. "I know."

**~O~**

My brothers have confused me. They seem to think I must have feelings of some sort for Bella, and that it's those feelings that draw me to her. But is it really so weird I just want to be nice to her? I just happen to enjoy her company. It's not like I feel butterflies in my stomach when I look at her or anything.

I mean, even if I had, it would be an impossibility. Bella is traumatized beyond belief. I'm not sure she could ever engage in a relationship like that. I'm not sure if she would even want to.

I think if she ever learned that someone had feelings for her, she'd go running and screaming. If she had the guts to do so.

And this is what worries me. In the hands of the wrong guy, dreadful things could happen. She can't say 'no.'

But she misses affection. She told me so herself. And I saw how she looked when Em and Rose and Jasper and Alice started to dance. To me it looked like a mixture of longing and uneasiness. She's not comfortable witnessing affection or intimacy, I've noticed this before.

I can't pinpoint why it would make her so uneasy. Does she feel guilty when she doesn't look away in time? Does she feel bad for wanting it? She told me you can't lose what you don't have. _Does_ she want it? Or is she too afraid to lose it again? She did say she misses it. Did she mean now?

Looking around my room, my gaze falls on the book I've been reading. _Coraline._ A dark fairy tale about a girl who is unhappy and finds a magic door that leads her to a parallel universe where everything is almost the same, yet better. Her parents are eerily perfect, giving the girl Coraline their undivided attention, making her favorite meals, letting her do anything she wants.

There's a catch. She can stay in the perfect world, but for that she has to let her Other Mother sew buttons into her eyes. When Coraline refuses, refuses to accept the better, more perfect world as hers, everything starts to fall apart and the Other Mother turns out to be a witch, out to capture Coraline's soul.

From what Bella has told me, I can easily find similarities in the way she sees the world. I can't help but think that she must think she's fallen head-first into a fairy tale world, with no violence or fear. She was so surprised when I told her that our parents never even lifted so much as a finger to us.

It seems to me that Bella is waiting for the catch. Waiting for something to happen that makes it all fall apart.

I've been racking my brains to find a way to make it clear to her that it won't happen, but I can't. Like mom said, like dad said, only time will teach her that she is in a safe place now.

Maybe her therapist can help with that.

I smile when I think back to how Bella often comes back from the therapy sessions. Moody, almost grumpy, obviously chagrined and always very deep in thought. Yet, I also think that even though the sessions don't really help her mood, they do help _her_. It seems like she's becoming a little bit more at ease. She's opening up.

The things she told me on the beach last Sunday were _huge_. I don't know what moved her to talk to me like that, but I am glad she felt she could. I don't think she even noticed that we were alone, out of sight, out of hearing range of others, for hours.

And she's usually so careful about being alone with others.

Perhaps I can take her to the library sometime soon, without Alice's supervision. I chuckle silently to myself when I imagine Alice as a chaperone. As if any inappropriate things would happen.

Still, she misses affection. I can't help thinking it might be good for her if she would just allow it. She held mom's hand, apparently. There must be more we can do for her.

I can't begin to imagine how very lonely she must feel.

I can't begin to imagine how we can break through her walls — the ones she built herself, and the ones that life has thrust upon her.

I just wish there was something I could do to help.

**~O~**

The last day before Christmas Eve is quiet. I always like the sort of chaotic lull that occurs just before the holidays. So much to do, but it's all in a wonderful, warm atmosphere. I have all my gifts at the ready, but go out into the madness that is the Port Angeles mall with Emmett, because he doesn't have all his gifts yet.

We have a great time though, as Emmett is in a good mood and keeps making jokes that crack me up relentlessly. He makes good-natured fun of the people in the mall, of the products in the stores, of the music that drifts around us.

"You sound an awful lot better than last week," I observe, smiling lightly at him.

"Ah yeah. I get to keep my extra practice, even though I failed Trig."

"Any scouts contacted you yet?" I know he wants to pursue a professional career, but he realizes he has to have some back-up plan ready in case he can't get his dream.

"No, not yet," Emmett replies, frowning a little. "But it's early days yet. Anything can happen still."

"You really want it, don't you?"

He nods. "I do. Even if I can't play, perhaps I can try to become a coach."

"You and children," I say, "are you sure?"

He stops and turns to face me. "I happen to love children. Rose and I talked about wanting babies not long ago."

"Oh, I didn't know," I reply, genuinely contrite. "I just never saw you with kids, is all."

He starts moving again and smirks at me. "You're not the only one who's good with kids, you know."

"Perhaps it runs in the family. Alice wants to be a mom, too."

"Must be a gene thing, then," he agrees.

"It would explain why I don't see Jasper with kids. He runs away from them."

Emmett laughs. "And then those kids run after him, thinking he wants to play."

I laugh with him, seeing the mental image. Shaking my head a little, we walk along in silence for a moment.

"Bella is crazy to go out of her way to help you like that, you know," I say next. "She has to catch up on an entire year of Trig to be able to tutor you."

Emmett stops in his tracks and turns to face me, surprised. "I thought she was some kind of miracle with numbers?"

I chuckle. "She is, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have to put in some studying to get to senior level."

My brother's mouth is slightly agape. "I never realized. Oh damn, I really thought it wouldn't take her much effort to help me."

We start walking again, and he's lost in thoughts for a moment. "She could have said no, you know," he mutters, obviously feeling a little guilty for having put Bella in this position.

I shake my head. "She never would have said 'no'. She'd be too afraid of the consequences."

"That's fucked up," Emmett says, frowning. "I never realized."

I just shrug. I've known for a while that Bella has to be approached in a very specific manner if you want her to know she actually has a choice in the matter. To my left, Emmett chuckles suddenly. "And you really thought you didn't know her better than any of us."

I can't deny the truth in his words.

"I suggest you thank her for her efforts once she has made you wonder why Trig ever was so difficult," I smirk, steering the conversation away from me.

"Yes. Should I buy her something? Do you have any idea?"

I blow out my breath, puffing my cheeks. "She loves to cook."

"Yeah… I can't work with that," he says, scratching his head.

"She loves to read, and she reads almost anything. She loves coziness even though she tries to hide it. She loves to bake. I think Alice told me she likes chocolate."

"I'm not buying her chocolate," Emmett protests. "Rosie'll have my head."

I smile. "I'm not saying you should buy her chocolate, I'm just telling you what she likes. But, just see how it all goes. You have time."

"She has to make me get it, first," Emmett says, a devious grin appearing on his face.

"I don't think that will be the problem. But do me a favor? If you don't get it, try to control your temper. She won't react well if you lash out at her."

To my surprise he's bashful. "I've noticed."

"Why, what happened?"

His voice is quiet. "I may have bumped into her and told her it was her fault."

Anger flares. "What?"

"I said sorry! She seemed to believe it."

"Wow, Em."

"I know. I am really sorry. I never thought she'd be so upset."

"Do you ever wonder what happened to her?" I ask as we step into the last shop we will visit today.

"Actually, no," Emmett replies. "I can't begin to comprehend and I don't know if I want to. I think it's hard enough to be around her as she is, and knowing about her past wouldn't make that any easier for me."

I nod once, accepting his words, and help him to buy Alice a gift, thankfully stopping him from buying her a pink tiara for her hair. No, Em, I don't think she'd think it funny.

Emmett pays for the present and accepts the bag from the sales lady, flashing his dimples at her as he smiles. The woman bids us pleasant holidays and we return the wish, leaving the store to walk back to Em's car.

We arrive home when it's already dark, just in time for dinner. It's delicious. Bella has helped cooking again. I can taste it. I haven't actually seen her in the kitchen, but things just taste differently when she has helped. Mom is an excellent cook, but Bella uses different seasoning.

I think I'm the only one that notices though.

The evening is spent with the entire family in the living room. We're watching Christmas movies and chatting a bit. Mom busies herself with the treats she puts on the table and Alice fusses with the presents underneath the tree. I have bought everyone a tiny gift for in their stocking, too. They are close to overflowing and I wonder if Emmett tells the truth when he says that he didn't peek.

Jasper and he engage in a game of cards at the coffee table and we look on and laugh. The game is more about quick responses than anything else, and they're both pretty good at it.

When Jasper has lost, dad takes his place and plays with Emmett. He beats him easily, and we all laugh hard at Emmett's put out face. He's a sore loser.

As mom gets up to go and make some ice cream for tomorrow, Bella goes up with her to help. I follow her with my eyes as she leaves the room, and notice with a smile how much more at ease she already seems to be.

We stay up late, snacking and watching TV, enjoying the holiday. Dad has the entire holidays off, which is a rarity. I think it has to do with Bella. I think he really wants to be home this year.

This means that we can actually celebrate Christmas Eve like we should – have a nice dinner and open one gift. Then, on the morning of Christmas Day, after breakfast we can open the rest of our gifts. I don't usually care much for presents, but I've been looking forward to it this year.

When midnight strikes, my siblings and I get ready for bed. Mom and dad will stay up a little while longer, no doubt taking advantage of the fact that dad doesn't have to be up early tomorrow. Rosalie will sleep in Emmett's room and Jasper in Alice's. Midweek sleepovers are only allowed during the holidays, but I wonder if our parents really don't realize how many nights my siblings actually spend together.

Just before Bella turns on the landing of the second floor to go to her room, I ask her to wait for a moment. I run up to my room to get _Coraline_, giving the book to her when I return.

"You should read this," I say softly.

She accepts the book for me with wide, questioning eyes.

"Just read it. I think the theme will mean something to you." It's the best I can do.

Bella nods and with a final dip of her head she turns away from me and slips into her room, closing the door with the softest click. A second click sounds, indicating that she has locked herself in.

**~O~**

Christmas Eve always brings this warm anticipation and for once I am up early, eager to go down and join the festive atmosphere. I find Bella in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar, alone.

"Are the rest still sleeping?" I ask as I make my way to the coffee pot to arrange my first fix of the day. Bella makes the best coffee, nice and strong. It burns my taste buds into submission and leaves my entire mouth numb.

There really is nothing like it.

She nods to answer my question and then stretches her back a little, which in itself is not a strange action, but it's highly unusual for her to actually move in such a way with others present. After all the conversations I have had in the last few days I can't help but wonder if she actually is more relaxed around me than others.

"Looking forward to tonight?" I ask, smiling.

I wonder how her previous Christmases have been. She's so fussy about receiving gifts. Perhaps if she sees us all getting presents tonight and tomorrow, it will be easier for her to accept them. I'm equal amounts nervous and excited to see her reaction to what I got for her. The gifts are supposed to be anonymous, but in the end we usually all know what was from whom.

Since the others are still asleep, I ask Bella if she has already eaten. She shakes her head and gets her phone from her pocket to type.

It seems that over the last few weeks she's been carrying her phone around with her more often.

_I didn't know if you have any traditions_

"No, not on this morning. We'll have a big breakfast tomorrow but I'm sure mom has told you about that."

She smiles slightly and nods.

_I'm going to help._

"Perfect. Now, what would you like for breakfast?"

She looks at me with slightly narrowed eyes and I laugh. I'm sure she's not too impressed by my cooking skills, but she knows I can make a sandwich and I tell her so.

She smiles back at me, types something on her phone and pushes it into my direction before she hops off the barstool and starts rummaging through the fridge. I pick up her phone and see what she's written.

_Omelets_

I help her as good as I can and we've almost finished eating when mom comes down the stairs, still in her robe.

"Good morning," she greets us, beaming. In a sudden decision I get up and hug her, relishing the feeling when she wraps her arms around me and pulls me closer.

Behind me, Bella is already up to fix mom a cup of coffee and some breakfast.

I don't think she will ever stop caring for others. Even when she has learned that she doesn't have to do what she does, she will keep on doing it. It's such an inherent part of her, and it shows in the way she does it without you even noticing. She does it so unobtrusively you even forget to thank her, and so I thank her for making me breakfast before I go back to my room to shower and dress for the day.

When I come down again, the rest of the family is awake and about. Emmett joins me in a game on the Playstation and we play for quite some time, only stopping briefly to have lunch.

Bella almost drops her drink when Seth suddenly steps into the room, followed by Jacob. Emmett is already getting his coat and calls for me to join Jasper and him with Jacob and Seth to play some ball in the yard.

Shrugging, I decide to join them and we spend a few hours outside, enjoying a rare rainless day. Seth and Jacob are in a good mood and we talk a bit about Christmas, their plans and ours.

When I go in to use the bathroom, mom and Bella are busy in the kitchen. I halt my steps when I pass them and see Bella working on some elaborate and tasty looking casserole. She has rolled up her sleeves and for the first time I can see her forearms.

A burn mark just underneath her left elbow catches my eye. It's pretty big, obviously long healed but still an angry pink that will probably never really fade. Bella looks up at me, the beginnings of a smile on her lips, but when she sees what I am looking at she hastens to pull her sleeves down, a sad look crossing over her face.

I try to swallow away the sudden lump in my throat. She doesn't want anyone to see her scars. Fleetingly I wonder if she has more, and how she got that burn on her arm in the first place.

I avert my gaze and clear my throat. "All going well here?"

"Very," mom says, unaware. "Could you go get me some cooking wine out of the storage?"

"Sure." I make my way to the garage and get what mom asked for before returning back and putting the bottle on the counter.

"We'll be having appetizers in about an hour," mom says. "Seth and Jacob can have some soup if they want, before they go home."

I nod and go outside to relay the message. They both accept the offer and eat the soup at the kitchen table. Bella is still working on dinner but she's uneasy, standing with her back to the guests. When I can't bear to see her so tense anymore I go to the fridge under the ruse of getting something to drink, and stop near her.

"Go sit at the breakfast bar, that way you can keep an eye on everyone."

She looks up in surprise but does as I suggested, taking her bowl with potatoes with her as she moves to the bar. Mom sees and smiles first at Bella's back, then at me. Seth and Jacob both look at Bella, obviously curious. Jasper and Emmett solve it easily by distracting them, talking and laughing.

Just before they leave, Jacob pulls something from his pocket and walks up to Bella. Alarmed, she's off her barstool immediately, her eyes wide.

"Whoa, relax," Jacob says, surprised. "I just wanted to give you something."

When she doesn't accept it, he places the tiny package, wrapped in a piece of cloth, on the breakfast bar.

"It's some sort of charm," he says, his voice unsteady in his insecurity. "My people believe it can give you strength."

Bella nods slightly, still too afraid to even acknowledge his gift. She's too alarmed by his proximity. He's not a small guy by any means, and he's buff like Emmett, even if he is still young.

"Thank you, Jacob, that is very nice of you," mom says, stepping up and breaking the tension.

Jacob looks at Bella searchingly. "Um, well you have to carry it with you, else I won't work."

She nods, the movement jerky with the tension in her body.

"Well, I guess we'll be going. Merry Christmas all." Jacob looks at everyone before beckons Seth to go with him, and they leave the house after mom has given them more food and treats than they can really carry.

In the distraction that their leaving provides, Bella has picked up the present that Jacob left for her on the breakfast bar and unwrapped it. It's a string with several carved wooden beads on it, home made. It's crafty and I see how she traces the decorations on the beads with her fingertip.

Then she places the string back on the cloth it was wrapped in and steps back from it, almost as if she's afraid.

"Don't you like it?" I ask, fascinated by her behavior.

Her head whips around to look at me and her eyes show her concern. Once again, she pulls her phone from her pocket.

_I can't give him anything back_

"Well, that's the thing with gifts, isn't it? You don't have to give anything back." I frown a little as I speak, wondering why she would tell me this.

Bella bites her lip and looks at the amulet again.

"Take it. He gave it to you, he meant for you to have it."

With a frown she picks up the present and after looking at it one last time, she puts it in her sweater pocket. She looks lost.

What I wouldn't give to know what is going on in her mind right now.

"Edward, come help me set the table," mom says as she steps back into the kitchen after having seen Jacob and Seth out.

"When are we going to open presents?" Emmett asks, licking his lips.

Mom chuckles. "After dinner we shall open one present each. Tomorrow after breakfast, we will do the rest."

"Aw, that's boring," Emmett complains.

"Then you better prepare yourself, because we'll be going to midnight mass," dad says.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Bella looking up in utter concern.

Even dad notices. "What's wrong?"

Bella's mouth opens and closes a few times, as if she actually is about to say something.

"Write it on your phone," I encourage. "It's okay."

To my right, Rosalie silently takes Emmett and Jasper from the room, probably to make it less crowded for Bella. It's pretty amazing she does that, actually.

Bella types but doesn't show the phone to dad. Mom notices her hesitation and coaxes the device away from her.

She smiles reassuringly when she reads what Bella wrote on the screen. "We are not overly religious, and we sure don't mind that you aren't baptized. You're welcome to join us tonight."

Her relief is palpable and dad smiles too. "Was that your concern? Perhaps you should know that we really only go to church once a year, and that's with midnight mass."

Another battle fought and overcome and slowly she relaxes again, going upstairs with Alice to change into slightly more fancy clothes for the Christmas Eve dinner.

I help to set the table as mom asked, taking my time to admire the special china she uses for Christmas. Jasper comes to help place the napkins and light the candles on the table. "I'm looking forward to tonight and tomorrow," he says softly as he lights the last candle.

"Me too," I agree. "Come on, let's put on monkey suits."

"Wear your new vest," mom calls after me as I sprint up the stairs, and catch Jasper rolling his eyes playfully before he turns away from me to go to his room.

I change quickly, not even bothering to try and tame my hair, instead opting fro running my hands through it a few times. When I arrive back down again, everyone is just going to sit at the table. Bella is wearing the charcoal slacks and black turtleneck again she wore at Thanksgiving, and even though she's clearly uncomfortable, the clothes suit her.

She looks at me when I pull back my chair, taking in my clothes. I want to make a joke about them, but can't think of anything quickly enough.

As soon as we're all seated, dad says some quick words of thanks and wishes us all a merry Christmas. We return the wish to everyone and dad uncorks a bottle of non-alcoholic sparkling cider, pouring it in champagne glasses. It's a festive look and we toast before we drink.

I love how Bella just came to sit at the table with us. I don't know if it took much convincing, but she's here with us again, and the family is complete.

Mom and Bella have outdone themselves. After the first appetizer, which has a definite Bella-mark on it, there is soup that melts on your tongue. Even Emmett likes it, and he's not one for soup in general.

We talk and laugh, sharing recollections of earlier Christmases and gifts we got then. Alice tells about her disappointment when she was seven and she got a white bike instead of a pink one. And how glad she was two months later when she was past her 'pink phase.' Emmett confesses he deliberately broke a toy he got, simply because he didn't like it. Dad scowls at him, but there is laughter in his eyes.

The atmosphere is easy, relaxed, and Bella eats when she thinks herself unobserved. When mom and she get up to clear away the plates of the main course, I get up to help as well.

"Do you have space left for dessert?" mom asks.

"No, I'm full," Emmett says, patting his belly. This is so uncharacteristic of him that I look at him in surprise, and I see immediately he's not done eating at all.

"Liar," I accuse. "You just want to get to the presents."

"No, not at all," he protests, his eyes wide in mock innocence.

Mom laughs and shakes her head. "Let's take a break and open a present already, and we can have dessert after. Bella has made pies, I want to be able to savor them."

There are appreciative hums from the others at this news and Bella ducks her head to hide her blush, moving to the coffee maker to keep herself busy. Mom puts on water to make tea, and Alice gets up to help with the last of the dishes.

"So, can we choose a gift then?" Emmett asks, excited. You'd think that, as the oldest kid, he'd be calmer by now.

"Patience, son," dad placates. "Let's move to the living room first."

Emmett is up immediately, sprinting to the living room. He jumps over the back of the couch to save time. "I'm ready," he calls, and we laugh.

We follow him to the living room and dad stokes the fire as Alice, Bella and mom fix us all drinks. Music is playing in the background Emmett is all but bouncing in excitement. He begins to whoop like a boy when he's told he can get the first gift, but cuts himself off when dad tells him he can get a gift… for someone else.

Pretending to sulk, he gets a gift for Rosalie. I must admit I am impressed he doesn't get what he bought for Rosalie himself, and she smiles in delight when she unwraps several rich looking colors of nail polish. Unerringly her eyes find Bella and she thanks her. As predicted, Bella is uneasy and ducks her head, unwilling to accept the praise.

Judging by the looks on Alice's face, she has helped Bella to buy this for Rosalie. Bella doesn't seem to care much for outer appearance herself.

With so many members in our family, it takes a while for everyone to open one present. Rosalie gets a present for me next — a mobile that moves infinitely and is fascinating to look at. Bella gets a book I don't know and she can't hide her enthusiasm when se sees the title. It's nice to see her so happy.

The gifts are all very thoughtful and I can tell that everyone put in a decent effort this year. Even Emmett, who turns out to have bought dad a book he has been wanting for a very long time.

By the time the first gifts are unwrapped and the drinks are gone, we're ready for dessert. Mom proposes we can eat it in front of the TV as we watch the game and we do exactly that. The pie in combination with mom's ice cream is delicious.

I can tell that the game doesn't interest Bella and more than once I see her eyes flick to the book she got, which is now resting on the coffee table with the rest of the presents we opened. She flinches hard when our team scores and Emmett shouts his joy, but nobody seems to notice her discomfort.

After the game mom makes us all drinks and she puts treats on the table. Emmett, who claimed to be full not too long ago, digs in happily.

"Time for one short movie before church, maybe?" Jasper asks, and we all agree. Rosalie pops in the DVD but just before she hits 'play,' mom stops her.

"We have something for you," she says, meeting eyes with dad and smiling. "We feel that this Christmas is extra special, as it's the first and the last time our complete family is living under one roof." She looks from Emmett and Rosalie to Bella as she says this, and Bella listens with wide eyes.

"We thought this was extra reason for celebration," dad continues as mom disappears from the room. "We wanted you all to have a little memento to this year."

He waits for mom to come back and I'm smiling expectantly, just like my brothers and sisters.

Mom returns, holding two bags that look like they're from some expensive shop. She meets our eyes. "I hope you will like it. If it's not your taste, just tell us and we can find you something else. Now, from old to young — Emmett first."

He grins like a schoolboy as he receives the gift. He tears off the bow and wrapping paper and opens the tiny box, his eyes going wide and his mouth popping open in a silent 'o.'

"This is beautiful," he whispers in awe. "Thank you so much." I've never seen him so silently overwhelmed.

Rosalie is looking on over his shoulder and hums her agreement. Emmett turns the box so we can see the ring that's embedded in the black velvet.

"Pretty," I agree.

My brother gets the piece of jewelry out and fits the ring around his thumb. It suits him perfectly and I tell him so. Mom and dad are beaming, happy that the first gift is a success.

Rosalie is next, and she gets earrings that have Alice working hard trying to hide her envy. Jasper gets a watch that couldn't look better on him. My box contains a leather cuff that I instantly like. Alice's mouth pops open as she whispers the name of the designer reverently.

When it's her turn her fingers are trembling so hard she has trouble opening the package. She holds up a bracelet and smiles through her happy tears, jumping up to hug both mom and dad in thanks.

Bella has looked on, a dreamy smile on her face as she takes in the happiness of others. She's visibly shocked when mom announces that the last gift is for her.

She shakes her head, eyes wide. What is it with her and gifts?

"Oh yes, this one is for you," mom says, and she hands Bella a slightly larger, flat box. I'm guessing it holds a necklace.

Bella's hands are shaking and she takes her time unwrapping the paper, never tearing it. She swallows before she opens the box, as if she's gathering courage. And then she gasps audibly as her eyes fall on the contents.

From my position I can see what she got and I can't stop my reaction. "Oh, wow."

A delicate necklace, holding a pendant that seems to be a butterfly, but it's so abstractly formed it could as well be a flower, or even a heart. Blue sapphire details adorn the piece.

Bella has brought her fingers to her mouth in awe and when she looks up at mom, seemingly seeking some kind of reassurance, tears spill over and roll down her cheeks.

To my surprise I feel the urge to wipe them away. There's no need to cry, even though I am pretty sure she's crying happy tears.

"What is it?" Rosalie asks, excited. "Show us?"

Bella holds up the box for us to see and as my sisters gasp in awe, Emmett and Jasper nod appreciatively.

"Very nice," Jasper says.

"Do you need help putting it on?" mom asks, and Bella shakes her head. Once more, she gets her phone from her pocket.

I take it from her to show mom what she wrote, and I can't help but catch her words.

_It's too much_

"We'll decide that." Mom smiles. "And we say it's not too much."

The phone goes back to Bella and I pass it on to my parents again after she has written.

_How to thank you?_

"You thank us by being here, with us," mom says softly. "That's all we ask of you."

There is a hushed silence after this, and after long moments of hesitation, Bella takes a deep breath and puts on the necklace. It stands out beautifully against the black of her turtleneck.

Since there is no time anymore for a movie before we have to go to church, we watch some TV. We're all distracted with the beautiful jewelry we got. Dad surprises us all by giving mom a set of earrings as well, telling her she couldn't be left out. They share a hug and a kiss as she thanks him and we look away politely to give them privacy. Seeing your parents being affectionate is not always comfortable.

We dress warmly to go out for the midnight mass. Forks has only a tiny church, but Bella looks around with wide eyes as we step in. It makes me wonder if she really never saw a church from the inside before.

There are lots of people we know and I smile in greeting more times than I can count. Bella huddles close to mom, uncomfortable with so many people around. I observe her instead of the Pastor during mass, and see how she enjoys listening to the choir.

After mass we don't linger too long. It's raining and it's late. We wish everyone a Merry Christmas and go home again, eager to get warm and perhaps go to bed.

"I'm beat," mom announces as soon as we step inside the house again. "You can stay up if you want, but we have breakfast tomorrow at eleven." She bids us goodnight and disappears up the stairs with dad.

We all follow soon after. I had hoped to catch Bella alone, since I have so many questions for her, but she looks drained and goes up to bed with the rest of us.

I turn off the last of the lights and go up after the rest, hoping I can sleep.

**~O~**

The morning of Christmas day starts with hard pounding on the door. "Edward, stop wanking and come on down, it's presents time!" Emmett bellows before he sprints down the stairs.

I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my face. I was having such a nice dream, even if I can't remember it now. And I overslept, which means I won't have time for a shower.

Well, they can wait two minutes. I need to wash the sleep fuzz away.

I go downstairs afterwards, my hair still damp and matted to my head. Alice gets up when she sees me and reaches up to style my hair a bit, tutting. I duck my head to allow her better access and rumble my approval when she massages my scalp a little. She winks at me, smirking, and finishes my hairdo.

"Do I pass Alice approval?" I ask playfully.

She looks at me in mock contemplation, tapping her chin. "'S all right," she finally concedes, and we join the others at the table.

My eyes fall on Bella and what she's wearing. A blue turtleneck that hugs her body like I've never seen before. It's still nowhere near the fitted tops that Alice and Rosalie wear, but it shows that Bella is not a complete tomboy underneath. And the blue looks stunning on her pale skin.

Once again there is a meal come straight down from heaven. All in Christmasy atmospheres. Bella has baked a loaf of bread in the form of a Christmas bell, and when Emmett's eye falls on it, he guffaws. "Bella, bells. I can see why."

He doesn't see Bella cringe at the alternative of her name. I do. One more question I want to ask her, I guess.

After breakfast, Alice and I help to clear the table and we move to the living room once more. Mom and Bella carry in hot chocolate and treats and then the great gift exchange can begin.

It takes hours, filled with laughter, gasped awes, admiration and happiness. Bella has bought everybody the most wonderful gifts. Even though we're not supposed to know what she bought for whom, her mark is clear on the presents she got us all.

For dad, a French press with three different types of coffee to try out. For mom a beautiful book about gardening, and for Alice some purple butterflies she can hang on her wall. Alice jumps up and is about to hug Bella in her delight, but checks herself just in time. Instead, she blows Bella a kiss, and Bella smiles back.

Emmett gets a collector's item of a magazine about football, and Jasper a game for the PS3. I get my present from her last, and something heavy is placed in my lap. I tear off the wrapping paper and see a book full of sheet music from my favorite composer.

"Wow," I say with a big smile. "Wonderful. Thank you so much!"

She smiles shyly in response. It's typical of her to know I love Yiruma, simply because I have played some of his songs for her before. It certainly wasn't on my wish list.

There are so many gifts to hand out and receive that it's nearly impossible to keep track of it all. I am surprised when I see that Jasper got Rosalie thick sheets of drawing paper with charcoal. I honestly had no idea my sister could put images on paper, but Rosalie beams and is obviously happy.

I'm nervous when Bella is about to open my gift. She has gotten colored clay from Jasper, 'to create something that lasts longer than marzipan,' and baking tools from Emmett. Alice got her a beautiful scarf and Rosalie a tableau with scented candles to put in her room, 'to make it more like home.'

I don't understand why everybody states that I seem to know Bella so well. If anyone knows her and knows her way with her, it would be Rosalie.

But now Bella is holding the gift I got her. I hope she'll like it. When her fingers undo the tape that holds the paper together, I'm suddenly afraid that she won't understand the thought behind the gift. There is nothing I can do however as she is done unwrapping and looks at the leather bound journal that is now on her lap.

How she knows it was my gift I don't know, but her eyes meet mine. They're blank, just as I feared. The silence in the room is suddenly oppressing.

"Open it," I say softly, and she does. And she smiles.

"It's not just a journal," I explain to the others. "It has assignments, one for every page. Fun things, like writing down a good memory or a dream achievement."

"Like positive thinking?" Emmett asks.

"Not quite. It's not cognitive behavior therapy or anything. Just a fun way to remember the good things in life."

I look back at Bella and her eyes are no longer void of any emotion. She's smiling and bites her lip as the thanks me with a nod. I know in that moment she knows why I bought it for her and I'm happy she likes it.

When twilight sets in, mom has a glass of heated wine for all of us. Bella refuses absolutely to drink an alcoholic beverage and is skittish until after dinner, watching us all closely even though mom explained that the heated wine contains very little alcohol. Fleetingly I wonder if she's afraid of any of us becoming intoxicated, and I add this question to my mental list.

I wonder if she will ever open up so far that she would answer any of these questions. She confessed such huge things last Sunday on the beach. I forgot to ask if she felt better afterwards. Do I need to stress that she doesn't burden me with her stories? Then again, I'm not even sure if I'm worthy of her trust. I told mom what she told me, after all.

In my defense, I told her something I thought was important for mom to know.

"Edward, stop dreaming," Alice says softly. She scoots closer to me on the couch and leans against me. "What's up?"

"Nothing," I soothe. "Show me your bracelet again?"

She's immediately distracted and shows me her new accessory, and lifts my wrist to admire my new cuff next.

"It really suits you," she says, a smile on her face.

Dad gets up and goes to stand in front of the fireplace. "Children, we hope you have enjoyed yesterday and today. To finish the celebration, we have one final gift for you."

Gasps fill the room.

"Wow dad, way to go overboard," Rosalie mutters, awed.

"All right, in random order," mom says as she produces an average sized box from behind the couch, "Jasper."

Jasper gets up to accept the gift and kisses mom on the cheek before he even starts to open it. It's a digital camera and we all look in awe at the gadget.

"Awesome," Jasper breathes, immediately flicking open the user's manual to see what he can do with his new toy.

"Bella."

I've never seen her more shocked. Even after a day and a night of celebration where she was a full part of the gift exchanging, she still seems to be amazed at being offered something like the rest of us.

She unwraps an e-reader and she's clearly overwhelmed.

"There are about fifty classics on it," dad says, smiling. "And there's a voucher so you can buy some more."

The smile she grants him in thanks is nothing less than brilliant.

I'm next, and before I have even accepted the huge box I have a distinct idea what is in it. When the guitar appears from underneath the wrapping paper I shake my head in disbelief.

"This is too much," I whisper, awed.

"We were hoping you would pick it up again," mom says. "You used to love to play."

I gave up playing five years ago, when grandma died. I demolished my guitar in my anger at the injustice that was this world. It was the last time I ever acted out like that. I found my calm in the grieving period that followed, but I also lost my desire to play a second instrument.

Grinning at my mom, I place the guitar on my lap and try if it's in tune. To my surprise it is, and I tentatively play a few chords, enjoying the resonance of the deep sounds.

"Thank you," I whisper at my parents, and they beam back at me.

Alice is next, and she gets a sewing machine that has her squealing so enthusiastically that Emmett complains the dogs will come running. But my sister is over the moon and as she looks at her gift, every few seconds she exclaims another asset of the machine.

My parents are glowing in happiness and pride.

"Emmett and Rosalie, because this is your last year living under this roof, we wanted to give you something special. So, instead of a thing, we decided to give you an experience," dad says. He steps forward with mom simultaneously and they each hand one sibling an envelope.

Rose has hers open first and she nearly screams in her happiness. It takes me some effort to try and decipher what she's so happy about, and Jasper helps me out. "She got a driving experience."

"An Aston Martin Vanquish!" she exclaims.

Oh! I hide my envy and am happy for her. A Vanquish is my all time favorite car. "Wow, mom, dad, if you want to go overboard like that again next year, consider me interested," I say with a smile, nodding into the direction of the voucher Rose just got.

Emmett has finally opened his envelope in the meantime and he cheers, overcome and happy.

"Tickets for the Seahawks!" He's with dad in three big strides to hug him and picks him up off the floor entirely in his enthusiasm.

Dad laughs and pats him on the back when he's back on the ground again. "I'm coming with you, though."

"Oh, shit," Emmett mocks, smiling.

"And you're meeting the players and the managers afterwards," dad adds, his eyes sparkling.

"Oh, shit!" Emmett repeats, and he hugs dad again.

Everyone is smiling at the display and even Bella looks happy for Emmett. She's clutching the e-reader against her chest.

I don't think she notices.

**~O~**

I can't sleep, as usual. When I'm done tossing and turning I finally give up and go downstairs, perhaps to make some hot milk.

I'm not even really surprised I find Bella on the couch, covered under the afghan. I am surprised she's reading on her new e-reader. Elephantias sits in her lap and I assume she has heated him in the microwave.

"Can't sleep?" I ask.

She shrugs and smiles. Realizing she doesn't have her phone and I don't have mine, I rummage through the drawer of the coffee table and find a tiny notepad and a pencil.

She takes them from me and writes.

_I like the nighttime._

"Me, too. It's calmer, don't you think?"

She nods and pulls her feet in when I move to sit next to her on the couch. As ever, I'm mindful of the distance between us. We've been closer together on the porch, but I don't want her to be uncomfortable.

I nod at her new gadget. "So, do you like your gifts?"

She smiles and nods, then tilts her head at me to return the question.

"I do. I'm not sure if I will ever really pick up playing guitar again, but the hint was clear, at least."

She smiles at my joke, and for one of the first times really I notice that she's slightly more relaxed, slightly more at ease. Her face, without the constant mask of tension and fear, looks almost innocent. I find myself looking at her a fraction of a moment too long and I look away again, confused.

We sit in silence for a bit, and like so many times before the quiet is not awkward. I honestly don't understand my brothers when they say they're uncomfortable around Bella. She really isn't that hard to be around.

"Hey, I was wondering," I start, not sure if I should even bring it up at all. Bella looks up slightly to look at me, immediately wary. "You told me you do miss affection."

I can tell she doesn't like where this is going already.

"But you also told me you don't miss your mom."

I have to hide my smile at her reaction. Her eyes go slightly wider and she's obviously surprised or confused.

"What, you think I didn't remember?" Her expression is priceless. "I do. And I was just wondering. Wasn't your mother affectionate?" I know I'm treading on dangerous grounds here, but after the breakthroughs we've had, I'm hoping I can push her a bit to talk about her past more, make me understand her. Let me in. Relieve her from the burden she bears.

I promise myself that I won't talk about this to others.

She writes something down, and to my surprise it has nothing to do with my question.

_Alice touched you yesterday morning_

She's observant. "She did. Apparently my hair was unacceptable."

_Would you not consider that affection?_

"Maybe, yeah. Would you?"

She would.

_But you miss it, too, you said._

"I did. But having your hair forced into submission by your pixie sister is not the kind of affection I was talking about."

Her eyes sparkle in amusement but also ask me to clarify and realization dawns that she wants me to talk for once. Is she trying to understand me as I am trying to understand her?

"I meant things like a hug, or a touch that's meant to comfort."

_Like with your mom?_

So she saw that too. "Yeah, but maybe more with an equal?" My words form into a question without me realizing it. Shit, I'm uneasy to talk about this. And here I am asking her to talk about it herself. No wonder she's steering the conversation away from her. I try something different.

"Mom said you held her hand for a while when you were out shopping?"

She nods slowly.

"How was that?"

_Are you my therapist now?_

I can't stop my laugh from escaping. She can be so deliciously snarky at times. "No, I'm honestly just curious. You seem like a walking contradiction sometimes. I know you hate touch but that you miss it as well. So, I'm asking you if you liked it when you touched mom."

She is thinking for a long time, and I appreciate that she is willing to give me an honest answer.

_I don't know_

"What are you thinking?"

She exhales, then frowns as she scribbles something down. It feels wrong to be so happy she's talking to me, since the subject is once again so serious.

_It's supposed to feel good, right?_

"Didn't it feel good?" I ask.

She shows me her previous note again, telling me she doesn't know. Thinking back to something else she told me, I try to gain a deeper understanding.

"Are you afraid to like it because you're afraid to lose it again?"

I've hit home with my question and I somehow wish I didn't when I see her sudden stress. Something clicks.

"You've lost it before," I say softly, barely a whisper. It's not even a question. "You had it, and you lost it." I hope she won't hate me after my next words. "Is that why you don't miss your mother?"

Oh, no. She looks away, her arms wrapping around herself in protection, and a lone tear spills over and rolls down her cheek. I wish I had words to comfort her, but all I want right now is pull her into my arms and hug her pain away.

This girl, what has she been through? Could it really have been her own mother who started this all? The thought alone is abhorrent.

She's still crying, and she looks so lost I feel my chest crack. The urge to touch her, to comfort her, is overwhelming and I lean forward before I can stop myself. Her gaze is still averted, but flies up to me when I softly, as gently as possible, place my hand on a tiny foot that is covered by the thick afghan.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, trying to convey the sincerity of my words with my touch. She's not moving, but she's not pulling away, either. "I wish I could do something to make it better."

She doesn't really react to my words, instead keeps on studying my face intently. I imagine she's vividly aware of my hand on her foot, but she doesn't scramble away like she would have done before. Even still, I know that what I am doing is dangerous. If I am overstepping her boundaries, she might push me way again.

The silence stretches, but I don't pull back and neither does she. As minutes pass, I notice how her body relaxes ever so slightly. Her breathing becomes deeper and more regular, and she sits back a little further into the corner of the couch.

"It isn't that bad to be touched like this, is it?" I ask, cursing my curiosity but wanting to know.

Her eyes never leave mine, but she swallows and then very slowly shakes her head from side to side.

I fight to hide my feeling of victory. "If you ever want comfort like this, you can have it. And it won't be taken away from you. Not in this household, at least."

I can tell she doesn't believe me. It's in her eyes. But for now, she's allowing me to touch her. And for now, it is enough.

I only realize I have started to move my thumb against her foot when her eyes widen. Her mouth opens and she sucks in a shaky breath, and behind her surprise, the fear is clear. Again, something seems to fall into place in my mind. Her fear of touch. Her fear of accepting gifts. The inherent knowledge I've always felt that she's known more violence than 'just' beatings.

Nausea rolls in my stomach but I fight to hide it. My words halting because they're so alien, I try to explain to her that there is no reason to be afraid. "I don't… want anything from you," I say as I swallow thickly. "I don't want you to think that."

She shakes her head rapidly, her gaze never leaving mine. I don't know what she is denying. When I start to remove my hand, she unfolds her arms lightning fast and places her hand on mine, keeping it pressed to her foot.

Her eyes are wide, pleading almost, begging me to understand. I don't, but I do.

Her hand is cold, and small against my larger one. But she keeps it where it is, exerting gentle pressure to keep my hand in place.

In the back of my mind I realize I will have to give up the notion that what Bella and I share isn't something special. I'm pretty sure she'd not easily ask any other member of the family to touch her like this, to comfort her.

I hold still, intent on giving her what she's asking for.

"Feels good?" I ask softly, so as not to break the fragile atmosphere.

It takes her a while, but finally she nods, and as she exhales, it seems as if a world of tension is falling away.

* * *

_Sure, Edward, she's not different around you... He's not entirely clueless, but he is worrying about his feelings. So he focuses on being there for her. _

_I hope you liked it! Tell me what you think?  
_


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N Twilight is still not mine**

_Wow, thanks SO much for the wonderful response to the last chapter! You're awesome!_

_As always, thanks to my Team Torn: Sherry, Deb and Hev. You girls rock my socks. _

_Back to Bella. She's... a bit confused after what happened in the previous chapter... ;)_

* * *

It's snowing again. Fat flakes falling down. It probably won't last the day, but for now, the ground is slowly but surely starting to be covered in white. I'm feeling as dreamy as the weather, more than a little overwhelmed by the intense things that happened with Edward just two nights ago.

When I got down the next morning I had been as withdrawn as ever, but when Edward tried to catch my gaze I had looked at him with a look that I hoped confirmed that I hadn't forgotten what happened. He had smiled back at me, relaxed and easy in his unassuming confidence as always.

I learned at a very young age that people can't be trusted. Even when they say they won't hurt you or don't want anything, they're often lying. Laurent always was. He'd coax me into a feeling of safety and then strike when I least expected it. It made me weary and words lost their meaning to me.

But when Edward told me he didn't want anything with his touch, I had believed him. I was just so shocked at how it felt when he moved his thumb. Muted as it was through my thick socks and the blanket, I merely had felt pressure shift. And it felt good. So good in fact, that I kept his hand there when he tried to pull away.

That's something I can safely say I had never done before.

I could only hope that he wouldn't be upset with me, and he wasn't. He was patient, and there was no sign that he had hidden intentions.

But that's where it got complicated. For me, at least. Why would he be so nice to me, like that? What's in it for him? Could it really be true that he doesn't want anything else? Or is this a trick — win my trust and then misuse it?

No. As likely as I would have thought this possibility before, I found, and find, it very hard to believe this is the case right now.

Besides, Siobhans words came back to me that morning after. Why be nice in the first place? I had told her I thought they might be nice to me at first so I wouldn't run, but if I'm really honest — where would I run to in the first place? I have no therapist here I can go to. I'd be lucky to make it to the end of the driveway before they found me.

There's nothing in it for them to be nice to me.

The realization made me exhale. I even think my shoulders dropped a bit.

And that's when I started to see the Cullens with slightly different eyes. I've been observing them closely for the last few days and I've started to see the differences in their behavior around me.

They're not all nice all the time. They each have their own ways to deal with things. And perhaps it's those differences that made me realize they must be sincere.

Jasper is insecure, like he doesn't know what to do. He's always kind, but he never really tries to talk to me. He doesn't ignore me, however, and he isn't nasty. Emmett greets me or talks to me sometimes, but he's careful in keeping his distance since he ran into me. Rosalie is no-nonsense, not one for small talk, but ever observant.

Carlisle, when he's home, always asks about my well-being. Esme is Esme, and I think she really tries to be a mother for me. I just haven't been letting her. Alice is sweet, trying to engage me in activities and talking to me. She's the only one I think who talks about herself too sometimes, and it's a relief to me to be focusing on someone else instead of having to worry what the next question about me will be.

And then there's Edward, the only one who's been coming closer slowly, but surely. He does it. I don't know why, and what's even more confusing to me is why I even allow him to do the things he's done before. If this turns sour I will be upset, I know. But it feels good right now, there's something innately good and warm about getting the kind of attention he shows. I'd almost said the kind of affection, but we're not quite there yet.

Wait. Yet? Who am I kidding?

I have started the journal Edward gave me. The assignment yesterday was to do something today I wouldn't normally do, and write down how it felt. I can't think of anything to do that's outside my comfort zone. Helping Emmett with Trig doesn't seem to fit that category.

However, I'm standing at the porch window with my mug of tea, looking at the snow, and I'm waiting for him. I let him know I was ready to start tutoring him, and if he wants to improve his grades he will have to start focusing on studying.

At first he protested, claiming that holidays were not for studying, but when Carlisle asked him if he would rather end his extra practice, he'd conceded.

He's taking his time though. I've been waiting for about twenty minutes now.

"You waiting for the bus?" Alice asks lightly as she comes to stand next to me.

I shake my head and hold up my hand, fingers bent so the tips touch my thumb which is folded into my palm somewhat.

Since yesterday, we have started to use some form of sign language. Rosalie had me seen reading something about it on my new e-reader and she had been enthusiastic. She'd told the others about it and they were all willing to try, even though I had been reluctant at first.

It was their desire to have me communicate. They were all willing to make an effort to learn the signs so I could start telling them things. To me, it was yet another careful sign they genuinely are okay having me around. So, over dinner we'd decided to start out easily, and for now I'll only use signs that indicate the first letter of the family members' names.

It had been tricky even to figure that out, since three of the people here have a name that starts with 'E.' We had decided to give Emmett the proper sign for 'E.' Esme would get an 'M' for 'mother' and Edward would get a more crude version of 'E' — three fingers held horizontally to make a more visual image of the letter.

Giving Alice the sign for 'Emmett' now should indicate that I am waiting for him. Fortunately, she gets the message immediately.

"Is he making you wait? That won't do. I'll get him for you."

She's away before I can stop her and again I am baffled by her kindness. She's now running to do something she really shouldn't have to for me.

Using the sign language, however small it is, is surprisingly easy to do. It's now the third time I have used it and it seems that everybody is willing to work with it. But like me, they have to think really hard to decipher the signs. It takes me seconds to get my hand in the right position.

But I'm doing it. I wonder what Siobhan will think of this. She will either agree because I'm pushing forward, or she will condone it since it's not speaking by a long stretch.

Well it will have to do. I don't think I will be using my voice any time soon, if ever. If I can get around like this, then why bother? Words get twisted and are used against you. That is, if anybody even listens to you in the first place.

I have been told not to talk. I paid for that warning with a price I still carry with me. Especially when it's cold it bothers me that I can't stretch out my right hand fully. The scar, now nearly invisible, will forever make my palm fold in on itself.

Footsteps behind me alert me that Emmett and Alice are coming down. I finish my tea and follow them to the kitchen table. Alice comes to sit with us subtly, browsing through a magazine with inspiration for clothes you can make yourself.

Emmett has his books, calculator and a laptop with him. "Perhaps if you type, you can talk faster," he says almost shyly.

Swallowing once to gather my guts, I sit down with him at the table and wait for him to open his books. When I ask him what he doesn't get, it's clear he doesn't even know what to ask for. Finally, I ask him to make an assignment at the chapter he's currently at, so I can gauge what his level is.

I can see where he goes wrong, but I let him finish the exercise. Then I go back a few chapters in the book and start explaining.

Emmett has little patience, but I can tell he's trying to hide it. When he gets short with me, Alice pointedly clears her throat. I try different angles to explain the subject matter, and finally, after about two hours, the first hints of understanding seem to dawn. Immediately, his mood lightens, although he was never really nasty.

He's worse off than I thought, though. He did a good job hiding it.

We agree to work on it further the next day. When he gets up to put his books away, I exhale in relief. I did it. I helped him. And when he comes back, he even thanks me. I don't know what to do, so I look away, uncomfortable.

Around three, there's a nice blanket of snow covering the yard. Feeling spontaneous, I go get my coat, scarf, hat and gloves, and put them on as I step onto the porch. The cold takes my breath away, but not my smile.

I feel happier than I have in years.

I stumble down the porch steps and saunter through the snow, for once not caring who is looking. Lifting my head to the grey sky I let the flakes fall on my face. It feels wonderful.

"Since you have helped me with Trig, I shall not take you down in a snow fight," Emmett announces seriously behind me.

Turning to face him, I can see he is smiling. He's not even wearing a coat. I smile back at him, tentative at first, but wider when a big snow ball hits him from the side. Edward is on the porch, bouncing a second snowball in his hands.

Emmett recovers quickly and stoops to scoop snow together and form it into a ball, but before he can throw it he is hit again, by Jasper this time.

"Unfair!" Emmett calls, and he starts throwing snowballs back at Jasper and Edward. Jasper, lithe as a cat, dodges them easily. Edward fends one off with his hand but can't prevent one hitting him in the chest.

Standing on the side I look at them play. Emmett doesn't even take time anymore to make balls of snow, instead opting to throw handfuls at his brothers. Jasper holds his stomach, laughing at Emmett's antics.

"Ooo, powdered snow," he wheezes, "I'm shaking in fear."

While he is distracted, Emmett sneaks up on him and stuffs a handful of snow down his collar.

Jasper stops laughing immediately and protests, launching onto Emmett right away and throwing him backwards into the snow. They roll around, fighting and laughing, until they are covered in white.

I look on, amused, for a long time, until Jasper complains he's wet and goes inside.

"Who's a pussy now?" Emmett calls after him, but he trudges inside after Jasper when he can't tempt Edward into a same sort of wrestling match.

Edward stays on the porch, his forearms leaning on the railing. "Enjoying yourself?" he asks me.

I nod at him, and turn away to walk through the snow some more. It doesn't surprise me when I hear his footsteps approaching behind me. It does surprise me that instead of my usual ambivalence, I seem to feel a little lighter when I realize he's coming to me.

I don't know this feeling. It's elating and scary at the same time.

"You're not one to play, are you?" he asks when he has reached me.

I shrug noncommittally, and he reaches down to gather some snow into a ball. When he comes back up again, his eyes are sparkling.

"I dare you to throw a snowball at me," he says playfully.

I raise an eyebrow that must tell him I'm not going to join in his game.

"If you don't, I'm going to throw this one at you."

Hey! What if I don't want this?

"I shall count to three," he says, bouncing the snowball in his hands. "Snow won't hurt me, and it won't hurt you. So here we go. One, two..."

I don't feel the panic I would usually feel. Instead, before he has arrived at 'three,' I pick up some snow and throw the powdered substance at him, running away the next moment.

He laughs, a happy laugh, which grows louder when I throw a real ball - and miss by a few feet.

"You have a horrible aim."

Yep, I know. I tilt my head.

"I don't." And then without warning he throws his snowball at me. A moment of utter panic flares when I see something flying towards me and I duck and cover my head in instinct. The snow hits my arm, a soft thump that's at odds with what my fear made me expect.

"Wow, you okay?" Edward asks as he comes walking towards me. "Shit, I didn't want to scare you like that."

Angry with myself, with my fear, with my inability to just _play_ with someone, I scoop up snow and press it into a ball. I throw it at Edward who is still approaching me, and it hits him right smack in the middle of his chest.

He's as surprised as I am it seems and I gape at him in a mixture of amazement and fear.

"Guess you do have an aim." He grins widely, taking away my worry that I would have upset him with hitting him like that.

So I throw one at him again, again a hit, and then when he starts to make a snowball, I turn around and run. The snow hits me on my back with the softest thump, and fear wars with happiness at the knowledge of being followed, but in play. I let myself fall forward into the snow the moment I'm hit and lie face down, needing a moment to take in this absolutely new aspect of my new life.

"You okay?" Edward asks again as he nears me. "Bella?" He sounds nervous.

Happiness wins. I roll onto my back to face him and the biggest smile is on my face. I feel so free, liberated almost.

I played with him and he is still nice.

He returns my smile, teeth showing and everything, and he reaches out his hand to help me up. Feeling bold, I accept it, and he pulls me to my feet, misjudging my weight and pulling me off balance. He places his hands on my arms to steady me and looks into my eyes.

He smiles.

**~O~**

It's a strange new thing, this. My heart keeps thumping loudly in my chest long after we've gone back inside. I curl up in the chair near the fire as twilight turns into dark. Edward has gone up to his room to shower.

He thanked me before he left, in a soft voice only I could hear. I had smiled at him and felt like I should thank him too.

He played with me. Does he know how new and unknown this is?

And God, what a wonderful event to write down in the journal. A snow fight definitely classifies as something I wouldn't normally do. Perhaps the assignment made me do it. The assignment, and the somewhat certainty of knowing that Edward wouldn't turn against me suddenly.

He played with me. He actually played with me. I played with him.

Holy shit.

"You look incredulous," Esme observes softly, smiling as she hands me a mug of hot chocolate.

I sniff at the heavenly scent and close my eyes for a moment before I meet her gaze. For some strange reason, I want to tell her what just happened. She's so nice, so patient. Always.

Looking for paper to write on, she hurries to the kitchen and comes back with a notepad and pencil. "Tell me," she says eagerly. "What has you so happy?"

Her smile is infectious and I write.

_I played_

"I saw," she says, beaming. "Did you like it?"

God, yes.

"So I guess they did want you with them after all," she replies softly, not a hint of accusation in her voice.

Huh. Yeah, I guess they did.

"I'm happy for you," she beams, her eyes alight with her happiness.

She doesn't say anything else, not 'I told you so' or 'see?' or 'this was a one time occasion.' It's amazing, actually.

Still, a frown ghosts across my face. I can't shake the feeling that this will all be temporary and that I will lose it again. Esme is here now, and everyone else is doing their own thing. Now is one of the better moments to ask her, I guess.

I sit forward, trying to get her attention. She looks away from the television and smiles at me. "What is it?"

With nerves wreaking havoc in my body, I decide to just ask her.

_Can I stay here?_

A look of confusion flashes across her face before it morphs into reassurance. "Absolutely. There was never any question of you leaving. As far as we are concerned, you will stay here until you are 18. After that, it's your choice if you want to live with us, or somewhere else."

My mouth opens and closes as I process the information I have been worrying about. I think she's saying I can stay when I turn 18, which would mean I can finish school here.

Oh, wow.

_Will it stay like this?_

How she even understands me is beyond me, but she does. She looks me squarely in the eye as she answers. "Yes."

_No catch?_

She laughs, but it's good natured and understanding. "No catch. What you see is what you get."

I'm carefully, tentatively, beginning to think that maybe that other shoe is just never going to drop.

Unbelievable.

**~O~**

Emmett and I meet again at the kitchen table after lunch the next day. Esme is working in the kitchen, which to me means I am not alone. Emmett is in a good mood, confident that after yesterday, he will be able to pick it up again.

He doesn't. He gets stuck time and time again on the exact same point and no matter how I try to explain it to him, he doesn't get it. Rubbing his face, he curses under his breath.

"I thought this would be peanuts with your help," he says, petulance sounding in his voice.

To me, the accusation is clear. I tense up and shift my chair away from him a little bit, gritting my teeth as I try again to guide him through the exercise with renewed energy. Just as I realize why he goes wrong where he does, Jasper's voice sounds behind us.

"Fuck damn, I can't find my belt anywhere." He's going out with Alice I believe, and they plan to have a nice dinner in Port Angeles tonight. The snow is gone again, so the roads should be clear.

"Language," Esme corrects quietly, not even looking up.

Next to me, Emmett reacts. "Oh, I borrowed it. Here you go."

He stands up and starts to undo the belt as Jasper protests about Emmett having taken it without permission.

The typical tingle of a belt buckle being loosened makes all the hairs on my body rise in fear. When I hear the typical zip-flick-zip-flick-zip of a belt that is being pulled through the loopholes of jeans, I get up, alarmed, and so quickly that my chair falls backwards to the floor with a loud crash.

I'm away from the table immediately, wanting distance between me and the sound that I know too well. My heart is crashing out of my chest and I'm holding up my hands in a surrendering gesture. Please don't hurt me, please.

Before me, three pairs of eyes look on in utter confusion and surprise.

"What the fuck?" Jasper asks.

For an endless moment, nobody seems to move. Then Esme speaks. "Drop the belt, Emmett."

He looks at his mother with questions in his eyes but he does as he's told, and the belt falls lifeless to the ground next to his feet. From the corner of my eye, I see Esme approaching me.

"Bella, it's okay. Remember the contract? Nothing is going to happen. Take a deep breath for me."

I suck air into my lungs shakily. Does she understand it was the sound of a belt pulled from jeans that set me off? It's such an alarming sound. I hate it.

As fear and adrenaline slowly start to leave my body, I sink down to my knees.

Fucking hell.

Esme sits down with me, looking worried. Behind her, Jasper carefully reaches for the belt on the floor and leaves the room with it. The atmosphere is tense, and it's my fault. Meeting Esme's eyes, I try to convey how sorry I am.

"No, don't worry. We're not angry. But I don't like to see you so upset," she adds in a softer tone. "Are you okay now?"

I nod slowly, my breathing still ragged and my heart still beating heavily. Esme gestures for me to get up and goes to make some tea. On the other side of the kitchen table Emmett still stands, looking shocked.

"I didn't mean to scare you like that," he says hesitantly. "Or at all, actually."

"It's okay Emmett," Esme replies. "I think Bella knows this."

"Yeah," he says, lost. "Ehm, I'm going to my room for a bit if that's okay."

Esme nods wordlessly and pours steaming hot water in two cups. I follow her movements with my eyes and join her at the kitchen table when she invites me to do so.

My hands are still trembling when I wrap them around the mug.

"There will always be setbacks," she says softly, looking at her own mug. "But you are doing wonderfully. I hope you know that."

I nod into the steam. I'm just so sorry that I had to make a spectacle.

"I guess some reactions are more automatic," she continues, her voice quiet. "I imagine it will take time for you to get over them." She takes a breath. "You do realize he never was going to hurt you, right?"

My brows turn into a frown as I think about her question. Perhaps I knew deep down that Emmett never would have beaten me. In my old life, it might have happened. But the combination of the sound of that belt and his earlier annoyance with my inability to help him had set my teeth on edge.

After a too long moment, I nod slowly to answer Esme's question. Then I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, trying to rid my body of the remaining fear. What a low after such a high the previous day.

We finish our tea and after I've made Esme believe I'm okay I'm allowed to go upstairs, to my room. I spend hours in silence, trying to read but mainly merely looking at the page of the book Edward gave me, _Coraline_, without seeing a word.

When I reemerge to see if I can find a snack in the kitchen, Alice calls me from her room. Her door is ajar and I peek inside. She's sitting on the bed with Rosalie, soft music is drifting from her stereo. Between them on the bed are the bottles of nail polish I got Rosalie for Christmas. Almost automatically, I finger the necklace with the stunning pendant I got from Carlisle and Esme that same day.

Rosalie follows the movement with her eyes and smiles. "Come sit with us."

Alice hops up to pull a chair closer to the bed and lets me choose where I want to sit. I choose the chair, not wanting to let her give up her earlier place.

"We're trying out the colors you bought me," Rosalie explains, nodding at the bottles on the bed. "Want to try too?"

Eh, no.

"Look," Alice says happily, showing me her hand. She has a beautiful auburn color on her nails. It suits her. "You sure you don't want this too?"

I shake my head again.

"It will be pretty," she encourages. "A little pampering?"

No, Alice.

She looks put out. I'd almost reassure her, but I can't be sorry for not wanting to enhance myself. The less attractive, the better. Besides, Stefan told me time and time again I'm ugly and horrible to look at. It's no use to try to fix that, and I don't want to. Why spend time making myself look better? What's the use? It will only attract unwanted attention.

"Why not?"

I reach for a scrap of paper and a pen on her desk.

_I don't want to be pretty_

"No, you don't want attention," Rosalie corrects quietly. Our gazes meet and the understanding I see there is clear. Why does she get it so well?

"I don't see what harm a little nail polish can do," Alice says almost forlornly, interrupting the moment between Rosalie and me.

"If you don't want it, will you still stay? We need your opinion on what colors look best," Rosalie asks, changing the tone of the conversation a bit.

I nod hesitantly and spend some time with them, listening to their idle chatter as they try on different colors and decide what they think. Around five I leave them to help Esme for dinner.

I don't think I'm cut out for the girly stuff.

When I arrive downstairs, I can hear the piano. Edward is playing, or at least trying to play. Esme is in the kitchen, making a potato casserole and I assist her where I can, helping with preparations and setting the table.

"Are you enjoying your holiday?" she asks.

I nod dutifully, draining the potato slices in the sink.

"Have you tried out your gifts yet?"

I think she means the tools for baking that Emmett got me, or the clay I got from Jasper. I shake my head. I have found I can enjoy the freedom of not having to do anything. Of not having to make sure everything is spotless. There is peace to be found in sitting quietly and doing nothing.

Shaking my head in denial, I reach for the baking dish to make the casserole. Esme stops me.

"Go relax a little bit. I made a fire in the hearth. I can finish up here."

Reluctantly I leave her in the kitchen. Instead of going to the living room I walk to the parlor where Edward is playing. I think I recognize the music book I gave him for Christmas and I can't stop my smile at that. He's actually using it.

Sensing my presence he stops playing and looks at me. "This book is so cool, I think I can play just about every song that's in it," he tells me with a wide smile. "Here, listen to what I've got so far."

He starts playing, his fingers finding the right keys almost effortlessly. About halfway through the song he stops and looks back at me. "This is all for now. I really should start with the guitar I got, but I just love this music so much. Thanks again."

He's never been this relaxed around me. His eyes are sparkling as he smiles and I find that I'm smiling back. Then I realize what I'm doing and I turn to leave him before he can see my blush.

Rosalie is in the living room, watching TV. It sit down in the winged chair and watch some talk show with her until Carlisle comes home. Esme appears from the kitchen to greet him, telling him that dinner is almost ready.

Then Carlisle turns to me. "Bella, can I have a word with you?"

Without a glance, Rosalie gets up to leave the room. Carlisle follows her with his eyes. "I was thinking we could go to my office but this will work too," he says.

I stare at him in utter alarm, sure I must have done something wrong. Oh no, will he be upset that I played with Edward? Or that I had a panic attack with Emmett and the belt?

He sits down on the couch and looks around him to make sure we are alone.

Oh fuck, this really can't be good. I tense up completely, my hands gripping the armrests of the seat until I'm sure my knuckles are white.

"Okay. There really is no easy way to say this," he starts softly. His voice is kind, which is at odds with what I am expecting. I frown a little and swallow with effort, my throat suddenly dry.

"It's been over three months since you left Stefan. As you may know, your blood was drawn in the hospital then to check for STD's and HIV. We have to test your blood one final time to see if you're clean."

Holy Moses. This was not what I was expecting and even though it means I haven't done anything wrong, it's still utterly alarming. What if I am sick? What would I do? Would the Cullens still want me here if I become a potential hazard to their children? Oh no, oh my god.

"Now, don't worry. Your tests showed up negative back then so chances of finding something now are small. But we have to be sure."

I nod, the movement jerky from my stress-stiffened muscles. He's misunderstanding my sorrow.

Carlisle continues. "I'd also like to run some general blood tests on you, while we're at it. You've been severely malnourished and I'd like to make sure everything is okay now. Since I'm worried that drawing blood might be stressful for you, I would like to give you the choice. You can go the the hospital with Esme and have an experienced female doctor help you."

He looks at me to gauge my reaction. "Another option could be that I do it for you, upstairs in my office if you want. I have the necessary equipment. The benefit of the latter would be that I know you, and you know me, and we can take all the time you might need. Esme can join us if you like."

I don't like needles. I don't want this. But I don't want to go to the hospital either and risk a panic attack or worse.

I suppose I can always just shut down and get it over with.

"Think about it. We can do it tomorrow before I leave for work, or you can come to the hospital with Esme. I only start at noon, so we can use the entire morning," he smiles gently. "I know you're not fond of needles."

Eh? How does he know?

"Think it over and let me know what you want. But I suggest you do it tomorrow, so you won't have too much time to worry. I want you to know that I understand your fear. We can take all the time you need."

I nod just as Esme calls the family to dinner.

"Join us?" Carlisle asks before he stands up, and I do.

I eat with the family, and actually manage to get some food down. Esme notices and smiles in encouragement. Emmett apologizes again for what happened earlier, which triggers Rosalie to ask him what on earth he did. Esme stops that conversation quickly and effectively, saving me from public discomfort.

She's very kind.

After dinner I retreat in my room, putting on a CD I got for Christmas. I have to decide if I want to have my blood drawn in the hospital or at home. I don't know. I'd rather have it not done at all, but I realize that knowing if I have HIV or not is pretty important. If not for me, then for others around me.

Should I be sick, I guess it would be no more than I deserved. But it would be a pain to make sure others won't get infected. I rub my face in frustration and push my foot against the ground to get the rocking chair moving again.

I can't win.

Finally I flip a coin to make the decision. I don't like the result so I flip it again, and again. In the end I decide it's probably better to try it at home first. I hope Carlisle will have more patience with me than a random doctor at the hospital I don't know.

The next morning I find him at breakfast. I've written the note to ask him when I was still in my room and I hand it to him now, cursing mentally when I can't hide the tremor in my hands.

"Don't worry," he reassures me when he has read the note. "Esme is coming up with us. We will take all the time you need."

My heart is crashing out of my chest when I follow the two of them up to Carlisle's office. I halt outside the doorway, unable to take that final step.

"It's okay," Esme coaxes. "Just come in and sit down."

Oh fucking fuck fuck. I don't want this.

I look over my shoulder briefly, my bedroom door offering a safe haven from this stress.

"Are you afraid it will hurt?" Carlisle asks softly.

My head turns back to face him and I cock an eyebrow before I can stop myself. A needle doesn't hurt. It's the fact that it's going to be _inside_ of me that freaks me out.

"A lot of people feel it's unnatural," Carlisle says. "But if you look away, I can assure you you won't feel a thing."

I still hesitate.

"You know that Emmett won't even come as close to the possibility of needles as you are right now?" Esme offers. "The last time he had to have blood drawn, he didn't come home all night. He was too scared."

The idea of a guy the size of Emmett being more scared of needles than I am comforts me for some reason.

"Come on, why don't you just sit down? I won't do anything sudden," Carlisle promises.

It takes a little more coaxing from the both of them, but after a few long minutes I am finally sitting in his office. Esme is kneeling next to me, talking reassurances as Carlisle walks over to his desk to prepare the equipment.

I look over my shoulder at him, alarmed, but he calms me by telling me he's just getting the things he need. "I won't do anything without telling you first."

Finally, finally, I find the courage to pull up my sleeve. Carlisle even gives me the tourniquet to put on myself, saving me the stress of being touched like that.

As Carlisle tells me to stretch out my arm and make a fist, Esme offers her hand on my other side. "Squeeze if you want to," she says gently. "Sometimes it helps to hold a hand."

I don't accept her offer, opting instead to grip the armrest of the wooden chair I am sitting in. When Carlisle announces he's going to insert the needle and I feel the first touch of his hand on my arm, I shut down.

**~O~**

I'm in my room when I come to my senses again. I must have walked in here somehow, but I can't remember clearly at this moment. A vague throbbing in my arm indicates that Carlisle must have succeeded. I hope he doesn't mind I withdrew. I didn't even do it on purpose.

I'm hungry. Opening my bedroom door, I pause for a moment to listen to the sounds in the house. It's the day before New Year's Eve. A dull day. Vague sounds of a guitar drift in the air. Listening more closely, I realize it's coming from upstairs.

Drawn by the music, I go up instead of down, and I make my way to Edward's bedroom. His door is open, and he's sitting on the bed, playing guitar. I can only see the top of his head as he's looking intently at the strings. The sounds are hesitant, but beautiful.

When he starts to hum along the notes he's playing, I gasp audibly. He has an amazingly beautiful voice.

He stops and looks up the moment he hears me, surprise in his eyes. Alarmed at having been caught, I turn on my heels and hurry away, stumbling down the stairs but not sure where to go. My room? Outside? I'm pretty sure he didn't want an audience.

Oh shit, what if I upset him?

"Bella," he calls softly after me, and I hear his footsteps behind me.

Just as I turn to walk further down the stairs, I feel his hand on my arm. I freeze and turn to look first at his hand, then at his face.

"No need to run," he says softly. He meets my gaze and holds it, and for an endless moment we just stand there. Then he removes his hand. My arm still feels warm where he touched it. "No need to run," he repeats quietly.

I suck in a shaky breath when I see the truth in his eyes.

He smiles crookedly. "Any plans for the day?"

No, not yet.

Why don't you bake something? I know you like that. I can take you to the supermarket if you need anything? And we need to go to the library soon."

I'm still frozen. He touched me.

"Let me know if you want someone to come along to the library," he says softly.

It's scary, but I shake my head. I think I could try to go with him alone.

He touched me.

His entire face glows with his smile. "Want to go now?"

Guh, do I?

"Come on," he decides for me. "Go get your books."

I do as I'm told and minutes later I'm wrapping up to go out. Esme notices we're leaving and asks Edward to stop by the supermarket on our way back to get some milk.

Edward takes some money from her and looks at me to see if I'm ready to go. I am, and I follow him to the garage where we enter his car. I'm a bit nervous, but not overly so. Perhaps it's more the stress of the unknown I feel than fear of something bad happening.

Edward is relaxed. He puts on the radio and turns up the volume when the news is on. He comments on an item about the economy but is silent after that. As he is focused on driving, I look at him from the corner of my eye. I think his face can be considered handsome.

Blushing by my own thoughts, I face the window again. What is wrong with me lately?

We exit the car when Edward has parked in the garage and this time he doesn't have to ask me to walk next to him. When we arrive at the library he leaves me for the music section after we have handed in our old books. He wants to find a book on playing guitar.

Since I still don't have my new ID, I have to choose my books carefully. In the end I opt for two books about philosophy. I got several novels for Christmas and the Cullen library has very little about Descartes.

When Edward finds me again, music books in his hand, he smiles at me. "Want to go get a drink?"

We set course for the coffee corner and get us some coffee with apple pie.

"What is it with you and eating with others?" Edward asks softly.

I sigh and shrug. What is it with him and his questions about these things?

When I don't reply, he lets it go and digs into his pie. "Yours is better," he grins when he has swallowed . "Can I tempt you to make some when we get home?"

I could, perhaps. I love the smell of fresh apple pie.

"Awesome," he says, smiling brightly. "You're amazing, did you know that?"

I scoff and roll my eyes at him, and a playful spark lights in his gaze.

"Amazing, awesome, cool," he says, grinning wickedly. "Brave, smart, kind, caring, fantastic..."

I cut him off by making a 'time out' gesture with my hands.

"Nice to be around," he finishes like he didn't see me, and his playful gaze shifts into something a little more serious.

Something weird flutters in my stomach, and the room suddenly feels hot to me. Lost in his gaze, it takes me a moment to look away and gather my bearings again.

He clears his throat after a long silence. "Let's go home. We need to stop by the store still."

The trip to the supermarket is quick and quiet. Something happened just now in the library and I can't put my finger on it. It must have something to do with the fact that Edward used almost the exact same words as Siobhan did.

Am I nice to be around?

I really thought I wasn't. All my life, people either shied away from me or all out hated me. At home, at school. I was left alone and I liked it that way. But in this family, they keep coming to me, keep trying to make conversation, keep asking me about my well being.

Could it really be that I'm finally doing something right?

"Hey thinker, we're here. Let's go," Edward says, and I follow him into the store.

As he gets the milk and the few other items that are on the list that Esme gave him, I browse the aisles for the ingredients for apple pie. My gaze falls on something else too however, and by the time we go to the checkout, I have a basket full of ingredients to make petits fours. I can use the tools Emmett gave me to make them.

Edward has to stop for gas as well on our way home and he tells me to stay put in the car as he goes out in the cold to fill up his tank. I have some notes in my wallet and get them out when he's paying, so I can pay him back for the gas he used by taking me.

It's so liberating to spend the money Carlisle and Esme gave me. After my first fears that they wouldn't agree, I think I know now they won't mind when I spend a few dollars, especially not when it's on things that make me happy.

That in itself is so new to me. Exhilarating.

I look up when Edward comes back from the tiny shop, his shoulders hunched against the cold rain that is falling. He sticks out his tongue at me when he sees me watching and I laugh, a breath escaping me as I do so.

He's so weird sometimes. He morphs from serious to playful and back again. And yet there's this other part of him too, the deeper, maybe more vulnerable part that he showed me on the beach last week. He misses affection, closeness to someone. And he told me he misses being able to give that feeling to someone else as well.

"What's up?" he asks as he gets back into the car, and I realize I must have been looking at him funny.

I point at my temple and shrug, indicating I was just thinking. Then I hold out the money to him.

"What's this for?"

Thinking its going to take too long to get my phone out, I gesture with my hand to indicate all the driving he's done today.

Instead of accepting the money, he laughs. "It's all from the same source. Don't worry about the money, but thanks for offering. If you want to give me something back, you can make me some apple pie," he winks.

Well, that's not very special, is it?

He brings us back home safely and I show Esme the things I got in the store, showing her a recipe from the cooking book I got for Christmas to make clear what I want to create. She smiles in encouragement and after dinner, I set out my things to work in the kitchen.

To my surprise, Rosalie comes to sit at the kitchen table. She has brought the charcoal and drawing paper she got for Christmas and sketches in silence. When I bring her some tea, she smiles and thanks me.

It takes me some hours to make the treats, and in the end I decorate them by drawing flowers in colored icing on top of them. I make two with a butterfly too, in silent thanks for the pendant I got. It's so beautiful, I can't even begin to comprehend why they would give me such a valuable thing.

I arrange the petits fours on a presenting dish and bring them to the living room, where Carlisle, Esme, Jasper and Alice are sitting. They are all awed and smiling when they admire my handiwork. I'm just pleased they turned out so well.

When I return back to the kitchen to clean up, Rosalie is just gathering her drawing stuff. She smiles at me. "You're pleasant company," she says. She shows me her drawing and my mouth falls open in shock.

She's drawn me.

It's almost abstract, but it's unmistakably me. She has drawn me as I was working at the kitchen counter, my back to her eyes. The kitchen scattered with baking tools. It looks... peaceful? I'm so amazed I even forget to worry about having been observed, apparently.

Rosalie hands me the paper. "Here. See what others see." She walks into the living room, leaving me staring at this beautiful charcoal work of art.

I didn't even know she could draw.

**~O~**

New Year's Eve is spent making treats in the kitchen with Esme. A nice dinner, pies and her famous ice cream are all on the menu for today. Everyone is downstairs, enjoying themselves in the living room. The boys are taking turns racing each other in a game, and Alice and Rosalie look on.

When they start a game of Pictionary to kill the hour before dinner, I join them, teaming up with Alice.

It's a fun game, and it turns out Carlisle is worst at drawing. Nobody can guess his images and it's cause of much banter and hilarity.

After dinner is done and everything is cleared away, he takes me apart in the kitchen. "Your blood results have come back. The test was negative. You're officially clean."

Although I knew the chance of actually carrying anything was slight, the relief is huge. A smile breaks through and he beams back at me, almost as if he's happy for me too. From the living room come calls to come back to join them, and so we do.

The countdown has begun.

We have snacks and drinks. My petits fours disappear slowly but steadily from their tray and I find it pleases me that they like them so much. It was worth the effort to make them.

We watch TV, enjoying the shows that are on. There's a definite tinge of excitement in the room. The knowledge of starting a new year, of starting anew. Leaving behind the old and trying again. Getting a fresh chance of doing right.

When the last seconds tick away, Carlisle gets the bottle of champagne. He pops the cork at exactly midnight and even though I flinch at the sound, I smile at the scene.

I look on as everybody wishes each other happy new year with hugs and smiles. I am happy for them. I truly am.

And I am caught off guard when Esme makes her way towards me through the tiny crowd of family in the room. Searching my eyes, she reaches carefully for my hands.

"Happy new year," she whispers, the emotion clear in her voice.

For some reason the emotion gets to me as well and as I take in her hopeful gaze, I realize I don't want to fight my own hope anymore. Carefully, tentatively, I lean forward. She seems to understand me immediately and then I am enveloped in a full, warm, motherly hug. Her arms are around me, so strong, so safe. So very, very wonderful.

Oh, how long have I waited for this moment.

A sob wrecks through me and she tightens her grip, hushing me quietly, telling me she understands. "Happy new year," she whispers again.

Oh yes. Happy New Year, indeed.

* * *

_Let me know what you think? _

_I'm going on a holiday tomorrow (win) and I'm celebrating my birthday next weekend (double win). However, it means no writing for at least a week (pout). I'll try to get an update out before Christmas, so you won't have to wait too long, okay? _


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N I don't own Twilight. **

_Thanks all, so very much, for reading and reviewing. Thanks to Sherry, Deb and Hev. Thanks to Aleeab4u because she's awesome. Thanks to Fantastista for being my 4000th. This chapter is unbeta'ed and pretty raw, but I wanted to get it out to you. I might take it down later this week to make some final edits. For now: Enjoy :)  
_

* * *

_I'm awake. I don't know why. I didn't have a bad dream._

_It's still dark. I have to pee, but I don't dare to go out of my bed. I'm not allowed to come out of my room at night._

_But now I can't sleep anymore. I press my hands between my legs to make the urge to pee less bad. I don't dare to go out. Laurent hurts me when I don't listen._

_Mommy is crying. I can hear her on the other side of the wall. She cries a lot. Almost every night. But when I ask her if she's sad, she says no._

_I don't understand it, but she says it's a grown-up thing. I'm a child and I am stupid. A burden. I shouldn't ask her questions._

_So I do less and less._

_"Are you going to shut up any time soon, bitch?" That's Laurent's voice. I don't like him._

_A smack sounds and mommy screams. Another one. I cover my ears, squeeze my eyes shut._

_Maybe, if I try real hard, I can pretend it's all just a dream._

**~O~**

The last few days of the holiday - the first of the New Year, pass in a calm haze. On New Year's day, Charlie Swan comes over for a visit.

He asks me if I still have the pepper spray he gave me. I do. I don't feel comfortable with it though, but he says I should keep it in my backpack.

As I dig up the tiny canister in my closet, I think about his last name again. It's a strange coincidence that we should share the same name, but I know he's not related to me. Besides, I asked Esme once and she said we weren't.

Which is good, I think. I wouldn't be happy if I had to go and live with him all of a sudden.

As soon as Esme tells me it's okay to leave, I go to my room. Leaving the door open, I sit on the floor against the wall and listen. From below, the sounds of talking voices drift up. From upstairs, the soft notes Edward produces on his guitar come floating down. It's comforting.

On the second day of the year, I help Esme to take all the Christmas decorations down. She makes conversation and complains lightly about her children, who are all too eager to make a mess, but are never around when it's time to clean up.

Alice, who has heard Esme's words, jumps up immediately and starts to help. With three pairs of hands, the house is bare again in a matter of hours. It almost feels empty.

With school comes the familiarity of a schedule, of knowing what to do and what is expected. I finished my Gym assignment over the holiday and hand it in on the Monday after. Coach Clapp is surprised, but tells me he expected it. He tells me also that I will have to be on the school grounds during Gym, but that right now, there is nothing I need to do for class. If I want to, I can sit in his office and observe the lesson, and so that's what I do.

I see Jessica flitting around Mike, trying to get his attention. He's not oblivious, but he doesn't spend much time on her. I almost wish I could warn her for him, but then again I know she won't listen. She has been on his side all along. She thinks I am wrong, and I still can't completely disagree with her.

At home, things have definitely changed. The atmosphere is different, or at least it is to me. The hug I accepted from Esme at New Year's was huge and we all know it. I remember vividly how the room fell silent and everybody was just looking at us. I had felt wildly uncomfortable, and a big part of me had been worrying that I was overstepping my line, that they would start telling me to stop it, that I didn't deserve it.

But they didn't. And when Esme and I finally let go after what felt like minutes, everybody was smiling. And Esme, Alice and I were crying. Well, at least I wasn't alone.

I talked about it with Esme the next day, and I tried to explain her that this didn't mean that I was over my reserves all of a sudden. I didn't even mention the other part of it all. The part that whispers I don't deserve it. That I'm selfish for wanting this. That it proves now weak I am, what a failure of a human being.

"Of course not," Esme smiled in response to what I told her. "I just hope you are starting to see that you can come get a hug anytime you want it. I'm very willing to give it to you."

It was her choice of words, the word willing, that made me believe she was telling the truth. So I smiled at her and touched her arm lightly, to gauge her reaction, and she had only been encouraging.

"Anytime," she added.

Anytime.

But when I try to recall that feeling I had, of being held and accepting it, of the feeling of safety it entailed, my entire being balks at the notion of being touched. I shake my head to myself and sigh. I never even considered it would be so complicated. It was safer when I just didn't want things, I guess.

On Tuesday morning, we have the Biology outing to the greenhouses. We feign interest when we listen to a woman talking about the workings of her greenhouse a little too enthusiastically. I'm glad when we go back to the school again and drive home immediately after.

Tuesday is also therapy day and Esme drives me to Port Angeles through heavy rain. We almost don't make it in time as we can't get up to speed on the rain soaked roads. With only a few minutes to spare, we step into the building and walk to the floor where Siobhan's office is situated.

For the first time I notice that a girl has been in before me. She looks pale, tired, and walks with her shoulders hunched. She meets my eyes briefly before she looks to the ground again, and walks away swiftly as she shrugs into her coat.

When Siobhan calls my name, I get up to go see her.

"I'm going to do some errands while you're in, but I'll be back when you come out again," Esme informs me. I nod to let her know it's okay and then I walk into the therapy room.

Here too, the Christmas decorations have gone.

I rake a hand through my soaked hair, my fingers getting stuck in the tangles. Ugh. I hate the weather here.

"How was your holiday?" Siobhan asks as she sits down. I'm still standing, near the radiator, trying to get warmed up again.

I nod firmly, trying to convey with my eyes that I had a good holiday. Because it was good. Apart from some minor stressful events, it was relaxing and, well, fun.

"Tell me," she says, her smile bright. "I want to hear all about it."

Her interest feels so genuine I turn to her and pull my new necklace from underneath my sweater to show it to her. It feels safe enough to let her know about this present. I'm pretty sure she won't take it away from me.

"You got that?"

Yeah, I did.

"It's very pretty," she says. "What else did you get? And what did you give others?"

I list some of the things I got and bought, and thank her for the crayons she gave me. She asks me how it felt to give and receive gifts. I manage to explain to her that it wasn't that bad to receive things, since I got to give as well.

"Is that important to you? To give as much as you take?"

Yes, it is.

"Is that the reason why it's so hard for you to accept gifts?"

Totally. We talk about how I don't feel like I'm giving much currently, but am receiving so much. When Siobhan offers that I am giving so much more just by being me and trying to be with the family, I disagree.

Fortunately, she lets it go.

"What else did you do? Any fun activities?"

I can't hide my grin when I tell her that I played in the snow. For some reason it just makes me feel proud to tell her, and her beam encourages me to tell her more. I tell her about the hug.

"How did it feel?"

_Wonderful_

"I bet," she says, smiling brightly. "And now?"

I look at her with questioning eyes. What does she mean?

"Would you like to do it again?"

Oh. I don't know. It's scary to want those things.

After some serious coaxing, I try to explain why I'm afraid to want affection. I'm used to it being taken away from me, to having it used as a weapon. A comforting hug can turn into a restraining hold.

"Does it make you feel vulnerable?" Siobhan asks softly after a silence.

My breath escapes in a gust when the truth of her words sinks in. Yes. Wanting affection is the same as showing weakness to me. And from a very young age I've learned that I don't deserve it, and that it's better to not want certain things. And showing weakness is a dangerous thing indeed.

"Do you think you will encounter any violence in your new home?" she asks next.

I don't know. It's becoming harder and harder to keep my guard up, but things can change. When I arrived at Stefan's family, I was told everything would be all right.

They lied.

My life turned sour, twice. How am I supposed to know if it won't happen again? I'm bound to fuck up in the future. It's how I'm built.

"Come back to me," my therapist says softly. "Tell me what you're thinking."

_It's bound to go wrong_

"What makes you think that?"

_It went wrong twice already. _

"Twice? You mean when your stepfather was arrested and you were placed with your first foster family? He was arrested for fraud, correct? That had nothing to do with you."

I stay silent, folding my arms and crossing my legs, and I refuse to look at her.

Siobhan's voice is tentative. "Bella? What happened when you were living with your stepfather?"

Oh, God. Memories are torn from their hiding places and come crashing down on me. It's too much and I panic at the fear, my breathing picking up as I hold myself together. I can't collapse now. I don't have a right to hold a pity party. Wasn't it all my doing to begin with? If I hadn't been there, my mother could have been happy.

If I hadn't been there, I wouldn't have been in the way, either.

"Did he beat you?"

Yes.

"Did he... touch you?"

Yes.

From my peripheral vision I see how Siobhan sits back. The stress is clear in her face. I write.

_My fault. _

She starts to shake her head, but I'm already writing again.

_You were wrong. It has always been my fault. _

Instead of denying it, she asks me a question. "How old were you when your mother left?"

I write the number seven on the white board, not willing to hold my fingers up in the air. She doesn't deny it. She doesn't deny when I say it was my fault. See?

"Did the violence start only after that?"

I can even taste the bitterness on my tongue when I shake my head.

Siobhan is silent for a long while. "Okay. Our time is up. I want you to come back tomorrow instead of Friday, can you make that?"

I don't know. I'll have to ask Esme and I don't want to inconvenience her. I tell Siobhan the first part of that thought. And I'm worried. Why does she want me to come back tomorrow? To rub in the fact that it _was_ all me after all? I don't know if I want that.

She follows me out of the office and asks Esme to step in for a moment. When they reappear a few minutes later, Esme looks tense. I look at her with wide eyes, worried that she's upset because she will have to bring me here tomorrow.

She tries to hide it when she smiles at me. "Let's go home, honey. You must have had a tiring day."

Once we're home, she has to hurry to get dinner ready. I help her where I can. It takes me some time to summon the courage, but finally I brush her elbow. She notices, and turns to me with a smile. I hand her the note I prepared.

_I'm sorry_

She looks confused. "What for?"

She doesn't understand. Getting a pen from the kitchen drawer, I write more on the same piece of paper.

_For having to take me to therapy_

"Oh, don't worry about that," she says hurriedly. "And don't apologize. Therapy is important, and Siobhan told me it was really important that you come again tomorrow."

I push through.

_You are so tense. Why?_

"You don't miss anything, do you," she smiles sadly. She thinks for a moment. "I'm not sure if I can make it to drive you to Port Angeles tomorrow." She's lying. Or not lying, but this is not the main reason she is so tense. I know her. The question is, do I call her out on it?

"I can go," Edward says suddenly from behind me.

I turn, a little startled, and take in his face. His eyes are wide, honest.

"You sure?" Esme asks.

"Yeah, sure. I had been wanting to go there sometimes this week anyway." His gaze shifts to me. "Why do you need to go there tomorrow?"

"Her therapist planned an extra session," Esme says softly.

Edward nods, but doesn't say anything. He sits down at the table and looks at me again. "Joining us tonight, Bella?"

**~O~**

Edward is calm, quiet when he drives me to Port Angeles the next day. Siobhan has planned a double session, and the anxiety is killing me. My fidgeting hands betray my nerves. Edward notices, but doesn't speak.

When we arrive at the building, he walks up to the door with me. "Do you want me to wait inside?" he asks softly.

I shake my head. He told me he wanted to go to a bookstore, and he should go.

"Okay. I'll be here when you're done." There is something in his face I can't identify. My mind contemplates the word protective, but dismisses the notion itself.

He leaves with a quiet goodbye and I turn to walk into the building, to meet Siobhan for the second day in a row, and I don't know why.

I learn soon enough though, because she starts the moment I sit down.

"I want to talk about your childhood today." The tone of her voice is different than the no-nonsense manner I've become used to from her. It's softer, more considerate. Why? "Why don't you tell me your first memory?"

I blow out a breath, my cheeks puffing up. I don't know. Siobhan helps me by prompting me with questions. Where did I live, and who did I live with? And so I tell her about the trailer I remember, my grandparents, and my mother. I don't remember any father ever having been present.

How she does it, I don't know, but her questions make me feel safe rather than confronted. Her soft voice coaxes me to write down things I have hidden, even from myself, for a very long time.

I tell her about my grandfather, whom I hardly remember, but who smelled like tobacco. I remember being afraid of him. I remember my mother jumping in between when he came at me. My grandmother is even more vague in my memory, but she was there. I can't define her role when Siobhan asks, and she lets it go.

I tell her about my mother, about the hammock and the music. I don't tell her everything, but when Siobhan asks me if my mother was once kind to me, I tell her yes.

Tears are already flowing freely when Laurent is introduced in my story. I tell Siobhan how my mother took me away in the middle of the night. I don't tell her how I had to leave my favorite toy behind. How I cried over that for a day before my mother told me that I had to be strong, and that strong girls don't cry.

Siobhan hands me a tissue when I tell her that my mother left when I was seven. When she gently encourages me to tell her more about that event, I refuse to give her more details. It's too painful, the proof of my failure burned forever in my mind and my hand.

Siobhan asks clear, specific questions. They hold no judgment, they simply state facts that I can agree to or deny. She saves me from having to say things that are altogether too painful.

But bit by bit, my story is laid bare. How Laurent started to touch me when I was so little I can't remember my exact age. How he told me again and again that I was stupid, worthless, at fault. I was always at fault. I even give her examples of what I did wrong.

The bulk of the details are left out. Siobhan seems to understand that most of it is impossible for me to talk about.

By the end of the session, she knows my basic timeline until I arrived at the Cullens. She thanks me for telling her my story. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate the trust you have put in me today. How do you feel?"

_Exhausted_

"That's perfectly understandable. Can you give me an emotion as well?"

I think for a moment.

_Relieved_

She smiles gently. "How so?"

_Now you know me. You can form a real opinion_

"Do you want to know what I think of you right now?"

Sure. I brace myself both mentally and physically, wrapping my arms around my waist for comfort.

"I think you are smart and strong, and that you've been through more than any other human being should ever have to bear. Yet you came out on the other side and you still want to fight. You feel like you've done wrong, but instead of hanging your head, you want to figure out how you can make it better. You're a fighter, Bella. And you were never in the wrong."

My face holds no expression as I take in her words.

"It's going to be hard for you to believe, but the people that were supposed to be your caretakers in the past, were in the wrong. You think that the love you see around you is normal, but that it's _you_ who doesn't deserve it. That's where you are wrong. Not in the things you did, but in the things you believe. Laurent, Stefan, maybe even your mother, they were wrong in the way they treated you. Not you."

_But why? _

"That's a question that is hard to answer," Siobhan says as she sits back. "Sometimes it's a malfunctioning of the brain, sometimes it's their upbringing. But people like you've encountered in your life are a rarity. They are disturbed and blame you for their behavior so they can have an excuse to act like they do."

She holds my gaze with her eyes. "It wasn't your fault. It was theirs."

My breath shudders and tears break through again. What if she's right? I want her to be right. Do I want her to be right? What happens if she's right?

My fingers tremble when I write.

_Why me?_

Siobhan smiles sadly. "I don't know. You will probably never find an answer to that. It's a question lots of abuse victims struggle with."

The word 'victim' makes me look up.

_I'm not a victim_

"You may not feel like one, but in the technical sense of the word, you are."

I shake my head, frowning.

_Victims are helpless, forced into things. They fight and can't win._

She contemplates my words. "What of your description is most important to you?"

I underline the word fight.

"Am I correct to assume you didn't fight? Or didn't always fight?"

My nod is slow and full of shame. Now, tell me again it wasn't my fault. That I didn't bring it on to myself. If it was wrong I should, would have tried to fight it off.

"Did it hurt less when you didn't fight?"

The accuracy of her words is scary and my face flies up to meet her gaze.

"You were surviving, Bella. The desire to survive is one of the strongest in mankind. You fought in a way - by choosing not to fight, you made your life easier, as far as possible in your circumstances."

My brows pull together in a frown again.

"We have to wrap up. Come back next Friday. Write your questions down, if you have them. I think you have a lot of food for thought. Have you read my diary yet?"

No, I wasn't ready.

"That's okay. Read it when you want to. Are you okay to go home now?"

I don't know.

"Bella," she starts, and the softness in her voice makes me look up. "I know this is hard. You've adopted certain coping mechanisms over the years and it won't feel nice to have them unraveled and pulled down. It will be scary, but I promise you it will be worth it. For now, try to focus on the good you see around you. Try to ignore the fear you feel."

I narrow my eyes at her. Like it's that easy.

"Try to remember how you felt when you played in the snow. Or when you let Esme hug you. Were you afraid then?"

I recall my emotions. Yes, I'd felt afraid, but for different reasons. I'd felt fear because it was new, because I didn't know what to expect. It wasn't fear because I knew what was going to happen.

"It's in your reach to have that always, Bella," my therapist says. "You can have it. You just have to let it in."

A thousand questions explode in my mind at her words, but I know I won't be able to ask them. Our time is up, and I have to go.

She opens the door for me and I step out, only noticing Edward is here because he greets me as he gets up. He walks toward us and introduces himself to Siobhan before he shifts his gaze to me. "Ready to go?"

I nod at him and he holds out his arm in an inviting gesture to lead me to the exit of the building, and to his car.

He tries to make conversation when he pulls out of the parking lot, but I find I can't help him. So much has been said at the therapy session, I gave so much of myself to Siobhan and I'm not even sure yet if I'm comfortable with that. Then when I was sure she would change her opinion about me, because in the end it did go wrong twice and I was in the center of that all, she told me I was a fighter and a victim.

I'm not a victim. Victims are not at fault.

Oh. Wait.

Oh.

Shit.

I gasp for breath as Siobhan's logic falls into place. If she is right, then nothing I have believed all my life is correct. Is that what she meant when she said it would be scary? But she can't be right, because that would mean that I have been wrong all my life.

It would mean, that it could have been different.

No. No, I can't even begin contemplating that.

"Bella?"

I can't deal. It's too much and it's just not possible. It's still probable that Siobhan is wrong, right? What if she isn't? What if she is right? Her words are eerily similar to those I have heard in my new family.

How am I supposed to find out what is truth, and what is lie? How am I supposed to find security in this great unknown? What do I do?

"Bella?"

How am I supposed to deal? What happened, back then, and just now, where did it go wrong? Where did I mess up? She told me I fought _because_ I didn't fight. Could I have changed things if I had fought harder? _Should_ I have tried harder?

No, I think not. I fought, I fought often, but I could never win. Does that make me a victim? I think it only makes me even more weak than I already am. Stupid Siobhan. I'm not strong and I'm not a fighter. I simply do what must be done because however miserable my life, I do not want to die.

"Bella?"

Is it bad to make it easier on yourself, even if it means giving in to things you know are bad? But I deserved them, didn't I? They told me so. There was always a reason for the violence. And the times they came to my bed always had some argument too. I hate my body ever since Laurent said it was so pretty. Impossible to refuse. As such, my fault.

My stomach turns and I hurl without warning. The car screeches to a halt and I stumble out of it before it has completely stopped. I only just manage to bend over far enough to not completely soil my clothes.

Fucking hell. I can't even vomit without making an ass of myself.

"Jesus," Edward mutters as he steps around the car. When I stop retching, he holds out an open water bottle and pours water over my hands. I get them clean and rinse my mouth.

I'm mortified.

"You okay?"

I meet his eyes and cock a brow before I can stop myself. He laughs humorlessly. "No, you aren't. Stupid question."

He looks around. "I'm going to park the car over there, and the were going inside that coffee house over there. Wait here, I'll be right back."

He gets in the car and for a moment I'm hit with the paralyzing fear of him leaving me stranded here in Port Angeles. But he parks across the street and walks back to me, shoving his hands in his pockets against the cold.

The coffee house is warm and deserted. Edward finds us a booth in the corner and orders drinks for the both of us. Still completely lost in thought, I only half notice what's going on around me. Hence my surprise when two mugs of tea are placed on the table before me.

"You're really far away," Edward observes. "Anything you want to talk about?"

I shake my head slowly. I don't want him to know and besides, it wouldn't help anyway, would it?

"Are you feeling better now? You were pretty sick out there."

My throat still feels raw, but my stomach has settled down again, at least. I sigh, frustrated. Edward must want to go home. I've kept him waiting long enough as is.

"Hey, why the frown?" he asks quietly. "What's wrong?"

I'm bitter enough to reply and I pull out my phone to type.

_My life is what's wrong_

"Oh," he says, taken aback by my words. His hand goes to his hair and he pulls. My frustration grows. I shouldn't burden him with this. But he speaks. "It's not so bad right now though, is it?"

No, not right now. Or, at least, if you don't take the royal mind fucks into consideration.

He's lost, I can tell. I huff and focus on my tea. This day is getting worse and worse.

"Tell me," he says. "Maybe I can't help you, but at least you can get it off your chest."

Shrugging, I write.

_Nothing you can do. The world just doesn't make sense anymore_

There. That covers it mostly, I think.

"That must be confusing," he says lightly, but I can see he understands I'm serious. "Any specific reason for that?"

Silence stretches as I don't reply. I don't really want to talk about it and I don't want to bother him with the chaos in my head. He's not going to want to hear it, anyway.

He seems to disagree. "I'm on your side, remember? Shit Bella, I hate to see you distressed like this. Please tell me what's bothering you." His eyes show his concern. The green of his irises is deep in the light of the coffee house, more intense than outside when it's clouded and dark.

"Let it out," he encourages. "You're obviously in over your head."

I'm struck with a ridiculous visual of written words all around me, crowding and threatening to drown me. Well, I think, that at least is one certainty I still have and control — the use of my voice. That part of me is still mine and mine alone.

With a deep sigh, I delete the previous text on the screen of my phone and type. Worst-case scenario, he agrees with me and I know where he stands. Best-case scenario, he agrees with me and I know where he stands.

_She says it's not my fault_

"Who, your therapist?"

Ah, yes. Shit, I've become rusty in having actual conversations. Not that I mind. I'm not one for long dialogs anyway. Never have been. People usually don't spend enough time in my vicinity to actually talk to me. Except Edward, I realize. The longest conversations I have had in my life have been with him.

Guh.

He's a _guy_, for fuck's sake.

"I would agree with her," Edward says, pulling me from my thoughts. "What wouldn't be your fault? Is this the same thing we talked about before?"

He means the conversation we had on the porch once, the conversation where he convinced me to actually try therapy. And now I'm here, asking him, again, basically, how it can't be my fault.

How is he supposed to answer that question?

"Are you talking about the violence you've been through?" he asks, his voice a strange combination of careful bluntness.

I swallow, then nod.

He sits back a little, and I realize he's tense. Why? "I think I can understand to a certain extent why you would blame yourself to find a reason for it all, to justify what was happening. But seriously, you must have been some wench for it to be okay, and even then, violence is never right. Just to be clear, we're talking about more than the occasional spanking, right?"

He knows this. He guessed it before and I never denied it.

"So, what… Like once a month?"

I scoff a little. If only it had been that easy.

"More often? Like, daily?"

I can't meet his eyes and my hands clench together in uneasiness. His attitude is about to shift, I'm sure.

"What did you do to deserve that?" he asks, bewildered.

I type, even though I don't think he expects an answer.

_Be in the way, make noise, drop something, not finish dinner in time_

"Stop," he says quietly, his eyes wide. "What happened to you was wrong, Bella. Is that so hard to believe?"

Why tears are spilling over I don't know, but they do and I duck my head to hide my face from his view.

"Even if you did some of those things, you never did them on purpose, right?"

No, unless I just wanted to get a rise out of him. I did that a few times over the years. See what would happen if I wilfully angered him.

It wasn't pretty.

From my peripheral vision, I see Edward pulling out his own phone and press some buttons. "Just texting mom," he says. "We won't be home in time for dinner."

Of course, my eyes go wide in alarm. Surely there'll be hell to pay if we're home too late.

Edward looks at me, genuinely surprised. "Jesus, relax. I'm texting her, so she'll know where we are. No worries." He looks at the screen and hits a final button before he looks back at me. "You got shit over that in your old home?"

Yeah, I did.

"Even if you let them know you would be late?"

I smile a little wistfully, not even sure how to begin to explain the impossibility of the scenario he just sketched.

_I had no phone_

"Ah." He thinks for a moment. "And it wasn't like you could use a pay phone, since you don't talk, obviously."

Exactly.

Anyway. I shift in my seat, reaching for the tea. It's gone lukewarm but I drink it regardless. Edward's phone beeps and he checks the message he got.

"Mom wants to know if we want to eat something here or if she should save us something for later."

My mouth opens and closes a few times before I can gather my bearings and look at him to see what he wants. If he wants to eat here, I don't think I'll eat much, but it's up to him.

"I'm kinda hungry," he admits.

I point at the menu, hoping to tell him that he can eat here if he wants to.

"Are you going to eat if we order here?" he asks suspiciously. "Because I'm not eating here if you won't eat."

My frown confuses him, so I type.

_Why do you care?_

"You've asked this before, and the answer hasn't changed," he says simply. "So, if we order here, will you eat? It's your choice."

Choice, he says choice. I can choose to eat here. Would he play games? Probably not. When I pick up the menu tentatively, he smiles at me and does the same after he texts Esme to let her know she doesn't have to save us dinner.

Mushroom ravioli. I have _no_ idea what's that going to be but it was the first item on the menu and also less expensive than the rest. Laurent would have my head if he found out how much money I was spending on a single meal. I could have done groceries for the both of us with that money for the entire week.

As we wait for our orders to be brought to us, Edward pushes a penny toward me over the table. When I look up at him with questioning eyes he says matter-of-factly, "for your thoughts."

It's actually pretty funny and I breathe out a laugh. He grins back at me, obviously pleased to have made me smile.

"I care because I care about you," he says quietly, answering my earlier question after all. "It's beyond me how you seem to feel that nobody cares about you."

_No one ever did_

"Your mom did," he observes. Damn, he actually remembers quite a lot of details about the things we discussed. But I frown at his words. My mom turned against me when Laurent convinced her of how bad I was.

_My mom left_

He's taken aback at my words. Part of my mind muses over the realization that this is the second time I'm telling this in my life, and it's not even been hours since the first time. Yet, it also seems to hurt a tiny little but less than the first time.

Interesting notion, indeed.

"How old were you?"

Seven.

"Jesus," he mutters.

In the silence that falls, the waitress comes to bring our food. She looks from me to Edward. "Do you need anything else?" she asks him pleasantly.

"No thanks," he replies, still utterly distracted by my earlier confession.

When she leaves, he slowly comes to his senses again. "Eat. You promised you would."

He's right. He's also considerate, not looking at me when I take a tentative bite. Too much cream, I think, and too little salt. It could use a bit of pepper too, but I will never touch pepper again.

"Is it good?" he asks after I have swallowed. I nod and he seems pleased.

"Who did you live with after your mom left? Is that when you moved to Phoenix?"

I shake my head and write in between bites.

_I moved there when I was 14_

If he notices I'm not mentioning Laurent, he doesn't show it. "So you were seven when it started," he says sadly, seemingly more to himself than to me. I shake my head nonetheless.

"What, did it start later?"

No.

He blanches. Even in the dim light of the restaurant I can see his face going ashen. See? This is why I don't want people to know. He's going to rebuke me now, I'm sure. I shouldn't have opened up to him like that. Damn.

Gathering his bearings, I can see him swallow thickly before he speaks again. His voice is surprisingly calm compared to the anger I'm expecting. "Whatever they told you, they were wrong. You're incredibly nice and caring, you have a gentle soul and a sweet demeanor, and you're impossibly smart. What will it take for you to start believing that?"

This is not what I thought he would say and I duck my head, uneasy with his praise. What is he trying to get out of this, a dark part of my mind wonders. Is he sweet-talking me into something he wants? Best to confront him.

_What do you want?_

"What?" he asks, confused. My heart is hammering in my chest as my eyes follow his hand that travels to the back of his neck to rub it. "I want to be your friend," he finally says, deflating a little. "But it seems that you're not really letting me."

My mouth falls open at his confession. I honestly never even began to think that he would find me worthy of such a special thing like friendship. How could he want something like that? I have nothing to offer, nothing at all. Besides, how do I know if it's only friendship he wants?

Edward sits back a little and looks at his hands. "Who broke so much you that you don't even believe in friendship anymore," he whispers, not meeting my gaze.

Even in the enormity of this conversation, my irritation flares at that one word he uses.

_I'm not broken._

He looks bashful, looking for words to defend himself, probably.

_I'm malformed by default_

A laugh escapes him, but he's shocked at the same time. Why would he be shocked? I thought it was pretty clear that my... design... left to be desired. Everything went wrong from the moment I was born.

His smile turns into a frown. "Why do you think that?"

Shrugging, I type.

_Was told so._

"They were wrong," he says simply. "Is that why you think people can't possibly like you for you?"

I don't know what he wants to be when he grows up, but he'd make a damn fine psychologist. I nod once to answer his question and sigh. I don't like the pain his questions bring up.

He sits forward a little. "I like you for you," he says solemnly. "Even if you feel you're damaged goods."

Damaged goods? Wow, that's one way of describing it, I guess. He's kind of right, too.

Sitting back again, he sips his drink. "You know, animals with only three legs are sometimes loved more than those that are perfect." His eyes are sparkling when he looks at me over the rim of his glass.

Although I do realize he's trying to be funny, annoyance flares.

_That's pity. Don't want that_

He sighs, but it's not out of frustration. "What will it take for you to believe me?"

_What's in it for you?_

"Friendship," he says simply. "Being accepted as I am, knowing there's someone who likes my company." His eyes turn insecure as he meets my gaze. "At least, I like to think that you like my company."

_I wouldn't be eating with you in a restaurant if I didn't_

I don't know what got into me to tell him this. Must have been the too creamy ravioli.

"True," he muses, smiling brightly.

_But you can have anyone_

I'm not sure why I'm pressing. Maybe because I'm still not sure if I believe him. He frowns a bit at my words and I worry I have upset him.

"I find it very hard to make friends," he says quietly. "Most people think I'm too... soft, I guess. I'm not really into sports, I don't buy the Playboy..." he shrugs and disguises his blush by taking a drink.

He doesn't buy Playboy? I thought all men watched porn?

But wait, what? He thinks it's hard to make friends, so he decides to hang out with me? Even in my own damaged state of mind I realize that that is far from ideal. I try to tell him as much.

"Oh no, no, not like that," he says hastily, his eyes showing his concern. "I'm using the wrong words. What I meant is that I rarely feel that people accept me unconditionally, and I do have that feeling with you." His voice grows softer as he nears the end of his sentence. "I hope you know it's the same for me."

I hear his words, I really do. But he's wrong. I don't accept him unconditionally, I tolerate him, period. That's an entirely different thing and the horrifying realization sinks in that he has been having the wrong picture of me all this time. When I was looking for possible reasons he would turn his back to me, I never even considered that the way _I_ see _him_ would be the cause of that.

He looks at me studiously, probably seeing my distress. "What's wrong?"

This is going to hurt, I know it. But how to put it in words?

_Do you think I see you as a friend?_

There. Let him go first. It's not nice of me, but then again, I've always been told I wasn't a nice person, anyway.

He swallows before he speaks. "If I'm really honest? No, I think you don't. You're too traumatized to trust someone enough to call them your friend. But I can tell you don't object having me around."

Okay, so it seems he does understand that he's not my anchor or whatever. I don't like that he's using the word traumatized though. That makes it sound like I've been through horrible things.

"You wouldn't have done this with Emmett, for instance," he continues softly.

No, I wouldn't. I wouldn't even have sat alone in a car with him. Or with Jasper, or with Carlisle, for that matter.

Then why with him?

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I just like being around you."

_I have nothing to offer. I'm not worth befriending_

He must realize this, surely?

"You do. You are," he counters easily. "You don't see yourself very clearly, you know."

I frown and look away. I don't think I dare asking if he hopes to get something more out of this deal. I don't dare considering actually befriending Edward. A scoff escapes me.

"Hey," he says softly. "Give this a chance. I know you've been hurt in the past and people have turned against you, but I promise you that I won't."

_Still don't understand what you get out of this_

"Seeing you smile from time to time would make it worth it," he jokes lightly.

One last warning, I decide, and then I'm giving up for the day.

_You don't have to do this for me_

"I know," he replies seriously. "And you don't have to be afraid that I'm doing this solely to do you a favor. Being in your company makes me happy, and knowing that you appreciate my company makes me happy too. Trust me, I do get something out of this as well."

A faint smile tugs at the corner of my mouth and I type.

_No such thing as altruism_

He smiles. "No such thing, indeed."

**~O~**

Siobhan's and Edward's words have made me think. I barely sleep that night and have to drag myself to school the next day, where I'm called to attention in class as much as three times. I can't bring myself to focus. A thousand questions are wreaking havoc in my mind.

By the time Gym hour rolls around, I go to coach Clapp to announce my presence. Then, on my way to the library, I make a sudden decision and instead of going left I go right, through the exit of the building, over the parking lot, and into the adjoining forest.

It's cold, but not raining for once. I stumble trough the undergrowth, my mind churning only in the background as I focus on finding my path. I just want to be alone for a little while. Just for a little while.

After a couple of hours I find a meadow, and I can see the surroundings in the fading daylight. About a hundred feet in diameter, a patch of grass surrounded by trees. It's pretty here, and peaceful. I drop my bag in the center and sit down on top of it carefully, breathing in the crisp winter air.

Yes, I just need to be alone for a while. I need to think.

Siobhan told me to let things in and Edward told me, basically, he wants to be my friend. The concept is alien to me and what worries me most of all is that it has become impossible to fend him off like I still would have been able to do when I just got here. My defense mechanisms have crumbled and with the new space they leave behind comes the desire to let it all in.

The hug from Esme was nothing short from wonderful. Being around Edward, has hard as I want to deny it, is pleasing. He's kind and considerate and even though part of my mind screams at me to not trust him, the other part whispers that had he wanted something from me, he could have done so long ago. A third, tiny, tiny part of me wonders dreamily what it would be like to not be afraid of Edward's touch.

He knows me by now. He even knows I wouldn't go telling his parents if he would decide to hurt me, or bully me or whatever.

But he hasn't done anything. It's clear, even to me, how considerate he is. He's always worried that he's upsetting me, doing something I don't want.

I haven't been touched against my will since I fled Stefan. Was it really not normal what happened to me all my life? Was it really them and not me?

Abuse...the word rolls around in my head. I don't like it. It entails helplessness, faultless beings oppressed and hurt. I'm not such a being. I'm not faultless.

I am also not alone.

I started reading Siobhan's diary yesterday. It's in my backpack today even though I know I won't have time to read at school. I just wanted to keep it close. Siobhan's story is not the same as mine, not by a long stretch. But she, too, would be beaten if she stepped into the room at the wrong moment.

Her mother looked on and did nothing. My mother screeched at Laurent to live his anger out on me, not her.

I cringe and shiver. I knew that there are families out there who don't hurt their children. I didn't know that if I came to live with such a family, they wouldn't punish me for my wrongdoings simply because they don't see them as such. They wouldn't punish any of their children. And even if they did, they wouldn't be hurt, if Edward was telling the truth. They would be grounded, at most.

Grounded. Slightly amused, I wonder how that would work for me, since I can't leave the house on my own accord.

Do they all care for me like Edward claims they do? The concept in itself is so baffling I can't wrap my mind around it. What's so special about me that anyone would care? I'm ugly, boring, and do more wrong than right, always. I'm not worth their sorrow, their energy.

The argument that they don't really know me and will turn against me once they do, is starting to crumble, though. Edward knows a lot about me. Alice does, too. Siobhan, even, but she is paid to be kind so she doesn't count. Yet Carlisle and Esme have read my file. They've seen my medical record, they _know _what happened that last night when I left Stefan and went to find Renée. They even know he was inside me that night, because they discovered that at the hospital. Still, they don't despise me, don't wrinkle their nose when they look at me. When the box came with my clothes torn, with Stefan's belt on top so they could punish me with it, Carlisle had only picked up the belt to destroy it.

He absolutely refused to hurt me. Not only then, but also the first time when I came to find him in his office. We had been alone then. He could have done it easily, but he didn't.

The thought that they genuinely care is frightening. I'm too scared to let my guard down. I can't just let them in and forget all that has happened, hoping that it will never happen again. I can never be sure of that and words don't mean shit. I've learned that the hard way.

Sighing, I check my watch. Maybe I should text someone that I'm late. Edward told me that if I did that, it would be okay. No time like the present to test that theory, I think. Digging my phone out of my bag I see that I have no reception here. Well, fuck. At least it gives me a chance to test another theory. If they have been lying about their non-violence policy, I'm sure to find out now. Because I'm not going back to the house just yet. I'm not done thinking.

I sit in the dark for long hours, relishing being alone, truly alone, for the first time in a very long time. I'm not afraid of the dark. My thoughts are keeping me company, even if I don't like the path they're taking right now.

What if all that happened was wrong? Like a movie played on high speed, countless occasions where I've been hit and hurt pass before my mind's eye. What if this all was not normal? Could it have been prevented? Should I have asked for help sooner? But I did, didn't I? I tried to tell my mother and she left, and that was really my fault. Who else should I have told? Could I have told anyone? It would have changed my life and I wouldn't have spent seventeen years in hell. That is, if they are right and I am wrong, and I am a victim.

Victim. I truly don't like the sound of that word.

But with the denial of that word comes the slow, daunting realization, that no matter if I was right or wrong, the amount of violence in my life was not normal. Even Siobhan, who helps others to deal with pasts similar to hers, had to deal with less violence and from what I can tell in her descriptions, she did more wrong than I did. She wilfully tested her father to make him act out, and often. I only did that sometimes.

I'm panting when I get up to go home. I'm not sure if I can face this new reality. However dark, I liked my world when it made sense to me. The possibility that I've been wrong all this time is... disconcerting, to say the least.

Using my general sense of direction, I try to find my way to the house. After almost two hours of tearing through the bush and a growing panic that I am lost and not going to get out again, I stumble onto the long driveway. Turning to orientate, I turn left and start the last of my walk to the house.

When I open the porch door, I can see everybody in the room. The atmosphere is decidedly tense. They all look op when I step inside. Esme rushes to me, crying, her arms outstretched. I flinch when she moves in to hug me and she stops herself, wiping her eyes. "We've been so worried, Bella. Thank god you're all right and home safe."

Frowning at her, I catch Carlisle's voice in the background. He's on the phone. "She's home Charlie. Yes, she just stepped in. She seems to be all right. Yes, thanks for all your help." He hangs up and stalks to me, his face tight.

I step back involuntarily, tensing up as I await what is to come.

The others have gathered around now, too, all gushing how happy they are that I'm home again, and safe, and that they have been so worried.

_Why? _

I was just out for a bit. Jeez.

"Is everything all right, Bella?" Carlisle asks softly. "Where have you been?"

Alice helpfully hands me a pencil and notepad.

_Forest_

"Alone?" Esme asks.

Aw shit, did they really think I was there _with_ anyone? What the fuck? Yes, I was alone. I needed to be alone for once.

"You were not hurt?"

I frown at them. No, I wasn't.

"We were worried, Bella," Esme says softly, and for the first time her voice annoys me. I'm not a small child. "We didn't know where you were. Next time, give us a word, okay?"

Yeah, okay. I don't tell them I didn't have reception. I see the family members, all standing around, looking worried. Alice has been crying too, I see. Edward's hair stands out in every possible direction, as if he has been pulling it.

Why the worry? What's so important about me that they worry so much?

"Oh, honey," Esme says, her voice breaking. "We thought something had happened to you."

Unexpectedly, and inexplicably, anger flares. I write in capitals to make my point clear.

_WHAT POSSIBLY COULD HAVE HAPPENED THAT IS WORSE THAN MY PAST_

I thrust the notepad at Esme and she meets my gaze, aghast as she searches for words. I'm done with this. Done with everything, with this world I don't understand, with a mind that's slowly going insane, with the fear I will never be able to shed, with this family I don't know how to trust, with this life I don't know how to live.

I turn abruptly and make a run for it, afraid that they will stop me. Taking the porch steps two at a time at breakneck speed, I cross the yard and rush to the surrounding forest, wanting to be alone again. Please. Just, please.

It isn't long before I hear footsteps behind me, but I don't stop, fueled by my anger and by the familiar fear of being followed. "Bella!" Edward calls. "Wait up!"

When he finally reaches me he puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me. Panicking, I twist and turn from his grasp with such strength that I fall to the ground. Scrambling backwards to stay out of his reach, my back hits a tree and I'm stuck.

I can barely see him in the dark. He's panting a little after his run. He runs a hand through his hair and then crouches down in front of me. "It's just me."

I know. It's hard to hear him over the noise of my hammering heart in my ears.

"What happened in there? Where you overwhelmed or something?"

You can say that again.

"It's moments like this I wish you could talk," he says, and I can hear a hint of frustration in his voice. "Were you afraid my parents would hurt you?"

He can't see my reaction in the dark of course. I tense up when he moves closer to me. "Don't freak out," he warns, "I'm going to take your hand so you can squeeze when you mean yes."

The next moment I feel his warm hand on mine and I'm reminded of that night with the box, when he held my hands when he went through my ruined clothes.

"Okay," he says, squeezing my ice cold hand softly in reassurance. "You afraid to go back home?" he asks softly.

No squeeze.

"What happened today?"

I point at my temple to indicate I wanted to think, but he doesn't see me. Taking a deep breath, I deliberate for a short moment if I should touch his head or mine. Deciding that if I don't like to be touched unexpectedly, I can't expect others to accept it.I bring our clasped hands up and let his knuckle softly touch my temple.

Everything inside me goes molten with fear for one moment when I feel a strange hand touching such a vulnerable part of me.

"You needed to think?" he asks softly, and I nod, his hand still against the side of my head so he should feel the movement.

"That happens," he says. "I sometimes go to a meadow in the forest, it's so peaceful out there-"

I look up at him in surprise, moving his hand away only just in time.

"You're not telling me you found that meadow?" His smile is evident in his voice and he laughs when I squeeze his hand tentatively.

"Awesome," he says. "What are the odds. And you have no cell reception there, which explains why you wouldn't send a message, am I right?"

Again a squeeze. He squeezes back. "Let's go home. You must be hungry. We were really worried, you know. You've never been away like that before."

When he moves to get up, I squeeze his hand again, involuntarily. He stops and turns back to me. "Bella?"

I just need to thank him, or something, for just about everything he has done for me so far. I raise my other hand and put it over his. In the dark I can see the faint glint of his teeth when he smiles and he puts his free hand over mine. Then he lifts his right hand from between mine and I suddenly feel it on the side of my face.

I flinch in alarm and bring a hand up to enclose around his wrist, ready to try and pull him away, but register at the same time that his hand is warm, and soft, and that it feels _good_, however alarming that may be in itself. Siobhan's words echo in my ears. Focus on the good, let it all in. It's in my reach, if I allow it. Is this what she meant? I have to try or I'll never know.

It can't be worse than what happened already.

So I let out a shaky exhale and let him touch me, and when I carefully relax into his hand, his thumb strokes my cheek.

"Thank _you_," he says.

I only half register it.

* * *

_Merry Christmas!_


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N Twilight is not mine**

_D__o you know how happy your reviews make me? Unbelievable. Happy New Year to you all!_

_Thanks to Sherry, Deb and Bob, as always. Special thanks to Aleeab4u for helping me and being there. Thanks Mels78_H and all the other twitterati that held my hand last week. _

_If I could update quicker, I would. For now, I am sticking to my ten-day-interval. Enjoy!_

* * *

I don't know how long Edward and I are in the forest, but when he finally admits that he's getting cold, he pulls me to my feet and walks me back to the house.

Esme is tired, drawn, her face ashen, but she tries to smile when I step in. My face is burning in mortification. I'm deeply unhappy that I have caused such a scene yet again, and that I've shouted at her, or an equivalent of it.

But how can I explain to them that their care overwhelms me? I'm not used to that and it's certainly not necessary. It makes me uneasy. I don't want them to be so bothered. I'm not worth it.

Before we even talk about it, Esme directs me upstairs to go and take a hot shower to warm up. This sets off an alarm in my head, wondering why she would want me vulnerable like that, but when I catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror before I turn off the lights, I see that my lips are blue with cold.

Dressed in dry and clean clothes, I join the family downstairs again. Everybody is still here, and there is still tension in the room. My stomach tightens. What's going to happen? But then I berate myself. I'll just have to face it. I knew this was a probability when I chose to stay out late without leaving word.

"Maybe this conversation is done better with less people in the room," Carlisle offers softly.

"I just want to know if she's okay," Rosalie says bluntly. "Did anything happen?"

I start to shake my head as Edward speaks. "As far as I know she went into the forest to think and to be alone."

"That's pretty stupid," Rosalie says, earning some aghast glances from the others in the room. "Something could have happened," she continues, her cold eyes focused on me. "And then what?"

I shrug, feeling stubborn. Like I told Esme, it couldn't have been much worse than what I've been through already. Rosalie gets up and takes Emmett's hand as she guides him from the room. After one final concerned look, Alice leaves with Jasper as well.

"I'm leaving too," Edward says. "In case Bella is not going to say so, I know where she has been in the forest and I know you don't have any cell reception there."

Is he defending me? Why would he do that? I follow him with my eyes as he leaves the room as well, and I am left alone with my foster parents.

"Bella," Carlisle starts, "do you understand why we have been worried?"

I nod, grudgingly. I just don't want them to worry about me is all. Jeez, I'll be fine. I just needed some serious alone time, to think.

"Although we understand that you had the need to be alone for a bit, we can't ignore the fact that you skipped school and disappeared without leaving a word," Esme says. "We were afraid something had happened to you."

I meet her gaze blankly. Her eyes are clear again, it seems she has calmed down somewhat. Without blinking, she calmly pushes a notepad and a pen towards me over the coffee table.

I write, calmer now. I even make an effort to write prettily, as a feeble excuse for my shouting earlier.

_Don't worry about me_

"But we do," Carlisle counters. "We took you into our care. Worrying about you is part of the deal." His eyes are sparkling slightly when he speaks, but his tone is serious.

I sit back, crossing my arms. I'm not taking responsibility for something they don't have to do.

"Talk to us," Esme coaxes. "Don't shut us out."

_I just wanted to be alone_

"And there's nothing wrong with that," she tells me. "But it's far from ideal when you skip school, disappear without telling anyone, and then come home far past dinner time. I know you understand this." Her tone is not condescending at all, and it could easily have been.

I look at her more closely. Signs of her earlier distress are still clear on her face. And then I think back of everything she's done for me, everything everyone has done to me. They _care_. Of course they would worry. I'd worry over them.

Remorse washes over me. I never meant for them to worry. Even if their concern is unnecessary, I caused it.

_I'm sorry _

Carlisle nods, and Esme smiles. "Apology accepted."

"We're going to have to figure out a way for you to realize that there are consequences to your actions," Carlisle starts carefully.

My backbone tenses up and I brace myself. Of course there would be punishment. I was prepared for that. Still, I find myself hoping that it won't hurt too badly. Or too long.

Inadvertently, my mind switches back to my time with Laurent. He'd have hit the palms of my hand with a ruler, at least. Esme's voice pulls me from that memory.

"If you were any of our other children we'd ground you," she continues. "Yet, I don't think that this will work for you, since you rarely leave the house on your own."

I'm listening with baited breath, waiting to see what will happen.

"So, we decided you should hand in something you hold dear."

My hands reach behind my neck immediately to take off the pendant I got.

"No, not that," Esme says quickly. "We were thinking you will hand in your e-reader for a week."

I blink in surprise. That's all? Seriously?

"It's the first time you actively disobeyed, so we're going easy on you," she says. "But we want you to know that your actions have consequences."

Reaching for the paper on the table, I write. I have to know.

_No beating?_

"No. Absolutely not."

We sit in silence for a minute as I process their words. No violence.

Oh my God.

_Really?_

"Really," Carlisle says, and a gentle smile is on his face. "We signed a contract, and even if we didn't, there would have been no violence. Now, go get your e-reader. You will get it back next week."

I do as I'm told, reeling over the way this night turned out, and more than a little bit anxious whether everything will stay this way.

Carlisle accepts the device from me. After apologizing one more time, I ask them if I can leave. I really want to be alone and since going out is going to be out of the question, my bedroom would be the next best thing.

They let me go easily enough, after Esme has asked me one more time if I am truly okay.

"We understand you must be confused. Just know you can talk to us anytime, all right?"

All right. She knows as well as I do, that I can't talk about the mayhem that is my mind right now.

Edward comes down when he hears me on the landing. Saying my name to get my attention, he asks me if he can come in to my room. "I'll leave the door open," he promises.

I walk into my room and leave the door ajar, signaling for him that he can follow if he wants to. Going to stand by the window, I can see the moon peeking through the clouds. I don't even care that Edward is in between the door and me now. The memory of the warmth of his hand lingers on the side of my face. It baffles me I didn't panic. It baffles me that I liked it. A lot.

"How did it go?"

I shrug.

"It wasn't that bad, was it? I think they were too happy you decided to come home again to be really mad."

My head whips around to look at him with narrowed eyes. What does he mean by that?

"What?" he asks, lost.

Stepping over to my desk to get a pink notepad (_Alice!_), I write.

_Too happy to be mad?_

"Well, yeah," he says, looking a bit taken aback. "Mom thought you ran away."

A frown crosses over my face. Where would I run to?

"We're all glad you're back now. Just let us know if you want to go out next time, okay?"

I shrug again. Even if I realize on a rational level that they all care, it's just impossible to process emotionally. And after all that happened today, I seriously don't have the energy to even try and do so. To my surprise, Edward chuckles.

"You're still petulant. I'll leave you so you can think." When he's at the door, he turns. "I'm glad you're back. Goodnight, Bella."

He closes the door behind him with a soft click, and instead of feeling relieved, I feel alone.

In all the things I have to consider in this new life, it seems like I am going to have to add him in as a factor, too.

**~O~**

Therapy on Friday starts quietly. I'm stuck in my thoughts, and I don't really want to try and talk about it all to Siobhan. I'm also not inclined to give her more details about my past life, and thankfully she doesn't pry. I don't tell her about how Edward touched me. For some reason, I want to keep that to myself.

Annoyingly, Siobhan has a secret weapon up her sleeve. "You gave your family quite the scare yesterday."

So she knows. I should have known.

"They called me to see if you had come to me perchance," she continues. "What happened?"

_I just needed some time to think._

I'm starting to get heartily sick of having to explain my actions again and again. Is it really so strange that I needed some time alone? I've come to live with a family of seven, for fuck's sake. When I was still with Stefan I know my life left much to be desired, but at least I was alone for the better part of the day.

"Understandable," she says easily. "I would think you have a lot to think about. Anything you want to share?"

I shrug. I've been doing an awful lot of shrugging lately.

To my surprise, she suddenly gets up. I follow her movements with wide eyes as she gets her coat from the hanger near the door. "Come on. Let's go grab a coffee."

Incredulous, I get up and follow her out of the office. Esme is not in the waiting room. I hope she's not bothered too much by having to bring me to therapy twice a week. Maybe Edward could take me more often, but after what he said yesterday, I'm not sure where we stand anymore.

He said I was still petulant and left me. What did he mean by that, by the way? Did I upset him? Did he change his mind about me? The thought stings, which surprises me. I can't be friends with a guy. Surely not.

Can I be friends at all? I wouldn't know. I don't think so. I have nothing to offer.

Siobhan takes me to a tiny diner across the street and orders coffee at the bar. She guides me to a booth next to the window and sits down with me, setting the coffee in front of me.

"Now, talk," she encourages, pulling a notepad and pen from her coat pocket.

When I hesitate, she speaks again. "I'm here for you, and apart from the fact that I genuinely care, I am _paid_ to care. Talk to me."

I actually smile and grab the pen to write.

_The world doesn't make sense anymore_

"You want to elaborate on that?"

_You said it's not my fault_

It seems our conversations start like this often. She chooses to react the same as usual.

"I did."

_I'm scared_

The fear I am talking about washes over me as I write.

"That's perfectly understandable," she says softly. "Want to tell me more about it?"

I think for a long time before I write again, hoping she will understand my train of thought.

_It could have been different_

She reads my notes and nods. "Yes. But this is how it went. The only thing you can change now is how you are going to deal with it. You can only move forward."

I bite my lip as I think, then sip my coffee. It's strong, the way I like it. I concentrate on the taste for a moment to distract myself from the chaos in my head. I can't come up with anything new though.

_Nothing makes sense anymore_

Again my therapist agrees. "It won't for a long time either, I'm afraid."

I sip my drink again.

"Tell me what is really bothering you," she presses. "You can tell me."

The question is right there, but it's so scary to ask it. My hand is shaking when I write, making it hard to make the words readable.

_What do I do?_

She doesn't understand me and waits patiently for me to continue. I clarify.

_How do I deal with this?_

Her smile is gentle, encouraging. "By talking to me. By seeing how much your new family cares. By allowing yourself to be happy."

I sit back, worrying my lip again. That's not an answer I had expected. Nor is it an answer I can work with. My brows pull together in a frown as I start shaking my head.

Siobhan sits forward. "Bella. It's going to be a long journey until you are going to feel somewhat normal. Only you can control how you are going to deal with what happened. Only you can control if you will ever trust people again. The most important thing to realize right now, is that you were not at fault. It was never your fault."

My throat feels tight when I swallow. I write down one word, hoping she will understand.

_Victim_

Her voice is soft. "Yes."

_I don't want to be_

"I know. I didn't want to be, either. It took me a really long time to accept that in my past, I was a victim. As are you."

I move to write again, but she stops me with a gesture. "You can't change your past. But you can change your future. You don't have to be a victim of your past, Bella. I want you to realize that."

Not a victim of my past. I like those words, because they fit in my logic, no matter how I look at them. Whether my past is my fault or not, I can change myself, change the way I deal with things. Maybe I can work with that.

Esme is in the waiting room when we return, and she looks very surprised when we emerge from the elevator.

"We just went to get a cup of coffee," Siobhan stats casually. "Sometimes a change of scenery helps to get thoughts in order."

I know she's referring to my little outing from the day before, and not-so-subtly so. Esme simply nods and waits for me as Siobhan wraps up the session in her office.

"You're strong," she says. "You're one of the strongest people I've ever met. But don't forget to _feel_. In order to survive you've become master of your emotions. I think that for you, that's going to be the toughest battle to fight."

Her words annoy me because she's right. Then again, maybe I can deal with this without feeling too much. I've blocked my emotions for such a long time, I can do it some more. Although, I have been crying an awful lot, lately.

Slightly frustrated, I sigh.

"When you let the sadness in, you will find that you will also be able to feel happiness again. And I think you will find that it's worth the price."

Siobhan sees me out of her office and I walk up to Esme, who gets up and smiles at me. "How did it go?"

Nodding slowly, I fall into step beside her. I have to apologize to her, and fast. I feel horrible for having shouted at her, even if it was on paper.

"I have to stop at the store real quick," she says apologetically. "I didn't have time to do that when you were inside."

Letting her know it's okay, she drives us the short distance to the supermarket and parks there. It's completely packed, rush hour for people who want to do their weekend groceries. Esme groans quietly and gets a cart. I stay close to her, keeping a careful eye on the people around us, making sure someone doesn't bump into me.

She doesn't ask me if I want to pick out something to bake and I don't ask. I figure that as part of my punishment, I shouldn't indulge in that. However, I would have liked to have made something nice to make up to them. I guess it will have to wait.

When she has everything she needs, we make our way to the checkout. A female voice behind us catches our attention.

"Esme?"

When she turns, her entire face lights up. "Kate! How wonderful to see you."

The woman named Kate beams. She's handsome, in her late thirties I'm guessing, with gorgeous blond hair. "It's been too long," she says as she grasps Esme's shoulders and pulls her in for a hug.

"Indeed," Esme says. I've never heard her voice so light.

"What have you been doing? You told me at the end of summer that you needed to take a break. How have you been?"

"Wonderful," my foster mother beams. She steps aside and gestures for me to step closer. I do so, albeit hesitatingly. "Like I told you back then, we got the request to give a foster child a home." Her gaze shifts to me. "Meet Bella." There is unmistakable pride in her voice.

"Hello," Kate says with a brilliant smile. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Kate." She holds out her hand for me to shake and I look at Esme in alarm. I can't do this, and I can only hope she will understand.

Esme fluently grasps Kate's outstretched hand. Kate looks from her to me, and then smiles at me. There is only gentleness in her eyes, as if she doesn't mind I can't do such a simple thing as shaking her hands.

"We really should meet for a coffee soon," Kate says.

"Oh yes, absolutely. When?"

"I'm free all weekend."

"Are you free tonight? You are welcome to come over for dinner."

Kate's face light up in a smile. "That would be lovely. Your family won't mind?"

Esme merely beams. "They'll be over the moon to see you again."

As we drive home from the supermarket, Kate following behind us, Esme explains that she has known Kate for years, and that she used to do volunteer work with her at the library.

"I put that on hold when you came here," she says gently. "It's funny I should meet her now. I was actually thinking of picking it up again. You seem more at ease in the house, so I was hoping you could miss me a few afternoons a week."

I'm just completely stunned that she gave that up when I arrived here. Judging by the way her entire face lights up when she talks about it, she really must have liked what she was doing. Why ever would she give that up?

When we arrive back home, I carry the few groceries Esme got inside as Esme waits for Kate, who is just coming down the driveway. Carlisle is in the kitchen, home early for a change. He gets up to help me, taking the paper bag out of my arms. I flinch at his closeness, but a strange feeling of revelation washes over me when I realize he's only helping me.

I stare at him for a moment, completely stunned. He looks faintly amused, but I can tell he doesn't understand what I'm thinking right now.

In the background, I can hear Edward playing piano. It's a song from the book I gave him; I can recognize it easily. The notes flow lightly, and as I start to put the groceries away, I revel in the beautiful sound.

Carlisle asks me how I am, but is distracted when he hears the women entering the house. Stepping from the kitchen and out of my sight, I can only hear the encounter. Carlisle is very happy to see Kate, that much is clear.

The piano music stops and Edward's voice sounds next. Apparently he knows her too.

Esme walks into the kitchen, Kate on her heels. "I need to get dinner started, what would you like?" she asks her guest.

"Whatever you are having," she replies easily.

Esme pours three glasses of wine and hands one to Carlisle and one to Kate. When they move to sit down at the kitchen table, I rummage in the drawer for a notepad and write for Esme.

_I cook. You catch up. _

"Are you sure?"

It takes me some time to write my next words down. Kate and Carlisle talk in the background.

_Let me make up for yesterday. Please_

Her eyes are kind when she looks at me. "You don't have to, you know that."

I'm already writing again. Now is as good a moment as any to apologize for my horrible behavior.

_I'm so sorry for shouting at you_

She looks at me with her warm gaze. "Thank you. That means a lot to me."

It seems weird that it should feel so good to know that I have done something that makes Esme feel good. I swallow the sudden lump in my throat away. We exchange a smile and after she explains to me what she had planned for dinner, I set to work.

"Emmett and Rosalie won't eat at home tonight," she continues. "Will you manage?"

I give her a confident nod and after another smile, she ushers Carlisle and Kate from the room. Before they round the corner I can hear Kate ask, "So, tell me about Bella?" Her voice is simply caring and interested. I had expected a sneer at the least, but she seems genuinely kind.

Huh.

I'm just starting to peel the potatoes for the casserole when Edward steps into the kitchen.

"Can I help you?"

I look from my knife to Edward, then back to my knife again, and I narrow my eyes. He laughs, understanding my concern. "I'm excellent at stirring," he offers with a smirk, and I smile.

He touched my face yesterday and I let him. Normally I freak out when someone reached out to me like that, but when he did it yesterday I didn't want him to stop after my initial fear had subsided. It was the same when he rubbed my foot. When he wanted to pull back, I kept his hand there.

What must he think of me? Some needy bitch who wants his attention?

"Earth to Bella," Edward says, and I blink at the sound of his voice, the world coming into focus again.

Oops. I completely zoned out there.

He looks around the kitchen. "What can I do?"

I produce a cutting board and a knife for him and give him the potatoes I already peeled, showing him how to cut them in slices. He nods, muttering he should be able to pull that off, and comes to stand next to me as he sets to work.

I'm a bit nervous having him stand there next to me, a knife in his hands. Yet, a not-so-small part of me is pretty sure he won't do anything with it, apart from cutting the potatoes. He goes slowly, and soon I'm done peeling and he is still quite busy cutting.

From the living room, chatting voices drift into the kitchen. It sounds like they have quite some catching up to do. Alice and Jasper join them shortly after and when Jasper comes into the kitchen, he chuckles.

"That's an oddly domestic picture."

Edward grins, shaking his head.

"Do you have all your digits still, Edward?" he asks, and Edward lifts his hands without looking at his brother, wriggling his fingers to show him they're still there.

Jasper chuckles and moves to the fridge to fetch himself a drink. When he is gone again, Edward is finally done with the potatoes. I have done the broccoli, the onion and the garlic in the meantime, and have put some oil in a frying pan to brown the meat.

"You're an amazing cook," Edward observes casually when he surveys my work.

I duck my head, uncomfortable with his praise. From the corner of my eye, I can see him chuckle and shake his head in disbelief.

He helps some more by setting the table. When the potatoes need to be drained, he steps in to take the pan. "Let me help you."

I finish the casserole by filling the oven dish layer by layer, and then put it in the oven to heat. Edward turns to me when I straighten back up again and smiles.

When he raises his fist slowly to initiate a fist bump, I comply. His knuckles feels soft against mine.

I sit with the family through dinner but I'm unable to swallow even the one bite. Edward looks at me with a look of concern on his face, but I try to tell him with my eyes that he shouldn't worry. Kate is so busy talking and enjoying the food that she doesn't even notice I'm not eating at all.

Esme does, though, and when she helps me to clear up the table, she saves a plate of food for me. After she goes back into the living room with her friend, I heat it up in the microwave and quickly disappear with my food up the stairs.

It feels weird to be eating in my room again. I've been eating with the family for weeks now. Yet, I find comfort in knowing that I can finish my plate in peace, and for the first time since I started eating downstairs, I am full.

**~O~**

God, I didn't realize how attached I had become to my e-reader in such a short time. More than once I think of getting it, only to remember that I handed it in. Carlisle told me I'd get it back, but that remains to be seen of course.

The week passes quickly though, and without incident. I don't feel the need to run as strongly as before, and Esme seems to understand I want to spend more time in my room than usual. I just need time to think. I don't forsake the chores I feel I must do in the house though, so I don't feel very conflicted about it.

We get the results for tests we made before the holidays, and I'm pleased to see I got straight A's. The others have gotten good grades as well. When Alice gets a B for Trig, I receive almost as much praise as she, much to my discomfort.

I do detention on Monday, but I don't mind. Coach Clapp is clear on the fact that he has to follow the rules but doesn't see why I should stay in school for a class I didn't have to do anything for in the first place. He asks me to think of a new subject I can write a thesis on. I have several ideas, but I'm undecided.

I help Emmett with Trig almost every day. He has a test on Friday and he's obviously nervous, but I think he has made wonderful progress, and I tell him so. He flashes a smile at me when I give him my note, his dimples showing.

"Could you, like, make me a test? To practice?"

I nod, asking him to give me twenty minutes. It's easy to make a list of assignments that will test his abilities and I'm done in fifteen. He gets half an hour to finish the exercises and with a smile I show him the B he would have gotten, had this been a real test.

His smile is nothing short from victorious.

The only downside of it all is that I am now so far ahead in Trig, I'm bored shitless in my own Trig classes.

Therapy is tentative. As per her suggestion, I'm starting to use Siobhan as a sounding board, telling her things that confuse me, frighten me, or, every so often, make me happy. She provides insight I can relate to, and in the end it all comes back to what she said after we visited the coffee house. I can't change my past, but I can change how I let it influence my future.

She really seems to understand what I feel, even if my emotions seem so conflicting at times. But even if she only sympathizes because she gets paid for it, it still feels nice to have someone tell me that it's not weird to feel what I feel.

It's liberating. Almost everything is liberating. And with the first signs of the days lengthening ever so slowly, I feel like I am beginning to lose some of the darkness that I have held inside for so long.

Alice is starting to spend more and more time with me. She shows me the clothes she has made and the things she is working on, and asks me about the clay I got from Jasper for Christmas and what I have made with it so far. One night in her room, I tell her that I need to find a new assignment for Gym.

"Those hideous outfits they make us wear," she says immediately. "You should write a thesis on how those clothes damage egos and thus undermine results in class." She snickers at her own idea, and I smile with her. If I had the guts to do so, I might even consider writing something like that.

Carlisle gives me back my e-reader on Thursday night. He chuckles good-naturedly at my surprise. "We promised you'd get it back, and you have behaved wonderfully over the past week. All done and forgotten now," he says, smiling. I clutch the device to my chest, happier than I would have thought to get it back.

Edward spends more time with his music, even trying to play some of the songs from the book I got him on his guitar. He's not really good at it, and more than once I hear him switch songs mid-chord, when he changes to something he knows how to play. He seeks me out from time to time, always a smile on his face when he greets me. He doesn't try to touch me anymore, and I find comfort in the knowledge that he seems to be keeping his word - he doesn't want anything from me but my company.

I still wonder what I could possibly have to offer him, but I can't ignore the way he and all the others in the house try to spend time with me. Had they done it just to be nice, it would have worn off by now, for sure. Instead, it feels like the more I open up, the more they come to me. Although it feels crowded sometimes, it feels...liberating.

Time flows in that typical lulling way that is the beginning of a new year. My sleep becomes calmer, but when I dream, they are vivid recollections of my past. The memories don't keep away that easily. Every day I'm reminded countless times of my old life. And underneath there is always, always the fear of things changing, of not being good enough.

On the other hand I realize that with every passing second, I have spent another second being safe, and without violence. With every minute, I am one minute further away from that last night with Stefan. I find a strange sense of comfort in the growing gap between then and now.

I tell it all to Siobhan. I tell her about the fear I can't shed, about the want for a normal life and the anxiety at trying things out. She tells me I need time, and that I have to be patient with myself. The fact that I am thinking this, and seeing the good things in my life right now, are huge, she reassures me. I've just been programmed incorrectly by everything I have experienced.

When I ask her, offended, if she thinks I need to be fixed, she smiles and shakes her head. "You need to rediscover yourself. Your _real_ self."

My real self…

I realize I don't know who I am.

As I start to loosen up, so does the family. I never realized how tense they must have been around me all that time. But as I relax, it seems the others are letting their reins go as well.

They go out more. Esme has friends coming over and goes to visit them, and my chest constricts when I think that she has been putting this all off when I arrived with this family.

Edward, Emmett, Alice and Jasper spend a hilarious afternoon when Jasper has brought his camera down and wants to make a picture of the blood-related siblings of the family. Their laughter is so loud that Carlisle comes out of his office to check what's going on.

Esme touches me, carefully but insistently. A hand on my arm, or on my shoulder when I see it coming. Not on my back. We were both startled at my panicked reaction when she touched my back unexpectedly, once.

A hug is not something I'm willing to try again soon, but she seems to understand. When we are cooking together on a Friday night after therapy, she makes a joke and when we both laugh, she gently nudges my shoulder with hers.

It fills me with a strange sense of pride to be part of such a normal, casual form of interaction. To be part of the group. Part of a family.

I write it all down in the journal Edward gave me.

The third week of the year ends with heavy clouds of thunder and rain rolling in. I stand by the window, looking outside at the soaked garden.

"I'm guessing there wasn't that much rain in Phoenix, huh?" Emmett asks as he sees me staring.

Smiling a little, I shake my head.

"I should move there," he muses as he peers through the rain soaked window. "Practice sucks in muddy feels."

"Hey," Alice says suddenly, appearing from the living room, "Bella, do you still need a subject for your Gym assignment?"

Eh, yeah?

"You could do Emmett," she says, excitement glowing in her eyes.

"That's what she said," Emmett deadpans, and Alice rolls her eyes at him as she lightly smacks his arm.

"Seriously. He's trying to become a professional player. You can do like a report on him, follow him to his practice, write about what it means for him and what he's doing to become a pro."

"That's a pretty good idea," Rosalie says, appearing behind Alice. "What do you think, Bella?"

I look from the giant that is Emmett to the pixie that is Alice. I'd rather follow Alice around but she's not really excelling at sports, and that's putting it nicely.

Rosalie hands me her phone when she realizes I could use a medium, and I type in a new message that I will discuss the plan with the Gym coach. It will buy me some time, as well.

"Awesome," Emmett says, smiling widely. "I feel special already."

Rosalie nudges him with her shoulder. "Don't get all haughty now."

"It's cool though," he replies, his smile sincere. Hs gaze shifts to me. "If you are comfortable with it, of course."

I show them my earlier message again, that I want to discuss it with the Gym coach. Rosalie smiles knowingly when I hand her back her phone, but doesn't say anything. Instead, she accepts Emmett's arm and they stroll to the living room together, mimicking a couple from a century ago.

Alice looks at me. "I wanted to go to Port Angeles to see if I can buy some fabric. Wanna come?"

I don't feel the particular need to go out in this weather, but she looks so hopeful that I accept. When Edward hears we are going to the town, he asks us if we would return some books to the library. As he hands the books to me, his fingers brushes mine. I'm so shocked by this brief, unsuspected contact that my breath catches.

My fingers still tingle when we arrive in Port Angeles. Why did his touch affect me so?

Alice proposes to drop off the books first and then go to the fabric store. It's huge. I've never been there before, and I never imagined they would have this variety in cloth. When she sees my admiring gaze, Alice encourages me to explore the shop on my own.

Apart from rolls and rolls of fabric of every possible color and kind, they also have countless displays with examples of what can be done with it. There are dresses that are prettier than I've ever seen, and I sigh a little wistfully when I think that I will never wear such pretty things. I'm not worthy and besides, I wouldn't be comfortable at all.

Wandering around, my gaze falls on a beautiful quilt that is draped over a chair. Intrigued by the patchwork, I move closer, trying to define how the intricate design is put together.

"You like that?" Alice asks as she walks up to me.

I nod, a little distracted, bringing the quilt closer to my eyes to try and discern how it's made.

"Would you like to make one yourself?"

Now I look at her, and I know immediately that yes, I would love to make something like this. However, I wouldn't even know where to start.

As soon as Alice sees my reaction, she breaks out in a beautiful smile. "So cool. Let me get a sales woman."

Before I can stop her, she is gone to get someone, and she returns quickly with a kind looking lady with half moon spectacles and a wool pencil skirt. "I hear you are interested in quilting?"

Nodding, Alice's smile grows even wider.

"My sister is completely new at it, though," Alice says for me. "She would have to start from scratch."

"Very well," the woman says nicely. "Would you like to work by hand, or do you have a sewing machine?"

Eh, I don't have a machine. Shit.

"You can use my old one," Alice says immediately. "Or you can work by hand, but that will be slow going."

In the end we decide I will try both ways, and the woman hands me a book in which both methods are explained in detail. She also points out necessary supplies. Soon I have a basket full of material, and a stomach full of nerves. This is going to be expensive. Will Carlisle and Esme agree?

All that is left now, is choosing fabric. The now overly enthusiastic sales lady explains which fabrics will work and which won't, and it doesn't escape my notice that she only shows me the most expensive fabrics the store has to offer. She's starting to get on my nerves and Alice finally tells her we will find it from, here, thank you.

It turns out she knows a lot about fabric herself and she helps me choose different colors and designs. When we are ready to go to the checkout, I ask her to call Esme to see if it's okay I am buying this.

"Of course it is," she says, a slight frown of confusion on her face. "You never buy anything fun for yourself. They will only be happy that you did."

_But it's expensive_

She looks at the contents in my basket. "This? Bella, I am going to spend twice as much, and that's only today. Don't worry so much."

Her tone is slightly berating and I feel reprimanded. Biting my lip, I look at my feet. I'm not sure if I want to buy these things if I'm not sure it's okay.

"It really bothers you, doesn't it?" she asks me softly.

Yeah, it does.

Without another word, she gets her phone and calls Esme. Within minutes, I am assured that it is absolutely fine to buy these supplies. I exhale in relief, and my mood lightens. By the time we are on our way back home, I am really looking forward to try and start my hand at quilting.

Esme is ecstatic, even though she tries to hide it. Apparently me showing interest in a new thing is huge. In her enthusiasm, Alice takes my hand to take me upstairs to show me her old sewing machine. Only when we reach her room does she let go, and does she realize what she actually just did.

As she is amazed at me allowing contact, I am amazed by learning that it didn't even bother me to be held and guided like that. I look from my hand to her and when I meet her eyes, we both break out in a huge smile.

Alice shows me her sewing machine and gives me some scraps of cloth I can practice on. She helps to put it on my desk in my room and tells me again that if I need help, I need only ask. She stays in my room when the machine is set up, lounging on my bed as I explore the device.

"Does it make you happy to know you can bear touch like that?"

Her question is unexpected, but I can reply honestly when I nod yes.

"What's holding you back?" she asks quietly. "Why do you recoil?"

Sighing, I chew on my lip as I wonder what I can tell her.

"You can tell me," she coaxes softly. "I won't think differently of you, you know."

Her big eyes show only sincerity, and Siobhan's words from our last session echo in my mind. It will help to talk about it, even if I don't give details. Plus, it will be a nice way for me to test if they will still be nice to me when they get to know me better.

_I'm used to touch hurting_

"Oh," she whispers. "Yeah, I figured as much. But there is no pain here," she adds with a gentle smile.

_Yes, but it's still hard for me. _

I can't tell her everything. I can't tell her that touch would either bring pain or would have a sexual connotation, which would also bring pain. When people touch me I'm always afraid that they will want more. Somehow, however, I can't bring myself to tell Alice about the sexual abuse.

Sexual abuse. Siobhan said that that is what happened to me. I don't like either word of that term and I'm still trying to get used to it. I mean, I've always seen sex as a punishment, but abuse implies misuse, and that doesn't sit well with me. Siobhan says it will take time to wrap my mind around it all. She was right.

"Hey, it's okay," Alice soothes, misinterpreting my thoughtfulness for worry. "I'm glad you told me what you told me. Maybe in time you will stop being afraid of pain, you know? Maybe if you get the right example often enough, you will learn that touch can be friendly, too."

Her smile is sweet and her look is hopeful as she leans forward a little to bring across her words. I know she's trying, and for that I feel like I have to try too.

_What does it mean to you? _

"What, touch?" Her hand goes to her hair, tugging at a lock, twirling it into a twist. "I guess I never really thought about it. I like it though. It's affection, you know?"

Edward said that too, once.

"And by touching someone else you can convey that they are important to you, that they mean something to you. Like you do for me," she says, and she gently places the hand that was in her hair on my knee as an example.

I'm baffled by her words as well as her touch.

_You like me?_

"Wasn't that obvious?" she asks, genuinely surprised.

I have to test her, even though I'm pretty sure of the answer.

_You're not nice out of courtesy? _

"Well, even if I hadn't really liked you I would have been nice to you, but look at it this way - if I hadn't genuinely liked you, I wouldn't have asked you to come to Port Angeles with me today, and my old sewing machine wouldn't have been on your desk right now."

Oh, right, the sewing machine.

_What do you want back for it? _

"Nothing," she says. "It's yours to use. If you don't want it anymore you can give it back."

I show her my text again to press my words.

"Make me something nice, then," she says with a smile. "Something pretty. I'd like that."

**~O~**

Esme picks up volunteering work again. Two afternoons a week, Tuesday and Thursday, she will be gone from the house. Edward offers immediately to drive me to my therapy sessions in Port Angeles on Tuesdays. When I want to protest he winks at me and leans in to whisper in my ear. "Don't worry, it's giving me brownie points."

No such thing as altruism. For some reason it makes me feel better to know that he's getting something out of this as well.

The end of January brings one last bout of cold and unexpectedly, the roads get slippery again. Heavy rain combined with very cold nights result in frozen puddles, and in the school yard more than once I can see students lose their footing.

On a Thursday afternoon I am alone in the house. Carlisle is at work, Esme at her volunteer job, and the siblings are out - I'm not sure where they all have gone. But I'm alone and I'm reveling in it, listening to the quiet house and feeling more free than I have in a long time. It's good to know as well that it's no longer an issue for me to be alone in the house.

I remember when I just got here, Esme saw it as a problem. Edward had been the one back then who told her that I would be fine. I smile at the memory.

Edward is so nice. It's at odds with my notion that all men are evil by default. But he seems genuinely interested in me, and so far he hasn't done anything that would indicate he has an ulterior motive.

It's so hard to grasp, though. Kindness is still such an alien concept to me.

I am drawn from my thoughts by a slamming door and heavy, hurried footsteps on the wooden floorboards. Alarmed, I peek around the door of the library to see who came inside. In the kitchen, I can hear water running. When I hear a sound that is definitely a hiss in pain, I collect my courage and go to check it out.

In the kitchen is Edward, standing by the sink as he holds his hands under the water. I walk into his line of vision to let him know I am near. If he's in pain, I'd rather not startle him by touching. Then I see his hands and I can't prevent a gasp from escaping me.

"I fell," he says by way of explanation. "On the gravel in the driveway. Frozen puddle."

The palms of both his hands are raw, the skin broken and bleeding. He needs care.

Without hesitating, I move to the downstairs bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit I know the family keeps there. I place it on the counter and look at his hands again.

"Thanks," he says. He shuts off the water and accepts the paper towels I hand him to pat his hands dry. Again he hisses in pain, and I flinch in sympathy.

I open the box and browse the contents to see if I can find anything for him to cover his wounds with. Edward looks from the box to me with a confused look in his eyes.

"You don't have to do this. I know it makes you uncomfortable."

Shaking my head quickly, I set out several things on the counter he will need. Then I hold up the disinfectant so he knows what should be done. I hate that this will hurt him, but he fell outside and it's important any dirt is removed from the wound.

Instead of taking the disinfectant from me, he holds out his hands, palms up. I blink up at him, realizing he expects me to do this.

"Go on," he encourages. "Please."

Biting my lip, I cradle his right hand in a wad of paper towels and, after an apologetic look, pour the disinfectant solution over his wounded hand. He hisses in pain at the burning it no doubt causes, and I duck away instinctively.

He doesn't lash out.

I do his other hand as well and again I flinch when he hisses, but no strike comes. When I meet his gaze, he looks back at me with questioning eyes, but he doesn't speak. Maybe he understands.

But I don't believe in fairy tales. So he probably doesn't.

When the wounds are cleaned, I wrap them carefully with gauze and bandages. They're too big for a simple band aid. After I am done he inspects his hands and smiles a thank you at me. I make the sign for the letter C with my right hand, then point from my eyes to his wounds, hoping to tell him that Carlisle should check his hands.

He nods. "Yes, I will ask him tonight. Thanks for helping me."

His bandaged hands trail down my forearms and lightly grasp mine. My breath stutters as he simply holds them for a moment, and I don't pull back.

For the first time in my life, I don't want to pull back.

* * *

_Go, Bella!  
_


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N I don't own Twilight. I do own brand new, shiny crutches insurance paid for me.  
**

_Hi all! I can't thank you enough for reading_ _and reviewing. You are awesome! _

_I've a lot to say, so bear with me. First of all, endless thanks to the amazingness that is Sherry, my beta. Thanks also to Deb and Bob, who are my sunshine on rainy days. Thanks to Aleeab4u for agreeing to preread for me as well. Go read her stories. Hers are some of the best out there. _

_Torn has been named a fic of the year over at Robsmusement. I am so proud! You can find a link in my profile. _

_I have joined Facebook, where I have created a group called the Torn corner. Come and chat! Links are also in my profile. I heard there was a topic at Twilighted, but personally, I like Facebook better. Simply because I haven't been granted access to the Twilighted forums yet.  
_

___Torn is being translated into Hungarian by wonderland0321 with the help of Szonklin. I will post the chapters on my own profile. _

_I am pleased to inform you that Torn is not the slowest burn out there in the fandom. Little Green and Easybella by Bettigefecht is slower. And it also owns me completely. Ha! There you go. _

_Mood music for this chapter (yes, I have finally found something again): _Self-fulfilling prophecy - Maria Mena; I'll forget you - Peter Bradley Adams_; _Waiting for the end - Linkin park._ Enjoy!  
_

* * *

"Tell me about Edward." Siobhan sits back and looks at me expectantly.

Um, what? No.

"I've noticed he brings you here every Tuesday."

So?

Siobhan smirks. "I'm pleasantly surprised that you seem so comfortable with him, is all." She says it off-handedly, but I think we both know that it is, indeed, a big deal.

Except that I don't want to make a big deal out of it. So I shrug, feigning nonchalance.

"God, you're a terrible liar," Siobhan laughs, and I smile with her. She's right. Still, I feel very protective of the bond I have with Edward somehow.

His hands have healed nicely. He only wears a band-aid now on his left palm. Carlisle had thanked me and told me I had done an excellent job in taking care of Edward's wounds. Maybe there won't even be any scars.

"I'm not going to ask you to tell me what you guys are talking about," my therapist reassures me. "But can I ask you how you feel when you are with him?"

I shrug. I don't want to analyze what I have with Edward.

I'm scared shitless of what might come out of that.

"Okay," she says softly. "Just tell me this. You're not afraid?"

No, I'm not.

"How does that feel? Not being afraid?"

Sighing deeply, I try to put a label to my feelings. After a few long moments, I put it into words inadequately, but it's the best I can do.

_I feel like I can't trust my judgment_

"How's that?"

Writing again, I tell her that I'm afraid things will change. It feels good to be able to talk to Siobhan about this. I can allude to being scared of violence without having to worry that she will judge me for it. Knowing that she knows I have been beaten more times than I care to remember, is liberating. It's freeing to explain to her what I feel, without having to be scared that she won't want to listen to it.

"Are you afraid things will turn bad?"

_It happened before_

"Tell me about that," Siobhan says. "Tell me more about the time you arrived with Stefan."

My cheeks puff when I blow out my breath audibly. Siobhan has been encouraging me to start making sounds during sessions, tiny things like sighing audibly, or putting my pen down in a way that can be heard by others. It's... extremely difficult.

"Take your time," she says, handing me regular paper and a pen. "Write down how it started and how it changed. I'm going to get coffee. Want some?"

Yes, please. I'm grateful she's giving me a few minutes by myself so I can write. It works better when I'm unobserved and she seems to understand that.

_I came to live with Stefan when I was about 14. Back then, his wife Irina was still around, and their other foster children Heidi and Peter. I didn't like them and they didn't like me. There wasn't much violence in the beginning, at least I think there wasn't. But Irina miscarried and she changed. She shouted at me, threatened me. When she was committed, Heidi and Peter were transferred. I was alone with Stefan for seven months or so before I ran. _

Siobhan steps back in the room, two cups of steaming coffee in her hand. She hands me my plastic cup in exchange for the paper and I sip as she reads.

"When did it change?"

I think back to those years. It went pretty gradually, and I write that down.

"Was there violence from the first day?"

Yes. On the whiteboard I write down that there was the occasional smack against the head. I really thought they were nice, especially compared to Laurent. There was talk of adoption.

"Were there real beatings? When did they start?"

Hmm.

_When Irina had trouble getting pregnant, I think. I was fifteen_

"Okay. Was the violence directed at everyone, or just you?"

Oh.

_All the children_

"So it was not just you, then."

No, it wasn't.

"Did they give you any reasons for the violence?"

_In the way, tardy, sloppy, rude, you know._

Siobhan nods. "When Heidi or Peter were beaten, did you agree with the reasons?"

Chewing my lip, I think about her question. As much as I disliked the both of them, I can't say they deserved their punishments.

"Do you still think that you did?"

I meet her eyes.

_But when everyone was gone it was all me._

My therapist thinks for a moment before she asks her next question. And again it shows how well she has come to know me.

"Do you feel like you failed when you were living alone with him?"

_I never could meet his demands_

Stupid tears. I loathe self pity.

"But were his demands reasonable?"

I don't know. I thought they were at the time. I'm afraid to say 'no.' It feels like betrayal to do so.

Her voice softens. "When he came to your bed at night?"

My eyes fly up to meet hers. This is the first time she's addressing this part of my history so directly with me. A sudden lump comes to my throat. I swallow thickly as the shame of my last washes over me, and I have to look away.

Her voice is even quieter now. "Were his demands reasonable then?"

Tears spill over as unbidden, memories come crashing down.

_I hated it_

"I know," she says quietly as I cry harder. "I know." She hands me a tissue and lets me cry for a few minutes until the worst of my tears have dried again.

"You know, it's okay to cry over this," she says. "No matter how you perceive it now, you _are_ the victim in this scenario. Maybe you don't understand that yet, but you will, someday. It's perfectly normal to hate what happened to you, and to be sad about it."

I sniffle and hold my breath for a moment to stop my tears completely. I'm not so sure about Siobhan's words. I don't like the notion of being a victim. I don't like the helplessness it implies. My mind still tells me it was my fault. I have no right to cry over deserved punishments.

"But you didn't answer my question," she presses kindly. "Did you think he was reasonable?"

_I don't know. I never questioned it._

"I understand. But I am asking you to question it now. Tell me what you think."

My entire body is shaking when I reply. For the second time in my life, the first having been the moment I fled Stefan, I publicly go against him.

I shake my head, 'no.' What he did wasn't reasonable.

"Very good," Siobhan says. "And I agree with you. Everyone will. What he did was wrong. I am proud of you. It must have been very hard to tell me that."

It was. I feel nervous for some reason, as if Stefan can come crashing into this office any second to make me pay for my disloyalty. My eyes even dart to the door nervously, even though I know I'm just being paranoid.

Right?

After a few minutes of sipping lukewarm coffee, Siobhan speaks again. I have calmed down somewhat, and the crazy fear the door will burst open, subsides.

"Do you fear that things with Edward will change that way?"

What? Jesus, talk about a topic change.

"Answer me, what does your gut feeling say, even if you don't trust it?"

I shake my head, hoping she will understand that my gut feeling says no.

"Your trust has been betrayed so many times, it's understandable you are having a hard time trusting again. Have you had any indication so far that things might change, concerning Edward or any other member of your new family?"

No, not at all.

"I think that after four months, you would have seen the first sign, don't you think?"

_It's scary. I'm scared. _

"That's understandable. But let's assume that you can trust the Cullens. And that you can trust Edward, specifically. Do you consider yourselves friends? Because I do believe you are closer to him than with some of the other family members."

_How so?_

"Well, the fact that he brings you to therapy once a week, is a clear sign to me," she smirks. "So, do you consider yourselves friends?"

I shrug. I don't have much to bring to the table. Maybe Edward just hasn't realized that.

"I'm going to push the envelope a little here. And I want you to think only of yourself in this moment. Do you think you could ever be more than friends with someone?"

Her question strikes me as completely inappropriate, and my eyes fly to hers, letting her see my incredulity. Of course I won't ever be able to have a normal relationship with someone. I'm not normal, and besides, who would ever want me? And apart and above of that all, I don't want it. No sir, no way. Ew.

Siobhan smiles. "I can practically see you piling up reasons to motivate your 'no' to my question. But then tell me this. Do you think you could ever feel more than friendly feelings towards someone? Regardless of if you ever wanted to do anything with them?"

Oh, that blush, I could happily die and disappear right now. I don't feel anything for Edward other than simply friendship, as far as there is friendship.

Wait, it's just friendship, right?

Right?

Siobhan chuckles. "Our time is up. See you next Friday, Bella."

Hey! Don't leave me hanging like this, with a ton of thoughts I can't make any sense of!

But there's nothing I can do as she ushers me out of the office. Edward is waiting for me and he gets up when I appear, greeting me with a smile as ever.

"You look pretty drained," he comments as we walk to his car. "Heavy session?"

Yeah, you can say that again. I'm completely distracted by Siobhan's last question, but Edward of course sees my eyes, still red and blotchy from all the crying I did. I must make a fine sight indeed.

"You okay though?"

Yes, I am. Let's just go home. I have some thinking to do.

**~O~**

It doesn't work. I can't come to any conclusion. What do I feel about Edward? He's nice to me, that's for sure, and he seems to want my company too. He told me, literally, that he doesn't want anything from me.

Still, I have such a hard time believing that this is true. Not that I think he lies, because I think I can tell when people lie to me.

But Siobhan's questions have rattled me. Sure, she only asked about me, about what I thought I could feel or want, but it has triggered something else. What does _Edward_ want? Is it really only friendship? Because I have been raised with the notion that men really only ever want one thing.

What if Edward wants that too? I know the possibility is highly unlikely, considering how ugly and unwanted I am, but what if? Even if he doesn't force it on me, him wanting it would be devastating enough. I can't give him what he needs, ever. Never. Unless he takes it from me and I can only hope that he won't.

Besides, I won't ever be good enough. I fail at every turn.

And then there's that third part, that scary part. That unknown part, that I have been carefully suppressing all this time. The part that genuinely likes Edward. The part that hopes that Edward likes me for me, and I mean _like_ me like me. Not as just friends.

But as soon as I allow the thought my chest tightens with blind panic. How could I ever feel such things, hope such things? I can't even bear to be touched. It's no use.

Siobhan was eerily right with her questions about Edward, about me. Could I ever feel more than just friendship? And what if that happens? What _do_ I feel for Edward? Is it friendship? Is it more? Does it mean anything that I like it when he smiles at me? Or when he asks me how I am? Does _he_ mean anything more with that? What is friendship, anyway? What are the rules? And when does it become more?

My heart is beating wildly in my chest, fear of having to do things I don't want gripping my backbone. No, I tell myself, I don't have to do anything. Not yet, at least. Not here.

This is so confusing. Regardless of what I feel, my old belief resurfaces. Sure, Edward is nice, but it's incredibly selfish of me to accept this attention. I'm not worth it. I shouldn't allow myself to indulge in friendly contacts like I have done, especially with Edward. It can only lead to disappointment, failure, and pain.

I will have to step back from him. End this before it goes too far.

It's going to be very difficult to do so.

It takes me a few days to build up the courage to actually create some distance. Friday during Biology, Edward asks me if I want to go to the library with him the next day. Although the promise of going to that house of books is alluring, I steel my resolve and say no.

He is confused. "Why not?"

How can I explain to him that I'm not worth his friendship? That he shouldn't waste his time with me? After all, it's just a matter of time before he will realize that I am wasted effort, and I'd rather cut things off before it goes bad. It will save me some heartbreak, at least. And maybe if I end things before they can go sour, it will save some risk, as well. After all, unhappy people are unpredictable.

So I shrug, because I am a coward.

"Bella?"

I look at him, meeting his eyes, before I look away and sigh. This is not going to be easy. But, perhaps, when I show him that he doesn't have to bother anymore, I will release him from his feeling of obligation as well.

"What's wrong?" he presses.

It makes my guts wrench, but I ignore him, acting as if I am focusing on the lesson. I even manage to prevent my tears from falling until after the lesson, when instead of to the library I go to the restroom to cry.

After school I don't have to drive home with Edward, because Esme is waiting for me to give me a ride to Port Angeles for therapy. Edward catches me before I can slip into Esme's Ford however, and again he asks me what's wrong. Again I turn away from him, looking past him with an unseeing gaze.

It doesn't block out the questioning look that Esme throws us both, unfortunately.

When we're on the highway to Port Angeles, Esme speaks. "Are you going to tell me what that was all about?"

I shrug, feeling sullen, unsure, and torn, and turn my body away from her, facing the window with my arms crossed. It feels horrible to let Edward go like that. But in the end he will know that it's better that way. _I_ will know that it is better that way.

Regardless, my sullen mood lingers all the way to Port Angeles and still shows on my face when I step into Siobhan's room. After ten minutes it seems like she realizes that she's not going to get anything out of me today, so instead she produces charcoal and paper and tells me to draw.

Lost, I look up at her.

"Anything," she says. "Since you're not going to talk, you can do something else to occupy your mind. Because you're clearly overthinking something right now."

Hesitantly, I end up sketching some abstract figures with lots of shadows. I can't draw. Rosalie can draw, but I can't. I still have the sketch she gave me. I often look at it. It's weird to see myself as she perceived me in that moment. But I can't draw for shit, I can only sketch things I want to bake.

The hour crawls by and I check the clock so often Siobhan gets up to take it off the wall. Frustrated, I turn back to the paper.

"Make a sound," she suddenly says.

Now what?

"Your frustration. Let it be known."

No.

"Do it," she says persuasively. "Huff, or sigh, do something. Let it out."

No.

"No? Then you aren't annoyed enough. Because I think, that when you are genuinely annoyed, you will let it out. Don't you do that when you're alone? Are you quiet as well when you're on your own?"

I am, actually.

"Really? I would have thought you were only so quiet with others."

She's trying to bait me, I know. She's normally never this direct, especially not in trying to coax a reaction from me. What's this sudden urge with her wanting me to make a sound? I did make a sound here, didn't I? I banged the wall the last time she got under my skin like that. I haven't forgotten.

"You know, I know you don't see it that way, but to be as silent as you are requires an extraordinary amount of control. You are exceptionally strong."

_Yeah, well, never strong enough_, I think automatically.

"You disagree?"

Yes I do, isn't that obvious? My lines on the drawing become harsher, darker as I press harder on the charcoal.

"I think you are really strong. It's a pity you can't see that," Siobhan says.

Why this sentence, after all the bait she threw at me earlier, gets to me, is a mystery, but it does. My therapist achieves her goal as I tut in unadulterated annoyance and throw the charcoal on my paper, sitting back with a huff.

Crossing my arms, I look at her, raising one eyebrow in challenge. _Is this what you wanted? _

"There you go," Siobhan smiles. "I understand it's scary, though. It's all about control, isn't it?"

My mouth falls open a bit at the accuracy of her guess.

She sits forward and starts to clean up the drawing utensils. It seems like this hour is finally coming to an end.

"You're a smart girl. You will understand that your silence is a coping mechanism to deal with all the other things that you've never been able to control. It's much like the problems you have with eating in front of other people. But you are in a new situation now. Maybe you can let go of those coping mechanisms a little, and learn to find that especially with communication, you can control more than with refusing to do so."

I blink at her words, and swallow. I'm not sure if she's right here. Besides, it's not only about control. If only it were that easy.

"Our time is finally up, which you will appreciate hearing. Have a good weekend," my therapist says with a smile. "Try to pick a subject you'd like to discuss next week."

Nodding, I get up and get my coat from the hook near the door. Outside, Esme is waiting for me, as always. She's carrying some bags, so she's done errands again in the meantime. It makes me feel slightly less guilty for needing her assistance to go here so often.

On the way home, she speaks. "I know I have asked you once before, but would you consider learning to drive? Once you get your license we can arrange a car for you. I'd improve your mobility."

It's impossible to answer her in the car, but she sees my hesitation and smiles. "Think about it. I can help you, or Carlisle can, if you'd want that."

Driving… I never considered it as something I could learn, or do. I thought I was generally too stupid to ever learn such a thing. Stefan told me so, at least. Besides, it would be impossible to accept a car from the Cullens. That's a bit too big, especially after all they have done for me thus far.

I am still lost in my thoughts when we arrive home. Edward is playing on his piano, a soft, morose song that drowns the house in a somber atmosphere. I help Esme in the kitchen, wondering what has brought on Edward's mood.

After dinner I help with cleaning up the table, and when Carlisle gets up to go to his office, Edward gets up as well.

"Dad, can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure, come on up," Carlisle answers, and they both disappear up the stairs.

I spend the evening in Alice's room. I have brought over my quilting material and we are spending more and more time together like this, especially since Emmett passed his Trig test with a B minus and needs a bit less tutoring now he's up to speed. As is often the case while I'm in her room, she works on her clothing as I work on my quilt. I just cut the pieces of fabric, so I can sew them later. It's a lot of effort to move the sewing machine from room to room every time.

We listen to music and Alice chatters away. It really feels like she's not bothered by my silence, and it makes me feel relaxed and accepted. It's at odds with the anxious feeling that brews in the pit of my stomach over pushing Edward away. I feel like a hypocrite for being able to accept Alice's kindness, and not Edward's. He seems very unhappy about it for some reason, even if I'm quite sure I made the right decision.

Sure enough, when I check my mail on Saturday morning, there is a message from Renée, and one from Edward. I have been mailing back and forth steadily with Renée, and every time she replies or sends me something new, I am amazed that she still seems so interested. She asks me how I am, what my plans are, and to tell her something fun.

I reply to her message, even giving her more information than required. She was ecstatic when I told her I played in the snow. She loves to hear about the things I am doing and discovering.

Then, there's the email from Edward.

.

**From: Edward Cullen**

**To: Bella Swan**

**Subject: What's going on?**

Hey, I'm not sure what has happened, but I feel like you're ignoring me and I don't know why. Did I do something wrong? Please tell me if I upset you for some reason.

.

Oh, dear. I thought he would be relieved I am letting him go from his obligatory kindness. I know I thought at one point that he genuinely liked me, and perhaps he does, but it's bound to end up in disappointment.

.

**From: Bella Swan**

**To: Edward Cullen**

**Subject: Re: What's going on?**

You didn't do anything wrong.

.

I know he's out with Jasper and Ben today, so I don't expect a reply. I shut down the laptop and wander downstairs, wondering what I can do today.

"Bellabella," Emmett says as soon as he sees me coming down the stairs. He's leaning backwards over the couch, looking at me almost upside down. Since he's been to the Seahawks game with Carlisle last weekend, he's been smiling more. The trip really did him good. "Have you thought about what Alice said? For your Gym assignment?"

He gestures for me to come sit with him in the living room and I do. To my utter surprise, he rummages to the tiny drawer in the coffee table and gets paper and a pencil.

_If it's no inconvenience to you, it might be a good idea_

"Excellent," he says, rubbing his hands. "So, how do you want to do this?"

We spend until lunch outlining a plan. By the time we wrap up, he writes down his email address for me, so I can mail him any questions I might have. We also agreed on doing an interview, so I can send him the questions. He gets my email as well.

After lunch, I go back to the living room to read a bit. Esme is with me, leafing through a gardening magazine. Rosalie joins us, plopping on the couch, looking bored. She looks around the room, until her gaze falls on me.

For a moment, I am intimidated by her ice blue eyes. She sits forward, looking closely to something on my shoulder. I follow the direction of her gaze, worried there's some stain there.

"You should get a haircut," she observes casually, shifting forward on the couch. I'm momentarily stunned. I did _not_ expect her to say that.

"May I?" She reaches out and gently takes a lock of my hair between her fingertips. I don't like her proximity, and I'm automatically scared she's going to pull my hair any second. She doesn't. Instead, she inspects the ends. "If you cut it a few inches, it will look much better. And it won't tangle as much."

I look away. I don't need a haircut. I don't want anyone near me with scissors, either, thank you very much.

"It's a good idea," Esme chimes in. "It would make you look a bit healthier, as well. I don't know why I never thought about that. I can call someone to come to the house if you prefer?"

I can't do this. I don't want to look better. I don't want the attention. And I don't want somebody fussing with my hair and my head. I can't even remember the last time I had a haircut.

Feeling crowded and panicked, I get up from the couch and walk to my room, ignoring their protests. What are they thinking? Why the sudden need to make me look more appealing? I'm as ugly as I can get, I don't think a haircut will change that.

Oh God. Am I really such a pain to look at?

Well, they better look away then, I think with a huff. Damn.

After about twenty minutes, there is a knock on my door.

"Bella? It's me, Rosalie. Can I come in?"

I get up from my rocking chair to open the door for her. She's taller than me, even on socked feet. Still very intimidating. It's a rarity for her to be without her heels though.

She steps into the room and closes the door with a soft click. I shuffle back to the rocking chair and curl up in it. For some reason I am enough at ease around Rosalie that I am comfortable enough to tuck my feet underneath my legs, as demanding as her presence can be. I know she's honest enough to tell me if she doesn't like anything. I look up at her, following her with my gaze as she sits down on my bed.

"How are you?" she asks, seemingly at random.

I shrug. I don't really feel like talking, anyway. I nod in her direction, returning the question.

"Does a haircut really stress you out so much?" she asks next, ignoring my inquiry.

Yes, it does.

She sits back on the bed, leaning on her hands. "I can imagine. I think you don't like the prospect of looking better. Am I right?"

She is right. But she knows this. She told me herself she knows that I don't want to be pretty, that I don't want attention.

"Not to mention the fussing and the touching," she says with a sad smile. "If I were you the prospect alone would freak me out."

What is her point?

She touches her own hair, twirling a lock around her fingers. "You know, I know that you don't like the idea of looking groomed, for lack of a better word. But did you know that when you look like you're taking care of yourself, you look more confident? And generally, confident people are left alone more easily. You will look stronger, like you don't take any shit from anybody."

Is that right? Her words sound logical enough.

"I can do it for you," she says suddenly. "I can't work any miracles or whatever, but I could cut your hair. And you know I'm no-nonsense." Her voice is serious, but her eyes sparkle when she says this. "Think about it. Let me know if you would want it."

She leaves me alone when Emmett calls her. I didn't get to ask her if I'm really that ugly that they think I need to change. It's too late now.

I spend the rest of the afternoon finally reading _Coraline_. Too bad I'll never get to discuss it with Edward, now. It really is a wonderful story.

He emails me on Sunday morning. He has shot me some inquiring glances yesterday night, but I tried to ignore him. I open the mail with trepidation. He's replying to my last mail, when I said he didn't do anything wrong.

.

**From: Edward Cullen**

**To: Bella Swan**

**Subject: Re: Re: What's going on?**

Then what's going on? I thought we were going along well, why the sudden change?

.

**From: Bella Swan**

**To: Edward Cullen**

**Subject: Re: Re: Re: What's going on?**

It can only end in disappointment. Don't you think it's better this way?

.

**From: Edward Cullen**

**To: Bella Swan**

**Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: What's going on?**

I have not the faintest idea what you mean. Why disappointment?

.

**From: Bella Swan**

**To: Edward Cullen**

**Subject: Just let it go**

I can't give you what you want, and can't be what you expect.

.

**From: Edward Cullen**

**To: Bella Swan**

**Subject: Re: Just let it go**

I thought we'd been over this. What do you think I expect from you?

.

**From: Bella Swan**

**To: Edward Cullen**

**Subject: Re: Re: Just let it go**

I am not going to answer that. I am relieving you from having to spend your time on me.

.

**From: Edward Cullen**

**To: Bella Swan**

**Subject: Re: Re: Re: Just let it go**

I happen to like spending time with you. And I am not worried that you will disappoint me. Isn't that what friendship is about? Unconditional acceptance?

.

**From: Bella Swan**

**To: Edward Cullen**

**Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Just let it go**

Just let it go, Edward. You don't know me and if you did, you would reconsider. I'm saving you that stress.

.

**From: Edward Cullen**

**To: Bella Swan**

**Subject: I don't understand**

Wow, Bella, I don't know what to say. I thought I had gotten to know you a bit over the past months, and nothing I have learned so far ever indicated that I would come to like you less. But I don't know this side of you.

.

**From: Bella Swan**

**To: Edward Cullen**

**Subject: Re: I don't understand **

Just trust me on this.

.

It takes an hour or so before he replies.

.

**From: Edward Cullen**

**To: Bella Swan**

**Subject: I don't understand**

I think it's pretty presumptuous of you to blatantly ignore my own ability to judge what's good for me, yet ask me to trust you in this. But, alas, you can have it your way. If you don't want us to be friends, there is nothing I can do.

.

The bitterness is clear in his words, and I'm confused. I would have thought that he would be relieved to be rid of this obligation. Hasn't he thought about the implications of it all? He's bound to tire of me, even if he genuinely likes me right now. In time, he will get bored by my inability to talk, to act normally. He can't do anything with me but have one-sided conversations, and I don't even like to communicate.

I sigh, frustrated. This isn't going as I had planned it, at all.

Just as I am about to turn off the laptop, a new email comes in. Weary, I click on the symbol to open the window.

.

**From: Edward Cullen**

**To: Bella Swan**

**Subject: I'll be here**

Just so you know, I do genuinely like you for you. In case this is just a bout of insecurity, I want you to know that my door will always be open for you. If you change your mind, just let me know. I'll be there. I consider myself your friend. Even though you feel like you're not worth it, I think that is for me to decide. So far, nothing has happened to make me change my mind about you, and I do think I have seen you at your best and your worst. Let me be a friend to you. If only for a ride to the library every once in a while. For now, I'll respect your decision and leave you to yourself.

.

I sit back and exhale shakily after I have read his mail. He's right in the sense that I am deciding for him, right now. I am doubting his judgment, and that's really unlike me. I usually think that other people know better by default.

The two last emails he sent are vastly different in tone. He's right to be upset with me, though. Even though his words sting, they are justified. I just wish I could be sure about this all. I wish I could know how it's all going to go.

What I'd give to have a sneak peek into the future. It would make things so much easier here right now.

Edward keeps his word and doesn't seek me out anymore. When he sees I'm cold during lunch on Monday, he does buy me tea again so I can warm my hands, but he doesn't try to engage in conversation. He only looks at me, and there's an expression in his eyes that makes me want to hide in a corner and cry.

But I have to be strong. It is better this way.

Monday night, I leave my room to get a drink downstairs. Alice's bedroom door is open, and I can hear her and Edward talking. As much as I don't want to eavesdrop, in the few seconds I hear them before I reach the stairs, I've heard enough to stop moving and start listening.

"What happened between you and Bella? I thought you were getting along?" Alice asks.

"Yeah, I think she disagreed. She told me basically she doesn't want to be friends anymore." He sounds so disappointed. Something in my guts twists and wrenches, making me feel heavy and dizzy.

"What? Why?" Alice says, aghast.

Edward replies after a moment of silence. "I think she still thinks she's not good enough. Or that I'm going to change my opinion about her when I get to know her better."

"She's so protective," Alice sighs. "I think it shows how much you mean to her. She's dead scared of losing you."

"You think?" Edward replies.

"Sure. If she pushes you away now, it won't hurt that much. Her logic tells her she's not good enough for you, so she decides for you before you can push _her_ away."

"You may be right. I wish I knew how to fix this. I don't want her to shut herself off from us."

Alice exhales, probably thinking. "What did you tell her when she turned you away?"

"Well, I was upset at first. But I told her that I would be waiting for her. I told her that I thought this was a bout of insecurity. It's not the first time, after all."

"Then let her know that you're there for her, no matter what. You want to be, right?"

"I do," he says. "I really do. But she isn't letting me. Sometimes she looks at me in a way that makes me think she'll let me in. But the next moment she's completely shut off again, pushing me away with all her might. Like she's afraid."

"Afraid of what she might feel, perhaps," Alice muses. "I think, considering what we think she's been through, it would be scary to have feelings like that. Her trust has been betrayed. It's hard for her to let others in."

"I didn't even really consider that," Edward replies, sounding genuinely taken aback. "Though it's perfectly logical when you put it that way."

Finally, my legs are able to move again and I walk downstairs, leaving them to their conversation.

Edward sounded so disappointed. My stomach sinks when I realize that I have brought that on. It's my fault that he feels like this. I would have thought he would be relieved, and that he might protest with me for the sake of appearances. But hearing him talking to Alice like that, makes me reconsider.

Unbidden, I recall every single time he has been nice to me. Even when there was no one around, he was incredibly nice. He told me literally that he didn't want anything from me.

But however I am going to look at it, I will always be afraid that he might want more than I am willing him to give.

Ugh. This is _so_ confusing.

And I'm not even thinking about my own thoughts on the matter. What do I want with him? What does it mean that I like to be in his company, that I like the way he looks at me? Does it have to have a deeper meaning that from all the Cullens, his touch I can tolerate best? Apart from Esme, that is.

God, that hug.

What _is_ friendship, anyway? And why am I considering this? I'm not good enough, never will be. No matter if I was able to develop feelings, friendly or otherwise, for someone, it's not like I will ever have them returned. The notion that someone likes me for me, and on a long-term basis, is so hard to comprehend.

How could I ever be loved?

**~O~**

On Tuesday during Biology, Edward tells me that he has asked Rosalie to take me to Port Angeles for therapy.

"I understand you want some distance," he says quietly. "She'll take you there and pick you up again. That should be less tense for you."

He doesn't say anything else, and it feels like my chest cracks. To my own surprise, I find that I want him to smile at me again. When, unthinkingly, I move my hand into his direction in the hopes of touching his arm, he shifts away from me.

My throat tightens as I start to realize the extent of my loss. This was my decision. I never knew it would hurt this bad.

**~O~**

Rosalie drives like a maniac, but surprisingly enough I'm not afraid to be in the car with her. She oozes confidence and control.

I guide her to the building in Port Angeles. Because of her driving style we are early, and she follows me to the waiting room, telling me she's curious what it looks like.

"Do you get to choose what you talk about during therapy?" she asks. "Or does your therapist decide?"

I pick out my phone to type.

_Depends. I had to choose a topic for today_

"And did you find something?"

I shake my head, no. But Siobhan will come up with something, I'm sure.

"You should talk about Edward," Rosalie says.

My head whips around to look at her.

"What's bothering you about him? You were going along so well, and now it seems like you don't want to know him anymore."

Shrugging, I look away.

"Did he do something? Because I swear to God, if he laid one finger on you—"

My alarmed look cuts her off.

"Okay, he didn't. That's good. So why the silent treatment?" She hesitates. "So to speak, I mean? I mean, oh whatever, you know what I mean."

Seeing Rose lost for words is almost comical, if the subject matter weren't as annoying. So I shrug again, trying to brush off her questions. Can't she just leave it alone?

Just as she takes a breath to speak, the door opens and my therapist calls me in.

"Talk about Edward," Rosalie says when I get up for my session.

I shoot her a dirty look and she cocks a brow at me in response. Annoyed beyond belief, I walk to Siobhan's office and plop down on the couch.

"What about Edward?" Siobhan asks as she sits down across from me.

Oh, shit. I should have known this. Best to take care of it quickly.

_Nothing_

"It doesn't look like nothing to me," she responds dryly.

I add a few words to my answer.

_Nothing that can't be solved_

"_Can't _be solved? How are you planning to solve it?"

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Fuck.

Stupid therapist. She's just too good.

I tell her everything.

I tell her about the fear that I can't shake. About how I wanted to protect Edward from misjudgment and that it hurts me more than I thought. About how I overheard him and Alice talking, and how it hurt to hear him disappointed like that, but that it truly is better this way. I tell her about my frustration about not being normal, about my desire to be, about the dawning realization that I never will be.

When Siobhan asks me what I would want, if I were to be normal in my own terms, I find I can't answer her. I wouldn't know what it means to be normal.

"But you are _you_," she says. "And I am me. Edward is Edward... Tell me, does he define himself as normal? Did you ever talk about that with him?"

I write down that Edward once told me he had a hard time making friends. I don't know if that qualifies as being not normal, and I ask my therapist as much.

"You know what? I think there are a lot of people who consider themselves not being normal. They either get a kick out of that, or they want to be different. But in the end, most of those people have some distorted image of what 'normal' means, and it usually means a perfect image they won't ever be able to obtain. If you ask me, or Edward, or the girl who brought you today, you will see that almost everyone has things they want to change about themselves."

So I'm not alone. Why does it take a therapist with a degree to make me understand this? I could have guessed as much, right? But it's not the complete answer, either.

_But I'm more different than others_

"You are," Siobhan says easily. "You are brave, and strong, a fighter. A survivor, even. You are smart, caring, insightful..."

I cut her off by making the time out sound with my hands.

_I can't bear to be touched. _

This time Siobhan cuts me off before I can extend the well-known list. "You are that, too. I'm not denying that. I'm just trying to get you to focus on the good things, as well."

Crossing my arms, I throw her a skeptical look.

Siobhan smirks, smug. "You will be pleased to know that just about every 'normal' person finds it very hard to have their positive traits listed, as well."

Ha, ha, very funny.

"But let me ask you something else. The first thing you mentioned just now is that you can't bear to be touched. Would you like to be able to bear it?"

I have to think about that for a moment. I think I would, but then again the desire to be touched brings a vulnerability I'm not willing to let in. Biting my tongue, I try to explain this to Siobhan as well.

"That is completely understandable," she says, making me feel, oh irony, normal, to have this reaction. "Tell me, you have been touched, right? There must have been occasions where you weren't panicking because of it."

Of course there were. When I hugged Esme. When Edward touched my cheek. When Edward held my hands after I bandaged them. Aw, hell, almost every time Edward touches me, I don't panic. I sigh, frustrated.

"How did you feel then?"

Wonderful. Of course I did. But that doesn't take away the fear, does it?

"You see," Siobhan starts, "it usually feels as good for others, too. To give or to take, it's supposed to be a pleasurable experience. It's normal," she continues, meeting my eyes pointedly when she throws my own word back at me. "To decide for Edward that he's better off without you, on the other hand..."

I cringe, knowing I had this coming.

"Why don't you give him a chance?"

_What if_

She interrupts my writing again. "What if you just see how it evolves? What's the worst that can happen?"

This time it's my turn to look at her pointedly.

"Think, Bella. Do you really think that something like that could ever happen in your new home?"

Even though my inner voice begs me to keep my guard up, my rationale has to admit that the chances are nonexistent. But that doesn't make it less scary.

"Bella, you told me yourself that Edward knows of your past. Still, he seeks you out, because he likes your company. I know it scares you, because he's a man, but not all men are evil."

_How do you know?_

I don't expect an answer to that question, but she gives one nonetheless.

"I found a man who showed me what real love is. It took him years to convince me that he loved me, but when I let him in, it was beyond wonderful."

Her little story has me reeling. I never realized that of course she has a real life, a private life that I know nothing about. I never knew she would be in a relationship though.

"It's possible, Bella. But you have to reach out. If you crawl back into your own safe zone, all you will achieve is that your own theories will be affirmed. I know you're not fond of taking risks, but I'm asking you to try and take some. Reach out, and see that there's no need to be so scared."

_Easy for you to say_

"I've been where you are," Siobhan says gently. "And all I can tell you now is that it's worth the journey."

Our time is up, and as usual, my therapist has left me with a lot of food for thought. But, and that's the weirdest thing, she has made me want to try out touching more. And she didn't even tell me to do so. She just reminded me of how wonderful it felt. I want it again.

But isn't it selfish? I have to know.

I write as quickly as I can.

_One minute for a question?_

"Sure," she smiles.

_Wanting touch, or affection for that matter, is that not selfish? _

She thinks about my answer for a moment. "In a way, it is, because you are asking it for yourself. But for most people it's a joy to give affection as well, so it's a two way thing."

I chew my lip, contemplating her answer.

"It's okay to want it," she adds softly. "Normal, I might add. I know you don't like to ask for things for yourself, but I'm willing to bet you make others happy when you ask for affection, is that right? So it's not only beneficial for you."

My frown doesn't disappear.

"You're caring by nature. Does it make you happy to make others happy?"

Of course it does.

"It's the same for others. If someone doesn't really want to give you affection, you will feel the difference. When it feels right, you don't have to feel guilty about it."

That's... really hard.

"If others want a hug, does that make them selfish?"

No, I guess not.

Ugh, why can she point out these things so easily? I never saw myself as a complete anti-social, yet the realizations that hit hardest are when she asks me, again, to look at it from another point of view. If others aren't selfish for asking for a hug, then why do I feel like I _am_?

"You've come so far already, Bella. And hey, if your logic gets in the way again, then just allow yourself to be selfish for once. Haven't you given enough, willingly or unwillingly in the past?" she looks at me. "We really have to wrap up. See you next Friday."

I nod, still lost in my thoughts, and exit Siobhan's office. Rosalie is waiting for me, and we walk to her car together. She's carrying some shopping bags. I nod at them, curious.

"I bought some drawing supplies," she says. "I'm really liking it."

We drive home in relative silence. Edward is playing the piano when we step into the house, a song I don't know.

Rosalie catches my gaze before she disappears up the stairs. "My offer to come talk anytime still stands," she says softly. "I can tell you have a lot on your mind. If you need to unload - I have pretty broad shoulders."

Her offer is sweet and sincere, and on Wednesday night I find myself standing at her bedroom door. It takes me a minute to gather the courage to knock. I don't want to disturb whatever she's doing and I have a note at the ready, asking her if she has a minute, and if she doesn't, that that's okay.

She has time, and invites me into her room without hesitation. It's tidier then I thought it would be. Clothes are scattered here and there, but apart from that, there's not much clutter. She has a tiny couch near a window and I sit down when she invites me to do so.

"Spill."

Um. Yeah. Ehm...

She smiles. "I don't bite, you know. Ask me anything."

I can't find the words. Now that I'm finally here, I can't go on.

"Is this about Edward?"

Isn't it always, to some extent?

"Tell me what's going on," she says. "You guys were so close, and now he's telling me you don't want him as a friend anymore."

_You talked? _

"Yes."

_What did he say?_

"No. You go first. What did you tell him?"

Slowly, even more so because I'm working with pen and paper, I try to explain to Rosalie that I told Edward to stay away to prevent disappointment.

"That's what he told me. He can't understand why you push him away. He's afraid that he upset you."

He didn't.

"Bella, if I can be honest with you, I think you're making a huge mistake. Edward is a gem, the gentlest soul that walks around on this earth. A girl that gets his attention is very lucky. He lives to make others happy. He doesn't care for appearances, because he sees right into your soul. He sees something in you."

I almost snort sarcastically. She makes it sound like its special to get Edward's attention.

"When we go back to school tomorrow, look at how those girls look at Edward. Try to see how they try to get his attention. He doesn't care for them. He just wants someone with a soul like his."

_I can't give him what he wants_

"He only wants a bit of your attention in return. He's looking for someone who understands him, just like you. And you know he doesn't see you like a conquest, or something he can fix. He likes you for you. Isn't that abundantly clear?"

_I'm not very likable_

Rosalie cocks a perfectly shaped brow. "I'm not even going to reply to that. You _are_ likeable and you _know_ this."

Ignoring her comment, I show her my previous note.

_I can't give him what he wants_

"Isn't that for him to decide? You're lucky he's a patient guy. Any other would have walked away from you, but he's waiting for you. It's about time you're starting to see that, Bella. If he really turned away from you, you would be devastated, and you know it."

_That's why I'm doing it now_

She shakes her head, frowning. "What are you really afraid of? That he wants more? Or that you will have to let him in and become attached?"

Her words are spot on, and my blush betrays me.

"You can't change your past. From what I can guess, you feel like you're not worthy. But you _are._ I hope you can come to see that. Would you ever let a friend down?"

No, I wouldn't.

"Would you go to great lengths to make that friend happy?"

Yes.

"Would you be there for a friend if they needed you?"

Of course. I convey my answer with my gaze.

"See? That makes you worthy. What happened in your past has nothing to do with that."

As I walk back to my own room later that night, I realize belatedly that Rosalie actually told me I am worthy of friendship. She named some qualities I am sure I possess. And she told me that my past doesn't matter for that. But it's so hard, so very hard to believe that people won't go running when they learn what happened to me.

Even if I wasn't at fault, even if I am a victim, won't they think then that I should have tried harder to get away? I could have fought harder. Maybe I could have run earlier. I had known Renée for a very long time, even before the real violence started.

Won't they think I am weak for letting all of this happen to me?

**~O~**

The next day, I observe Edward carefully. Or, more specifically, I observe those around Edward. Jessica still flirts with him, as does Lauren. As do a lot of other girls. I can see them flipping their hair back, and looking at him like he's the eighth world wonder. But he doesn't look at them. When he looks around, it's only to find me, catch my gaze, and mouth 'okay?' When I nod, he continues what he was doing before, ignoring most of the others around him.

Rosalie was right.

But where does that leave me? What do I do with this?

It's the exact question I ask Siobhan during our session on Friday. I've been awake for most of the night, thinking about Edward. The only conclusion I kept coming to time and time again, was that I didn't want to lose him.

We talk about my fear to let someone in, about my fear that he wants more than I am willing to give. Siobhan tells me that I shouldn't worry about that. After all, I'm not even sure if Edward would want anything. She also tells me that if he goes too far, I can say 'no.' It's normal to do so, she adds. And she's pretty sure that Edward will listen to it.

Siobhan also tells me that if I want to experiment with touch more, I could start with Esme, or Alice. And I should touch myself. When my blush explodes and my mouth falls open at her suggestions, she chuckles and clarifies herself.

"Generally, I mean. Rub your arms. Touch your own face, your neck, perhaps. In the shower, concentrate on how the water feels against your skin. You've pushed touch away for so long, you will have to get used to those sensations again."

Hmm, I don't think I like her suggestion. Especially in the shower, I try to ignore everything and just be done as quickly as possible.

But, for touching experiments, I can try to go to Esme. I trust her enough by now to know that she'd probably help me. And if she doesn't, well, then at least I will finally know what they truly think of me.

It falls in line with Siobhan's encouragement to try out new things and see where I end up with them. If I don't test my theories, I will never know what happens. Besides, she asks, isn't that what I want, deep down? To be able to participate in a family, to be at ease with others?

Yes, and yes. And I realize that the only way to achieve that, is by reaching out and doing it. I can only hope that they will help me.

Siobhan tells me that she can contact Esme, if I will allow her to. She can talk to Esme about my new plans and thoughts, so she will know what to expect. I refuse her offer. I want to do this alone.

When we drive home, I'm chewing my lip, lost in thought. I want to hug Esme again, but at the same time this feels like too big a step. So when we exit the car in the garage, I'm at a loss as to what to do.

"What's wrong?" Esme asks as she sees me hesitating. She steps up to me. "Bella?"

Meeting her eyes, I see only the kindness that will never stop to amaze me. I make a gesture that should make clear that I don't know how to explain what I am thinking right now.

"That's okay," Esme says with a smile. "Come on, let's go inside and get warm again. Maybe we can talk a little?"

I nod, and when she reaches out her arm in invitation, I take my chance. I accept her hand. She looks over her shoulder, surprised, but smiling, and I follow her into the house.

Over tea I let her know that I want to try out touching more.

"Wonderful," Esme says happily. "But you will have to guide us in this."

"What are you talking about?" Alice asks curiously as she steps into the kitchen.

Esme looks at me. "May I?" I nod, and Esme tells Alice what we've just discussed.

"Oh!" Alice exclaims. "That is awesome! When can we start?" She sits down on the chair next to me, all buzzing excitement.

Taken aback by her energy, I don't even know how to answer her question. Alice easily solves this however by stretching out her hands. "Take them," she says with a big smile and wide, honest eyes.

Uhm, okay. Reaching out tentatively, I grasp both her hands in mine. She squeezes reassuringly. Her hands are warm and small, but strong. Her skin doesn't feel like a thousand pinpricks on mine. There is no cold sweat on my back.

I'm touching her. And I am not panicking.

"So cool," she says quietly, voicing my exact thoughts. "I'm proud of you."

"Me, too," Esme adds softly from her side of the table.

Alice smiles wider. "See? Nothing to fear."

We sit like that for a moment, until she pulls back and gets up again. "Now I no longer have to place my hand on your arm mentally," she says with a wink, and then she's gone again.

I'm actually pretty pleased with myself after this. I touched Alice, and she was happy to help me. And she and Esme were both proud.

I did it.

And it felt good.

It makes me think of the other things I might do with touch. If it no longer scares me, I know I still have the choice to allow it yes or no. But at least maybe I won't freak out anymore every time someone makes physical contact.

It gives me hope.

Perhaps I can practice with Edward, too.

Yes. Edward. I have to go to him, before it's too late.

Would he still want me around him? Or would he push me away? Edward said he'd wait, and so did Rosalie.

I guess there's only one way to find out.

My chance comes quicker than I thought it would. He's in his room that Friday night. It's now or never.

With sweaty palms I go up the stairs and come to a halt before his closed door. I can hear his TV, and for a long moment I'm not sure if I should disturb him. Siobhan's words resonate in my mind. _Try it. Reach out, and see where you end up._

I take a deep breath, and knock on the door.

It opens within moments, and before me stands Edward. He looks down at me, his expression open, curious. Relieved.

"Hey."

* * *

_Stay hopeful... Next chapter will be told from Edward's point of view. _


	48. Chapter 48

**A/N I don't own Twilight. Which is why I get to write this story.**

_Hello all! Thanks, as ever, for reading. Many thanks to Sherry, my invaluable beta, Deb, Bob, and Aleea. You are all made of awesome! _

_I realize I am a day lat__e updating. Real Life got in the way. This will happen again I'm sure - I will always try to keep my ten day interval but if I'm a day or two late, don't come haunt me. I haven't forgotten about you. _

___Torn is nominated for the Climax Award (Best Drama) in the Shimmer Awards. Go vote for my fic or your other favorites at shimmerawards . blogspot . com!_

_Music: _John Legend - This time_. I don't know why. I just love the song. _

_Onwards, with Edward's point of view._

* * *

**Edward**

"Hey."

There she is, standing at my bedroom door. For a moment we just look at each other, and I am at a loss as to what to say. I consider making a half joke, like asking her if she finally came to her senses, but knowing her she'd take it the wrong way. And knowing her, she's already beating herself up over what happened.

So instead, I step aside. "Come in."

She does, pulling at her sleeves as she steps over the threshold.

I have to tell her to sit down as well, and I fear that she's completely back to square one again. What happened to make her pull back like she did? Did something unsettle her, or did I do something to upset her perhaps? She said I didn't, but knowing her, if something had happened she would likely blame herself for it anyway.

Then again, maybe I don't know her. I thought I did, but I didn't this sudden retreat coming. I never expected her to show up at my door like this, either.

She sits down on my couch gingerly, her back straight, on guard.

"I'm not angry or anything," I say softly as I sit down next to her. It feels like a blow to my guts when she shifts away from me a little bit. "I'm really not," I repeat, trying to catch her gaze.

We sit in awkward silence, and it's clear that she's mulling over something in her head. If she doesn't stop worrying her bottom lip, she's going to draw blood. A few weeks ago, when I had just touched her cheek, I might have tried to pull her lip away from her teeth. Right now, I'm not sure if I should try and touch her at all.

I don't want to break what we have further. I really thought things we going well, until she suddenly told me she was relieving me from the obligation of befriending her. To say I was baffled was an understatement. Here I was, thinking, _hoping_, that we were becoming real friends, and she cut me off without reason.

I talked to dad about it, because frankly, I was lost and hurt. He explained to me that this was probably one of Bella's coping mechanisms. She's afraid of people, of men in general, and maybe she was realizing I was becoming too close. He observed with a smirk that he had seen Bella and me spending more and more time together.

He told me to give it time. And if she didn't come back to me, well, then it simply meant she wasn't ready for it. There was nothing I could do, apart from letting her know that I was there for her. I don't blame her for what she did. She's a curious mixture of a deer caught in headlights and something a bit more panicky. I guess that in the future, episodes like this will happen more often. It's something I will have to take into account if I really want to be her friend.

And I want to be. I really missed her when she was staying away from me. Over the past few days I couldn't leave it, and I had to make sure she was okay. But I listened to her request and kept my distance, letting her know, hopefully, that I would listen to her, even if I didn't like it.

But even though she came back to me and is sitting here, in my room, I do intend to talk to her about what she did. She's afraid that things will suddenly change, well, what does she think she did by ignoring me so suddenly, without telling me why?

She hasn't moved yet, and so I choose the well-known opening, the one I know she will take. "Talk to me."

Her deep brown eyes meet mine and I see something in them — relief? Like a heavy burden has been relieved from her shoulders.

"Need something to write on?" I ask, already getting up to find paper and pen. She takes them from me tentatively, and I can see her hands are shaking when she's writing.

_I'm sorry_

"Apology accepted," I say softly, meeting her eyes so she can see I mean it. "But I do want to talk to you about that. I have to admit that I was hurt when you suddenly started ignoring me. I didn't know what to do."

Her cheeks redden as she blushes and I hate myself for making her uncomfortable like that. But I want her to know that even though I'm not angry, I didn't like what she did.

"You're afraid that things will suddenly change, but what you did left me wandering." My voice is soft, trying to make the accusation as minimal as possible.

_I know. I'm sorry_

"It's okay. But, next time you need some space, just tell me, okay? Don't start ignoring me all of a sudden. You wouldn't like it either if I did that to you."

To my horror, a tear escapes from her eye and trails down her cheek. I scoot a little closer to her, my body aching to hold her, comfort her in some way.

I have to touch her.

Moving carefully, I reach out my hand and place it over hers in her lap. She stiffens for a moment, but I can feel clearly how she relaxes shortly after. She exhales shakily, and the tension seems to melt away.

And then she squeezes my hand.

Tension I hadn't realized was building up in my body, falls away. And before I can stop myself I smile at her. She meets my gaze and smiles back through her tears, and I know in that moment that we can bridge the gap that has appeared. We can overcome this. Bella can overcome whatever is holding her back to enjoy life.

I squeeze back, and it feels good, so good to just hold her hand like this. Because she's letting me. The first time I touched her, she shut down completely. A lot has happened since then. She's come so far.

"You okay?" I finally ask softly. Her tears have stopped, but I shouldn't forget that she started crying because of what I told her.

She pulls her hand back to write and I feel the loss acutely. Still, I sit back and wait patiently for her to finish her words.

_I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that to you_

"It's okay," I repeat. "But just… Can you at least _try_ to believe that I'm not going to turn away from you?"

_It's hard_

"I've noticed," I observe dryly. "But I had hoped that after all the time we spent together, it was clear I wasn't going anywhere."

She sighs softly, then chews her lip again as she brings the pen to the paper. It's obvious that whatever she's going to say, is difficult for her.

_It's hard for me to let people in_

"I've noticed that, too. But hey," I continue, making her meet my gaze. "There's no time limit. There are no rules we need to follow. I happen to like being in your company, and I think the same goes for you. Isn't that enough? I don't expect you to tell me your darkest secrets, just like you won't be able to know all of me in one day. Does that matter?"

She's already writing again.

_I'm still scared that once you get to know me better, you'll want nothing to do with me anymore_

We've been over this, but apparently this is an insecurity of hers that needs a lot of reassurance. "I don't think so." When she looks up at me, I try to give her a reassuring look. "You'll just have to trust me."

The corners of her mouth tug into a slight smile, and I can tell that she appreciates the humor of my last comment. "Besides," I add, "it could be the other way around, too. What if you find out something about me that has you running for the hills?"

_Like what?_

"I don't know. I dated Jessica for a few months. I cried when my grandmother died. Asparagus make me want to puke."

She breathes out a laugh at that last comment, and hearing her make a sound, even if just by letting air escape without using her voice, surprises me. She's usually very careful with that, especially in one-on-one encounters. But now she's smiling at me, and writing.

_I hate asparagus, too_

I smile brightly at her confession. "Good thing we rarely have them, then. Mom doesn't like them, either. But dad loves them, so every once in a while mom makes them. She usually makes something else for herself and me."

Why she is so relieved at my words, I don't know, but her happy look makes me smile yet again.

We sit in silence for a moment, and I am thinking about things I could ask or discuss with her. Going over our conversation thus far, I remember something. "Hey, did you ever read _Coraline_?

Her mouth pops open in an 'o' and she gets up immediately.

"Where are you going?"

She writes standing up, and the note she shows me is barely readable.

_Getting your book_

"Bring your laptop as well," I say. "I have an idea."

As she disappears for a moment to get her things, I boot my laptop as well. I want to set up some chatting program. That way it'll be a lot easier for her to talk.

She steps into the room again, looking adorable, clutching her laptop to her chest. I help her to install the messenger program and as I talk, she types. Her words appear on my laptop, and it takes away the awkwardness of having to share a screen. And she types _fast._

We talk about Coraline. I show her the final draft of the paper I wrote about it, and she reads it with interest. She even has a few suggestions, insights I never thought about before.

"The book made me think of you," I say, a little bashfully to my own surprise. "Because she comes into a perfect world, you know? And then everything falls to pieces."

She smiles shyly.

_I see what you mean. But my old world really was bad._

"I'm not saying it wasn't. I was just thinking about that other world part."

_Yes. It's all perfect, too perfect. _

"Is that what you're afraid of here, too? That it's not what it seems?"

She bites her lip when she nods.

_It's getting better though. I just need time. _

"I know," I say with a smile. "And I think you're doing great."

She looks at me with an incredulous gaze, and starts shaking her head.

_I've a long way to go, if I ever get there. _

"Look at how far you've come," I say. "Remember the first time you saw me? You shut down completely. And now?" I take a bold risk and reach out to touch her arm softly. "See?"

She looks from my hand on her arm, to my face. There is no alarm in her eyes. She's thinking hard, I can almost see her mind working. Then she turns to the laptop again to write.

_Is it weird it scares me that touch doesn't scare me so much anymore? _

"No, I don't think so," I answer, knowing this is thin ice I'm treading on. "It's new. What you thought you knew turns out to be wrong. It takes time to rearrange your beliefs."

Her relief when she realizes I accept her words, and _her_, is palpable. It makes me want to discover every other thing I can reassure her on, just to make her feel better. Make her feel accepted unconditionally. She needs a whole lot of that, I've learned.

It is amazing to see how much she has relaxed in the time she's been in my room. She's leaning back against the couch, and the rigidity that always seems present in her body is disappearing. Wanting to give a good example, I lift my legs and tuck my feet underneath me, making myself more at ease in the corner of the couch.

She looks at me for a moment, then focuses back on the screen again. She's not going to follow my example.

"You can curl up if you want," I coax. "Make yourself comfortable?"

Again she looks at me, and again her bottom lip disappears beneath her teeth. Then she shakes her head, and she looks away. Her fingers fly over the keyboard whilse she's not even looking at the screen, and in the next moment, a message pops up on mine.

_This is what I meant. I can't even sit in a relaxed way_

I don't know what happened to have her opening up to me like this, but I am liking it.

"That's okay. You don't have to force yourself to do anything. Are you afraid to relax?"

She doesn't look at me when she nods.

"Scared to be caught off guard?" I ask next. Deducing she's been hit often, I can imagine she didn't always see it coming.

Again, she bites her lip.

"You're going to draw blood," I warn, looking at her lip pointedly when she looks at me. She releases her lip and instead drags the tip of her tongue along it. I'm mesmerized momentarily by the slightly moist trail that remains.

Okay, maybe it wasn't such a good idea to tell her to stop biting her lip.

Holy shit, what's wrong with me?

I look away this time, trying to compose myself. From the corner of my eye I can see that Bella focuses on the screen again as well.

"So, any plans for the weekend?" I have to change the subject. I don't want any tension to arise tonight.

She shrugs and shakes her head.

_You?_

"No, not yet. Perhaps a trip to the library," I say with a wink, and she smiles.

_I am going to do my next Gym paper about Emmett_

"Really? Oh, he must be very flattered."

She smiles wider now, and nods in agreement.

_He's nice though. Helps me._

"Of course he does. He's all braw and bravery, but deep down he's just a kid."

Her fingers hover over the keyboard. I look at my screen intently, waiting for the message to come up.

_Like you?_

"Like me?" I laugh, scandalized. "Why, you little…" She's looking at me with wide, sparkling eyes, biting her lip again but smiling through it. When she sees my laugh, her smile gets wider and I wish, I just wish I could tickle her.

But she made a joke. She actually made a joke. That must mean something. To me at least, it does. It's huge.

**~O~**

"I want to do something _fun_," Alice sighs at breakfast the next morning. I'm up early. Don't ask me why, because I am definitely not a morning person, but today I'm up early. Ish.

"Like what?" dad asks.

"I don't know," she shrugs.

"Ice-skating," Rosalie states matter-of-factly. "We haven't done that at all this winter."

"Oh, I thought you were going to suggest something _fun_," Emmett complains, copying Alice's earlier words, and taking another big bite from his bowl of cereal. He is mocking, though.

"Ice-skating can be fun," she defends. "And Bella can come."

Bella almost chokes on her milk when her name is being said.

"Oh yes!" Alice says, warming up to the idea. "Have you ever done that before?" she asks Bella.

Bella shakes her head, looking a bit more uneasy now.

"You can learn. We should all go. Mom, dad?" Alice asks, all enthusiasm.

My parents look at each other. "Why not?" mom says, and I feel my good mood drop several notches. I can totally see this morphing into a family outing. Unless Emmett refuses to go.

"Oh, no," Emmett groans theatrically, leaning his head on his arms on the table. My hope rises a bit.

"You can stay home," dad tells him simply.

Emmett looks up. "Are you kidding me? I am _so_ coming along."

Yep, this is going to be a family thing.

"Let's make it a real day out," mom says.

See?

"Aw, really?" Jasper complains.

"It'll be fun. Let's go. Wrap up nice and warm, because it will be cold there."

In varying stages of enthusiasm, everybody goes up to dress for our impromptu outing. As I take my dishes to the sink, I notice that Bella lingers. She's writing a note for Esme.

"No worries, honey. We can teach you."

Hmm. Seems that she's not going to get out of this, either.

It's not very crowded at the ice skating rink, which I think is good for Bella. We all rent skates since none of us have our own, and saunter over to some benches to put them on.

"God, it's been ages since I did this," Jasper mutters, wrenching his foot into an ice hockey skate. "If I break something, I blame you," he tells dad.

"You'll be fine," dad placates him. "Trust me, I'm a doctor."

We all chuckle at that age old joke and one by one, we wobble over the soft flooring towards the actual ice.

"I bet you five bucks that dad will land on his ass before he has two feet on the ice," Emmett says behind me.

"I bet you ten Jasper beats him to it."

"Or Bella," Emmett replies, nodding at her sitting form. She's taking her sweet time tying up the laces of her skates, a tell-tale sign to everyone that she's not too fond of actually joining us on the ice.

"Bella doesn't count. I don't think she's ever even been on ice before."

Emmett shrugs and hops past me, landing on the ice. He's steady-footed, he's been here multiple times over the winter as an addition to his regular practice schedule.

Dad is less sure on his feet, but he keeps his balance. Jasper lands flat on his ass before he has even moved.

I throw my head back and laugh. "Ten bucks, Emmett!"

Jasper scowls at me and scrambles back to his feet again, holding on to dad's outstretched arm for support. Alice and Rosalie walk past me as well, both wearing skates for figure skating. Behind me, mom is helping Bella up. Bella is actually holding mom's arm, and I feel a big smile spread on my face when I see her accepting help and touch like that.

Knowing that they won't be happy with an audience, I step onto the ice as well. Gah, it's slippery. Much more than I remembered it being. But after a few minutes, I am more certain and I make a round with my father and brothers, getting the hang of it again. Rosalie catches up with us and she and Emmett race away, chasing each other.

I can see the other women flocking around Bella. She's on the ice, but she's not moving as yet. She's holding mom's hand, and Alice is standing near with outstretched arms, ready to catch her when she falls. When Bella wobbles, Alice grabs her arm to steady her. Bella flinches from the touch and because of that she really falls, bouncing on her behind and looking more than a little surprised.

By holding on to the surrounding of the ice track, she gets herself back to her feet again. She shakes her head a little and accepts mom's hand again, but in a moment, she has fallen again. The third time, she takes mom with her to the ground. Bella is obviously shocked, but mom assures her everything is fine.

We have made our way to them by now, and I hear mom say that she's not steady enough herself to help Bella.

"Me neither," Alice says.

"I can help," I offer before I can stop myself. Bella looks up at me, and I smile at her to reassure her. In her eyes I can see that she's thinking about last night as well. We had ended our conversation with the solid promise that we wouldn't pay any attention to rules or whatever, and that as long as we liked each other's company, it would be okay. We had sealed it with a fist pump and she had left me, smiling as she closed the door with a click.

I stretch out my hands into her direction and after some hesitation, she takes them. Perhaps it's easier for her to hold hands, since we're all wearing thick protective gloves. Her touch is tentative, but stronger when she loses her balance and uses my hands to keep herself upright.

"That's it," I say. "Lean forward." She leans on my hands heavier, and I start skating backwards a bit, trying to get her to glide along with me. She does, for a few feet, and then it's like her skates block. She lurches forward, falling against my chest. Her eyes go wide in horror as she falls toward me. Seeing it coming, I replace my hands and wrap them around her back, so as to keep her upright. I don't want her to fall on her knees. Ice is _really_ hard.

She leans against me heavily, her skates slipping on the ice again and again as she tries to regain her footing. I'm reminded of that night on the porch, when she fell backwards and I caught her, too. I can't help but like the feeling of having her in my arms, her head leaning against my chest. It's tainted though by the fact that I _know_ she doesn't like it at all.

Finally, finally, she seems to be steady again, and I pull back a little, to see if she's okay. Her eyes are still wide and her face is flushed, shocked. I smile reassuringly and lighten my grip on her to see if she is going to stay upright. In the next moment, without any warning whatsoever, she disappears from my view. I have to look down to see her sitting on the ice. Her look is so comical that I burst out laughing, as do mom and Alice, who have been witnessing Bella's struggle.

As she tries to get back to her feet again, this time being aided by Alice, Rosalie skates up to us. "Come on," she tells Bella. "Let me show you how it's done." She actually pushes me away, which is funny because I can't even stop her on the ice. Then she stands in front of Bella and takes her hands.

"Lean forward, yes, like that. Relax your knees. Don't look down, look at me. I'm going to move now, try to move with me."

And just like that, Bella is gliding over the ice, pulled by Rosalie. Alice and mom follow her, positioning themselves so that other people on the ice can't get too close to Bella.

A not-so-subtle tap on my shoulder pulls my attention away. "You're it," Jasper says, sprinting away. Game, I follow him to the center of the ice, chasing my dad when I see he's closest to me. We play for a good twenty minutes, until we're getting exhausted. I am caught off guard when dad comes up from behind and tackles me mercilessly. I fall not-so-elegantly on my hip and immediately feel a bruise bloom.

"Thanks!" I shout after him, and he laughs, until Emmett crashes into him from the side and dad is hit so hard he glides several feet over the ice on his back. I am still laughing when I get up, attempting once more to make my way to Bella to see how she is.

Just as I come over, she turns her head to look at me. The movement makes her lose her balance yet again, and once more she falls on her rear. She hides her face in her hands, and for a moment I'm worried that she is crying. Her body is shaking.

"Bella? Are you okay?" mom asks, worried.

Bella nods and when she lowers her hands to just cover her mouth, we can see she's laughing. And not just laughing, she's in hysterics. Tears are appearing in the corners of her eyes, and one arm wraps around her waist, probably because her stomach is starting to hurt.

But as we look on, a bit lost to see Bella laughing like that, her expression changes, and morphs into crying. She hides her face again, in mortification this time. Mom kneels down beside her and murmurs soothing words. I meet Alice's gaze, and she's as lost as I am.

Dad comes over, looking worried. "What happened? Did she hurt herself?"

"No, she was laughing, and then she was crying," Alice says in a small voice.

"Ah," dad says, as if it's totally understandable. He kneels near Bella as well, and tells her that it's okay. Around us, a few other people have stopped to see what's going on, but Rosalie stares them away quite efficiently. After a few minutes, Bella gets back up with mom's aid and dad follows them as they disappear from the ice.

"What's going on? Did she hurt herself?" Emmett asks.

I shrug. "I have no idea. She was laughing and then she started crying. Something upset her, but I don't know what."

"Well, she doesn't need an audience with that, for sure," Rosalie says. "Let's go. They need some space."

We all follow her and make some rounds, but I'm not at ease. Why was Bella laughing so hard? I've never seen her show so much emotion like that. And why did it morph into crying? I know that sometimes people can laugh so hard it turns into crying, but what set her off like that? When I see dad stepping onto the ice again, I hurry to the side of the track before anyone can stop me, and go off looking for mom and Bella.

I find them at a table, near a booth where you can buy hot chocolate and candy. Mom looks over Bella's shoulder when she sees me approach, and with my gaze I ask her if it's all right if I join her.

When she nods, I greet them both out loud and slip onto the bench beside my mom, not wanting to make Bella feel crowded.

"You better now?" I ask her. Her hands are wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate, though it seems she's not going to do much more than holding on to it for the warmth.

She nods slowly, lost in thoughts, it seems. I shift my gaze to my mom, hoping that she will tell me what just happened. But she shakes her head. It seems that the reason that set Bella off will be staying private for now.

Maybe if I can catch Bella alone, she will tell me about it. After all, she's been telling me more and more about her old life, lately. Using the book _Coralline_ as a medium turned out to be an excellent way to get her to open up.

If only I could do more to take away her fears.

We stay at the ice skating rink for a while longer, but Bella doesn't return to the ice. I can't blame her. She's been very brave by trying to ice skate. If we had done this in October, when she first got here, I think she would have shut down completely.

We drive home in two cars again. Emmett, Rosalie and Jasper are with me in the Volvo, and we are listening to a CD with cabaret Emmett has brought. We're laughing so hard at times I'm having trouble to stay focused on the wheel. Especially the pieces from Eddie Murphy, from his shows _Raw_ and _Delirious_, have us wheezing. It's best that our parents don't know we have this, though.

We're ordering pizza for a change, and Bella wanders around the house aimlessly, lost as she can't help out in the kitchen. Just as I am about to try and engage her in conversation, Alice beats me and lures Bella to the television, where they play in a team on the Wii.

Shrugging, I make my way to the piano where I sit down and play an aimless melody, not really feeling like playing something I already know.

"Edward," my dad says softly as he comes up behind me. I turn and greet him with a smile.

"How's your hip?" he asks, referring to the fall I made on the ice earlier. He walks around me and leans his elbow on the piano.

"Pretty bruised, but I'll live," I say with a smirk. "How's your back?"

He laughs quietly. "I'll be okay." He looks into the direction of the living room, and then back at me. "It looks like you solved things with Bella?"

I smile. "She solved things with me, more like. She came to my room last night and apologized. We had a good talk after that."

"That's good, son. I'm glad to hear that." He looks into the direction of the living room again. "She seemed happy, today."

"Until she burst into tears," I observe.

A painful look crosses over his face. "Ah, yes, that was unfortunate."

"What happened?" I ask. I know it's not my right to do so, but I am dying to know.

"That's not for me to tell," he replies, much like I expected.

"She was upset," I press.

He meets my gaze. "Sometimes, extreme emotions like laughter and tears, or love and hate, are not as far apart on the spectrum as we think."

I frown at his cryptic answer. What does he mean by that? But before I can ask anything else, the doorbell rings and the pizza has arrived.

Bella picks at her food, but she doesn't seem tense. When I look closer, I suddenly realize that she's too tired to eat. She must be exhausted after this day out. I've never seen her so active or outgoing as she has been today, and it must be taking its toll on her now. This is why I am not surprised as she turns in just before nine, her footsteps slow on the stairs.

I guess I won't be talking to her tonight then, either.

On Sunday I clean my room a little bit. I come across the cream Alice gave me to help prevent scars from forming on my palms. Reading the description on the tube, I learn that it can be used on old scars as well. Immediately, my mind flies to the burn I saw on Bella's arm when she was cooking for Christmas. But would she even accept it if I mention this to her? She's so meticulous about hiding her marks from us. Only one person will know.

"Alice," I say as I open her door after a knock.

She doesn't even hear me, the rattle of her sewing machine shutting out every other sound.

"Alice," I repeat when she stops for a moment.

She looks up at me and smiles. "Hey. You sore too, after yesterday?"

"Enormously," I reply. "My back aches like an old man."

She grins. "Yeah, I should be more active as well. Hey, look what Bella gave me." She walks over to where a new quilt is draped over the end of the bed. She picks it up and brings it to me.

It's a beautiful piece of work, an intricate pattern of different colors of fabric sewn together with neat stitches.

"This is pretty," I compliment.

"Isn't it amazing? It's the first she made. She insisted I take it from her."

"She _made_ this?" I ask, incredulous. I look at the quilt again, in pure amazement this time. Holy crap. She made this.

Alice beams at me. "I'm so happy I took her to the fabric store that day. Maybe I'll take her again next week, so she can buy new fabrics."

"Has mom seen this?"

"She has. She was as speechless as us."

I shake my head in disbelief. "And she really thinks she's not good at anything."

"I know right?"

I hand the quilt back to Alice and look on as she drapes it over her bed again lovingly. Then she turns to me. "What brings you here?"

Briefly I consider if I should come up with a different subject first, but she knows me too well. When I meet her gaze, she simply smiles, and says, "Bella."

Reaching in my pocket, I pull out the tube of cream she gave me. "Do you think Bella would accept this?"

Alice looks at the cream. "How would I know?"

I shrug, thinking it was a bad idea to come here.

"Does she have scars?" Alice asks.

For one moment, I'm completely surprised. "You didn't know?"

She looks offended. "No, I don't, Edward. How would I know? I've never seen anything but her hands or face."

"What are you saying?"

She sighs, frustrated, it seems. "Nothing. Just… how do _you_ even know she has scars?"

I look down, bashful. "I saw her arms once, when her sleeves were rolled up." I don't tell Alice about the burn I saw. What I'm giving her should be enough information.

As always, she understands me, my reasons and my words.

"Well, I think if anyone should offer that cream to her, it should be you. She won't take it from anyone else. Yeah, mom, perhaps."

"Should I let mom do it?"

Alice shrugs. "Maybe just see how it goes. If she gets very upset when you mention her scars, you might just want to leave it. There's a reason she's hiding her skin, you know."

"Do you think her foster father caused them?" I ask, knowing my own answer to that question.

"I'm pretty sure her foster father caused them. God, I can't even begin to imagine what her life must have been like."

"But she's getting better now," I reply. "I think she is, at least."

"She told mom she wants to try out touching more," Alice says proudly. "Next thing I know, she's hanging first on your and then on Rosalie's arms to learn how to ice skate."

"She wants to try touching more? That is good to hear."

Alice nods with a smile. "I only hope she's not going too fast, though. She had quite a day yesterday."

"Maybe that's what she needs, sometimes. Enough courage to just do it, you know? But I don't expect her to be this easy every day from now on."

"If anything, I worry there'll be a setback," Alice says. "But at least we were able to show her how good it can be when she allows us in."

I nod in agreement. "So, how's your sewing going?"

"Oh!" she exclaims happily, and she gets up to show me the green dress she's working on. It really is beautiful, and I'm not ashamed to admit that, even. The moss green silk flows nicely and I can see what the end product will look like when she drapes it over her mannequin.

"It will take me some time before it's finished. I want to do something with the fabric here… Wait, let me show you a picture." She bounces over to her pc and googles an image of what she wants to do. I can't even begin to describe it, but I think it looks pretty.

Alice talks more about the dress, and then tells me she wants to try her hand at men's clothing as well. "Will you help me?" she says. "Jasper just doesn't have the patience for that."

"And I do?"

She smiles sweetly at me. "Yes, of course."

**~O~**

School passes in the same haze. Purgatory, that's all I can say. Although, at least Biology is bearable once again now that Bella is no longer ignoring me. She also lets me drive her to therapy again on Tuesday, which I think is a good sign.

When we get home from her therapy session, the house is in uproar. There's definite festive atmosphere as we learn that both Rosalie and Emmett have received a letter of acceptance for the University of Washington. We celebrate it with a party meal and snacks after dinner. I am so happy for them.

But, again it takes away any chance to catch Bella alone.

I haven't tried to talk to her about her tiny melt-down on the ice. I also haven't given her the cream yet. I have no idea how to bring that subject up. The chance she'll let her guard down so far again that she rolls up her sleeves is nonexistent, I think. And I don't think there's any other way I am going to see one of her scars by accident. She's much too vigilant for that.

Instead, I buy her tea again when she's once more cold in school, on Wednesday.

"Hey Emmett, what will you buy for mom's birthday?" Jasper asks as I sit down again.

I hand over the Styrofoam cup to Bella, who reaches out her hands to take it from me. She flashes me such a brilliant smile in thanks I'm momentarily taken off guard. "You're welcome." With effort, I take away my gaze from her and try to focus on the conversation around me.

"God, I don't know," Emmett mutters. "It's three weeks away, still."

"So? I'm asking you now," Jasper comes back easily. "Or don't you have anything yet?"

"Nope," he says, sitting back. "I'll have to go into town with Rosie."

Rosalie shoots him some daggers, and it's clear that she expects him to weasel his way out of buying gifts again.

"Dad is going to buy her a greenhouse," Alice says. "It's so awesome."

"A greenhouse? That _is_ something," Rosalie replies.

"So maybe we can all buy her plants and seeds for said greenhouse," Alice continues.

"Are you sure he's buying that?" Jasper asks.

I get out my phone and send our father a quick text to verify, and to tell him of our idea. He replies almost instantly, confirming his gift and complimenting ours. So, it's a go. Now to find a good gardening center where we can buy supplies.

We plan to go the next Saturday. Alice, Jasper Bella and I will go to Port Angeles first. Emmett has practice and can't make it, and Rosalie insists that he is coming along with her when she goes out to shop for gifts.

I know nothing about plants, but then again, neither of us does. Alice goes off in search of a shop attendant to ask him for help, and I look around the hall, taking in the countless plants in every color, shape and size.

Bella looks lost and uncomfortable, and she makes sure she never turns her back to us as she wanders around the hall. She doesn't even seem to realize that she does so. It's one of the many mannerisms I have learned she has mastered to deal with her past life.

She listens intently when the shop assistant tells us what plants we could best buy for a greenhouse, and she helps to pick some. We finally decide to just make an inventory of what we would like to buy, and to go back just before Mom's birthday.

"We will need Emmett's Jeep to get those home," Jasper observes.

"That's good, then he doesn't get out of helping us this time," Alice replies. "Hey, it's still early, shall we go to the mall or something?"

"Sure," I say. Jasper is game, too. Bella simply nods and follows us carefully as we walk back to the car. When we arrive at the mall, she is once more walking half a step behind us.

I thought we had cleared that issue? Stopping, I turn to her and meet her gaze pointedly with my eyebrows raised. From the corner of my eye, I can see Alice and Jasper's surprise, but this is not about them. This is about Bella needing to know, to learn, that she can walk next to us. We're not indulging her. We _want_ her here.

Bella seems to understand immediately, because she ducks her head as she blushes and bites her lip to hide a smile. Then she bridges the distance between us and when we start walking again, she is next to us, instead of behind.

"Subtle," Alice says quietly to prevent Bella from hearing it. "I never noticed it before."

"I did," I whisper back. I did.

We decide to go to a cozy café at fist, to have a drink and warm up a little. Bella amazes us all by accepting hot chocolate as well. None of us fail to notice that when she drinks, she looks at me.

Jasper breaks the sudden tension by dipping his chin in the whipped cream and bleating like a goat. Bella looks on in utter surprise, but with amusement in her eyes. Alice and I laugh loudly, attracting attention from some of the other guests.

"Gross," Alice laughs, picking up a napkin to wipe Jasper's face. "Wasting good cream, too."

Jasper shrugs, sipping his drink. He doesn't say anything, but a silent understanding passes between us. He knows it's pretty huge Bella is sitting down with us, with him. Out of all the people in the house, he and dad are the ones Bella has been carefully staying away from. She's even getting closer to Emmett, which is something, given his size. You'd expect he would be the one she'd avoid.

I think I can understand why she would stay clear from dad, but why she doesn't like Jasper, I don't know. Then again, she doesn't have to become friends with everyone in the house, right? As long as they are civilized, it should be okay.

We walk around the mall for a bit after we have finished our drinks. Jasper and Alice are in front of Bella and me, their interlinked hands swinging leisurely between them. I feel a pang of regret when I see their intimacy, realizing once more that I long for such a connection, as well.

A sigh escapes me before I can help myself, and from the corner of my eye I see Bella looking at me. When I turn my head to meet her gaze, her eyes flicker to Alice and Jasper's joined hands before she looks back at me. There's something in her eyes I can't define, a haunting, hollow emptiness I can't explain.

Confused, I avert my gaze. I'm seeing things that aren't there, for sure. I try to focus on the shop windows we pass, attempting to ignore that niggling thought that she might want more, too.

Too?

What do _I_ want? Do I really just want to be her friend? I thought I was. But lately, I have been having the increasing urge to touch her, to be near her. Is that really just friendliness? And what if it evolves into more? Surely it's an impossibility. She doesn't want that, I think.

Even if I fall for her, I don't expect her to return those feelings. And it won't change the way I am around her, I am sure about that. She deserves kindness, and I want to give her that. It's not hard to see how she is blooming under our attention.

Yet, what does it make me, if I feel more for her than she does for me? How's that for equality in a possible friendship? Wouldn't that be incredibly selfish of me?

Lost in my thoughts, I walk right into Jasper when he stops to look at watches on display at a jeweler. He quirks a brow at me, but lets it go when I shrug.

I think I have to talk to Alice again.

She's with Jasper for almost all the weekend, though, so I don't get the chance to get her alone. In the meantime, I observe Bella and try to determine how I feel. I don't get much wiser, though. All I know is that I want to be near her, and that I have to be careful. To crowd her is the last thing I want.

I am robbed of the privilege of driving her to Port Angeles on Tuesday, since Alice has decided that she needs fabrics exactly that day. I don't dare saying anything about it, knowing it will provoke questions if others learn I want to be the one to drive Bella.

Instead, I sit at my baby grand, and start working on the final song in the book Bella gave me for Christmas. It's light, tentative almost, and really sweet. When I'm tired of practicing, I start up the stairs to go to my room and maybe do some homework.

Jasper calls me when he hears me on the landing. I go into his room and find him sitting at his desk.

"Look at this," he says, showing me images on the screen of his pc. He has made insanely beautiful pictures of just about anything. He truly has a knack of capturing visuals. The pictures he made of Emmett, Alice, dad and me are wonderful. He also photographed mom beautifully.

"You should have some of those framed," I tell him. "Mom will love that, I'm sure."

Jasper beams. "I'm so happy with my camera, I can't even begin to tell you."

I smile. "That's like me and my guitar. I never realized how much I missed playing."

"Mom really knows us."

He nods in agreement, and turns back to the screen to browse through more photos. He has taken a lot already.

"Look at this," he says, softer now. Up pops an image of Bella, captured from the side. She looks up, a distinct look of alarm in her eyes. "This is when dad said her name."

I shake my head. "To be so scared… It's a miracle she can function at all, sometimes."

Jasper double clicks another image. "This is her reading."

Gone is the tension from her face, replaced by a look of intense concentration. A tiny frown puckers between her brows, and her eyes are intent, but not tense.

"I want that picture." The words are out of my mouth before I know it. Oops.

"You'll want _this_ one," Jasper says. The picture that appears on the screen is magnificent. Bella, looking over her shoulder at something that caught her attention. Her hair is moving a tiny bit with the quick turn of her head. Her face is devoid of any stress, and there is a decidedly hopeful look in her eyes.

"I took this a few days ago," he explains.

She must have been in a really good mood, then.

Jasper continues. "I took this just after you called her name." He turns to look at me. I'm just looking at the picture, mesmerized. "I'll email it to you," he says quietly.

"Thanks." I'm still looking at the image. The difference between her expression when dad called her and when I did, is striking.

"Stop ogling," Jasper suddenly says, and I'm shaken out of my stupor.

"What?"

My brother snickers. "Stop drooling over her."

I frown. "I'm not drooling."

"Dude, you're head over heels. It's high time you start realizing that."

A sigh escapes me. "I am," I say quietly.

Jasper's face turns serious immediately. He knows this is not the time to make a joke, and I never appreciated that more than I do right now. In his eyes I can see that he understands immediately what my confession entails.

"You are?"

I nod, a bit sad for some reason.

"Shit."

"Yeah. Well, I guess there's nothing I can do but hope it will pass. I don't think this can ever happen, you know?"

Jasper looks at the screen again, at the image of Bella looking up when she heard me saying her name. "I don't know. But I don't understand her to begin with, so I'm not the right person to ask. Maybe you should talk to Alice about it."

"About what?" my pixie sister asks.

I look over my shoulder to see her standing in the doorway. "How long have you been there?" I ask.

Her eyes are shining when she answers. "Long enough." She walks over to me and wraps her arms tightly around my waist. "I'm so happy for you," she says into my chest.

"What do I do?" I ask her as I hug her back.

"Just let it evolve. I just hope you won't have to let her down."

"I won't," I say fiercely. "Ever."

"See?" she replies as she pulls back to look up at me. "Nothing to worry about, then."

If only it were that easy.

I try to move on like nothing has happened. It's no use. Something has awakened in me, and I'm seeing Bella with new eyes. I have a basic knowledge of her past, and I know that chances of her ever returning these feelings are nonexistent. I brace myself for it. But when I look at Bella, all I see is the light in her big brown eyes, the way she smiles more and more often at me, at all of us, the way she seems to move more easily and more graceful in that process.

More than once she catches me looking at her, and sometimes I don't even bother to look away. I'm not ogling. I'm admiring. She doesn't half know how wonderful she is.

On Friday afternoon, the phone rings. Since I am alone in the living room, I answer it.

"_Edward, hi, how are you? It's Renée."_

Renée, Renée, Renée… The name rings a bell.

"_Bella's old therapist_," she adds, saving me the question. _"And an old friend of your parents."_

"Oh, that Renée," I say with a smile. "Hello."

Just as I want to tell her that Esme is away for Bella's therapy, I can hear them in the garage. I make some small talk with this woman I don't remember ever having met, until mom steps into the house.

"It's Renée," I tell mom as I hand the phone to her. Behind her, Bella is pulled from her thoughts when I mention the name. Her eyes go wide and her mouth pops open as she looks from me to the phone.

"Renée! How lovely to hear from you," mom says happily, walking into the direction of the kitchen. Bella shrugs off her coat and follows her hesitantly, a hopeful look etched on her face. It's clear she hopes to speak to this woman as well, as far as that is possible.

I linger in the living room, hearing mom talk to Bella's old therapist. Bella hovers, not too close as to be accused of eaves dropping, but close enough to know when mom is ending the conversation.

From what I can tell, Renée is planning to come over some time. I don't know when, but since she's a good friend of my parents, I don't think it's weird she wants to visit. And maybe she'll want to see Bella, as well. From what I gathered, Renée was the one that placed Bella here.

When it's clear that the conversation is ending, Bella shoots into the kitchen. The silence that follows intrigues me and I go towards the kitchen under the ruse of getting a drink.

Bella is holding the phone against her ear. Her eyes are closed and the biggest, happiest smile I have ever seen is on her face. She nods, but, realizing Renée won't see that, she taps on the receiver twice.

It's the weirdest and most beautiful phone call I have ever witnessed. Never before have I seen Bella as elated as this. When I look over at mom, I see she's smiling as well.

Bella ends the phone call after a few minutes and she stands still for a moment, hugging the receiver to her chest.

"She's coming over, did she tell you?" mom says softly behind her.

Bella turns to face her and nods. I can just see how she bites her lip in ill-contained excitement.

"Are you happy?" mom asks, needlessly.

Again Bella nods. As mom gets up, I fulfill my excuse of making a drink, to witness what is going on in the kitchen. When I turn back from the fridge and face them again, mom is holding Bella in a warm embrace.


	49. Chapter 49

**A/N I don't own Twilight. I did meet Bellascotia, Love2read30, AishaRotterdam and Lels2768 in Amsterdam last week. **

_Hell all, your unending support keeps me going. Thank you so much. _

_Thanks to Sherry, my beta and my rock, who is always there for me. Thanks to Deb, for being who you are. Can't wait to see you again. Much love to Aleeab4u. You're an angel. Shoutout to Lels. You know why, sweetheart. And endless, infinite thanks to Bob, who talked me through this chapter and then held me up as I broke down. __This has been the hardest chapter for me so far._

_**This chapter contains a strong trigger warning.** There are no graphic descriptions, but please, read with care. You can always contact me if you feel the need to talk. _

_Music:_ Sia - Breathe Me.

* * *

Hmmm.

Esme's arms around me. Nice and strong, she holds me against her. So safe.

When she offered this hug, I couldn't deny it.

I am so happy. And now I get to share it. Renée is coming.

Renée is coming!

I hug Esme a little tighter.

**~O~**

It has been a roller coaster lately. So many things are changing, and I think I have set them all in motion. The smiling. The interaction. The touching. Edward.

Oh, god. Edward.

I went to him, to talk, because I had been stupid and I needed to set things to rights. I could only hope that he would forgive me, even though I knew it would be a miracle if he did.

He did.

We talked. We laughed. He smiled at me. He touched me, and I didn't mind it.

Not at all.

How's that?

Confusing, to say the least.

But I wanted to try touching more. Decided that would be a late New Year's resolution: try touch. I told Esme, and Alice knows it, too. The rest doesn't, and that's okay.

I'm okay with it, so long as I can see it coming. So long as it is gentle and purposeful, perhaps. My big test was when we went ice-skating.

Oh, my god.

It was huge. I would never have done that in my old life. No, sir. Because I've never done it before, and the moment I would have fallen on my ass, Stefan would have told me what a worthless piece of shit I was.

But, as Siobhan told me, I can spend my time waiting for that other shoe to drop, or I can just start to explore my new boundaries. And she's right - what do I have to lose? I mean, even if they turn against me, I will finally, _finally_ know what I'm in for.

They didn't. They weren't even nasty when I fell. I even fell against Edward, when he tried to pull me forward. Oh, god! It felt like it took me minutes to get my footing again! And he held me all that time, making sure I didn't fall, but never holding me too tight. I wasn't alarmed as much as I was mortified.

When I finally was stable again, I met his gaze to see if he was annoyed or anything. But in his eyes I could only see care, and, I don't know, happiness? Tenderness? I couldn't name it, but it surprised me so much that I fell flat on my ass yet again.

But I did it. I tried something new, and I accepted help from the others. They didn't shun me, or laugh at me for being such a klutz. Instead, they were patient, friendly, and everyone was willing to help.

I must admit though that when Rosalie took Edward's place, it was easier for me for the ice-skating itself. Less distraction, I guess. Because he's a guy, you know. And I don't like guys by default.

Except Edward.

But it was still better when Rosalie helped me. She's no-nonsense. I like her honesty. She doesn't treat my like I'm breakable. Esme does that, sometimes, as does Alice. I don't mind, I still prefer that above being beaten, but Rosalie is so clear I am absolutely sure she doesn't have ulterior motives.

It's nice.

I'm in my room, working on my second quilt. I left the door ajar, to feel some connection with the rest of the house. I always ask if it's okay to spend time in my room, and Esme almost always agrees. When she feels like I'm spending too much time here, she will ask if I want to stay with the family downstairs. But right now, I'm here. If I am lucky, I may be able to finish this quilt for her birthday.

I'll have to work really hard, though.

Fortunately, cutting the squares of fabric doesn't make any sound, so I can do that at night, when the house is sleeping. I've been sleeping poorly, lately. I'm dreaming more and more often about my past, strangely intermixed with my current life. I dream that Stefan is here when I come home. I dream Laurent comes into my room at night and stands at the foot of my bed, much like he used to do when I was still with him.

So far I have been able to cope. When the walls seem to be closing in on me, I slip from my room at night. Edward must have been sleeping better lately, because I haven't seen him anymore. One night, I even slipped into the laundry room and pressed the folds into the pieces of fabric for my quilt. Nobody noticed I was there for three hours straight.

I think Alice has a hunch, because she knows how much time quilting actually takes. I made hers in a matter of weeks. It wasn't as perfect as I had hoped it would become, but she had nearly cried in happiness when I gave it to her.

Why was she so happy? Didn't she tell me to make her something pretty? But, she accepted it, and that was very nice. It made me feel happy, too.

A slight knock on my doorframe pulls me from my thoughts. Looking up, I can see Edward standing in the doorway, a smile on his face.

"Hey," he says softly. "Can I come in?"

I nod, and quickly finish the piece I was sewing. If I stop half way through, I can't pick it up again without it showing. Edward sits at the foot of the bed and waits patiently for me to be done.

As I turn to him, I momentarily hesitate and then make a combination of two gestures. I know he knows them. He sent me the link to the video himself. Making loose fists with my thumbs still somewhat outstretched, I let the backs of the top half of my fingers touch. Then I twist my right hand forward, so my thumb points out and away from me. After that, I point at Edward.

His smile is so bright it could very well light up the room. "I see you got my email."

Smiling back at him shyly, I nod. It was simple, really. It's sign language for 'how are you.' And since it's only two movements, to be made close to my body, I feel comfortable using them.

If only to see Edward smile like that.

"I'm good," he answers my question. "You?"

I nod and smile to let him know I'm okay. My lack of sleep is starting to wear me down however. If only those dreams would stay away...

"I've been wanting to ask you something, but I have no idea how to bring it up," he says.

Ruh-roh. That can't be good, now can it? If he's worried that it will upset me, there's a good chance that it will. But he's here now, so he might as well get it over with. Letting him know I am willing to listen to his questions, I open my laptop and wake it from sleep by hitting the space bar.

He chuckles humorlessly, but shifts on the bed, uncomfortable. "Feel free to ignore me if you don't want to answer this, but... When we went ice-skating, you fell, and then you laughed. But it turned into crying. What happened?"

Oh, he was right. I don't like this, and I'd rather not talk about that. I told Esme and Carlisle, and that was bad enough. But then I see Edwards gaze, which is full of concern, and I realize he isn't asking to make me uncomfortable. He genuinely wants to know.

Like I would want to know what was wrong when I saw him upset, perhaps. Not that he'd ever let me in like that, but alas.

With a soft sigh, I type on my laptop.

_It's not easy for me to talk about that_

"I thought as much," he says quietly. "And if you don't want to tell me, I understand. I really do. I've just been wondering about it, and, well... I just didn't like to see you so upset."

He ducks his head at the last bit. Is he really shy? That's something new. Why would he ask about this if it makes _him_ uncomfortable? My mind replays his words. _Didn't like to see you so upset._

Holy shit.

He really cares.

Could I tell him? When I told Carlisle and Esme, after tremendous coaxing, they had been nothing but comforting. Maybe Edward will be too. And if he isn't, I will finally...

Yeah. I should tell him.

Ugh.

_I fell so often my _

My what? Rear, behind, ass? Derrière? Double ugh.

_I fell so often my behind started to hurt. And I thought it was funny that it was hurting because of something else than a beating. But then I realized it wasn't funny at all._

There you go.

I swallow thickly and look away when he reads my words. The shame of my past burns brightly on my cheeks and when I hear Edward's throat bobbing, I can't look his way.

"I'm sorry," he says softly.

My response is quick.

_Don't pity me_

"I'm not," he counters. "I'm just sorry you were so upset. You have a lot to deal with. That's not pity."

_Then what is it?_

"Compassion. I care about you, Bella, even if you have a hard time believing that. I guess I'll just have to keep repeating it until you realize it."

Now I do meet his gaze, and his eyes are fierce with sincerity.

I want to touch him.

No, don't do that.

I shouldn't. Let them come to me. It's bad to want for things. Weak.

He clears his throat, breaking the tension. "I brought something else, since we're already discussing things you're uncomfortable with."

Now what?

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tube of something. I accept it from him and see the name of the cream. 'Vitamine E,' it says underneath it.

"Um," he starts hesitantly, his voice suddenly hoarse. "Alice got me that cream for my hands, when I fell. But the scarring was already minimal, due to your excellent care," he adds with a forced smile.

Why is he so nervous all of a sudden? I turn the tube over in my hands and see the description. To prevent scarring and to help existing scars fade.

What...

Edward is still talking. "I saw once you have a burn on your arm. The cream helps with existing scars as well, so..."

My eyes fly up to meet his gaze. I don't know what to think of this. It's nice of him to think of me, sure, but I never wanted him to know I had scars in the first place. What do I do? Do I accept it? Would it help? Would I want to use it? Do I want my scars to fade? I have so many, I try to look at them as little as possible.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have meddled with that." He looks away now, his hand coming up to rub to the back of his neck, a clear sign of his discomfort.

I sit frozen, still unable to even form an opinion about this cream.

"I'm sorry I saw your scar. Do you remember when that was? You were cooking, and you had your sleeves rolled up in the kitchen. That's when I noticed the burn mark. I've been walking around with this cream for weeks, trying of a way to give it to you." He falls silent and looks away.

I don't want him to be uncomfortable like that.

_It's okay_

The sound of my fingers on the keys draws his attention to the screen.

He shakes his head. "It's not. I shouldn't have brought it up."

_You couldn't know._

He looks into my eyes for a long moment. "I should have known," he says quietly.

I frown.

_How? You don't know me? _

He smiles, a little sadly. "I know you better than you think, Bella. Even though you're an expert at hiding your emotions and your personality, sometimes you truly are an open book."

My mouth falls open at his clear words.

"To me, at least," he amends.

Wait, what?

Before my scrambling thoughts gain any coherence, he gets up from the bed. "See if you want to use the cream. Else you can put it in the downstairs bathroom."

At the door, he bids me a quiet goodnight, and then he is gone. I am bereft with the unshakeable feeling that he is sad, and that I somehow caused this with him. But what did I do to make his mood change so much?

**~O~**

Renée is coming. It takes me a day or so to gather the courage to ask Esme when exactly she'll be here.

Esme doesn't know. The first tentative plans have been laid out, but Renée isn't certain yet when she can take time off. She just wanted to know if we were up to it.

My pent up anxiety deflates as I learn that I have no date I can count down to. More disappointed than I want to admit, I go upstairs again and work on the quilt. Maybe, if I have enough time, I can make one for Renée as well. To give in exchange for the quilt she gave me when I moved here.

I rattle away on the sewing machine, until Esme knocks on my door to tell me that it's very late, and the house would like to sleep.

My blush explodes as my mortification washes over me. I never meant to bother the rest of the family with my _sounds_ no less.

"No," Esme says, "don't worry. I'm just telling you nicely. It's not a reprimand."

With my head still down I nod, and I move to turn off the machine before Esme has left again after wishing me goodnight. I hadn't even noticed it was nearing midnight. And I am wide awake.

With a deep sigh, I settle myself to wait until I'm sure the house is sleeping, and then I go downstairs with my e-reader to make myself some hot milk. For some reason, I don't want to sleep tonight.

Nor the next.

Or the next.

Tuesday in therapy, I'm dead on my feet. I used to be able to function on little sleep, but it seems like I have lost that ability. I had trouble staying awake in Edward's car on the way to Port Angeles, and that's something I've never experienced before. It's incredibly dangerous to fall asleep with someone so close.

Siobhan takes me in with a thoughtful look. "Are you not sleeping well?"

I shake my head, too tired to deny it. I just want to sit down on that couch, please. Maybe rest my head on the back for a bit…

"Is there a reason you are sleeping poorly?" Her voice is soft, caring. I've come to really like her. I no longer worry about what she will ask and what she will do with that knowledge.

Opening my eyes, I have to look down to see her, since my head is lying back against the sofa. Comfortable. I nod, barely discernible, and point at my temple. Dreams are waking me up and thoughts are keeping me awake. I can't win.

Stefan and Laurent are constantly in my head. I keep seeing their disapproving looks, keep hearing their sneering voices if they would see me now. Happy, at ease, slacking off. Not doing my duties, not keeping myself out of the way. Demanding attention, affection, even. They wouldn't like it. They'd beat it out of me, for sure. And in my dreams, they do.

"Bella," Siobhan says softly, pulling me back to the therapy room. "I think it's time for you to start talking about your past."

**~O~**

As much I've been dreading the prospect of this, the reality is infinitely worse. I've kicked off my shoes and am curled up as tightly as possible in a corner of the couch, a soaked tissue held tightly in my left hand as I type.

Siobhan has given me her laptop so I can write more quickly. The words, however, are slow.

She gives me all the time I need. Never pushing, she starts at the beginning with me. And instead of focusing on the events, she now asks me about my emotions.

Fear was an important one. Distress, too. Sorrow. Sadness. More fear. Pain. Pain gets into your brain after a while, becoming an emotion in itself.

My hands are shaking when I type. The confusion I felt when I was still so very little, in that crowded trailer with my grandparents and my mother. I didn't understand why they were shouting so much, so often.

My mother in the hammock, and me sleeping on her chest. The best times were when grandpa was away, at the bar. The worst times were when he came home drunk.

The more I talk, the more I remember. How I met Laurent for the first time when we moved into his house. How he looked at me like I was a dirty spot on his new carpet. How he would pinch me, at first, when my mother wasn't looking. How he made me tell that I got a bruise after I fell.

He made me lie to her.

After serious coaxing, I can write down how I tried to tell my mother that Laurent came to my bed at night, doing things I didn't like, things that hurt. I have to type blindly, since my tears are blurring my vision.

Siobhan asks me again if he had intercourse with me then. I tell her no. I can't tell her what else he did. The shame is too deep, too painful, making my guts wrench. I hunch even deeper, reliving the pain I felt then, the pain of the shame, of knowing, even then, that what he was doing was wrong.

My mother left when I tried to tell her. She warned me to never, ever talk about that and hit me with the red-hot poker that had been lying in the fire. I don't mention the poker. I tell Siobhan how I saw my mother leave in a red car, and how I was left with Laurent.

Siobhan gently interrupts me and asks me how I feel right now.

_Broken_

I feel utterly and completely broken. So much hurt, so much pain, and there was no way out for me. There was nowhere I could go.

"What would you like to say to the Bella you were then?" Siobhan asks softly.

_I'm sorry_

I hiccup from crying, and my hands slip off the keys. It takes me a moment to find the energy to place them back on the keyboard to continue, but I find that I'm out of words.

"Would you want to comfort her?" Siobhan asks.

Tears flow again when I nod. What I would have given for a hug back then. For someone to take pity on me, even though I was learning that it wasn't something I deserved.

"What child doesn't deserve comfort?" she asks quietly. "What child of that age deserves to be treated like that?"

My breakdown is complete when I realize the answer to her questions.

No one. No one deserves to be treated like that.

Ever.

**~O~**

"Jesus," Edward says as he sees my face, red and swollen from crying, when I emerge from the therapy room.

"Edward," Siobhan says behind me, demanding his attention. He looks over my shoulder at my therapist. "Bella had a pretty rough session," she says kindly. "How about you make sure that when she gets home she has some hot milk and goes to sleep after that?"

"Sure thing," he says, moving his gaze back to me again.

"Bella, I'm going to call Esme," Siobhan says softly to remind me of what she proposed at the end of the session. "I will only tell her what we agreed on, okay?"

I can barely nod. Siobhan asked me if she could call Esme to tell her we have made a start with going through my past, and that it is rough on me. That's all. Esme doesn't even know yet what happened with Laurent. As far as I know, the file only says that when he was arrested for fraud, I already was a mute. After this phone call, she will know there was more.

The session has exhausted me, and in my mind, every detail I can remember replays with cruel precision. I can't do anything to force those images from my mind and time and time again I hear his voice, feel his hands. My body shudders involuntarily, as if to shake off the ghost of his touch.

We're at Edward's car before I even realize we've stepped outside. I'm so lost in my thoughts, I only notice that it's raining when Edward curses the weather. He opens the passenger door for me, reaching out when I sway on my feet.

So tired, so very tired…

He walks around to get something from the trunk, and comes back with a blanket. Ignoring my protests, he places it over me. I can feel the warmth almost immediately. Taking his seat behind the wheel, he looks at me before he starts the car.

"Go to sleep."

I shake my head, as much as I long to close my eyes and shut down from everything for a while. I can't sleep with him in the car. I won't be that vulnerable.

"At least just close your eyes then," he presses softly. "You look beat."

I _feel_ beat. Sighing, I turn my head and look out of the window, snuggling deeper into the blanket as Edward sets course to Forks. He keeps the volume of the radio low, and the blanket is nice and warm. I've pulled it up to my shoulders, keeping it tightly around me.

Maybe I can close my eyes for a little bit. I won't fall asleep, but my eyes are burning from my crying, and I'm tired, so tired…

The sound of a door opening startles me awake. In the next moment, my door opens and Edward leans down to look at me. "You awake again?"

I nod, completely disoriented. I fell asleep, and it wasn't a light catnap, either. I've been completely out of it until we got home, making myself incredibly vulnerable. The blanket around me is untouched, and I unfold my arms, stiff from the force with which I have held it around me.

Edward smiles. "I guess you needed it. Let's go inside. I believe you are prescribed some hot milk."

His smile is endearing and I disentangle myself from the blanket as I get out of the car. I'm still in a sleepy haze, but all too soon the session with Siobhan resurfaces in my memory. Back then, I could never go to sleep, knowing that nothing would happen to me. And here, it seems that I can. Edward isn't even blaming me for falling asleep in his car.

For some reason, it makes me cry again.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asks when he notices my tears in the kitchen. He's heated up milk in the microwave and is now placing it before me on the breakfast bar.

I shake my head in a way that I hope conveys I don't want to talk about it. He looks lost and more than a little bit worried, but he doesn't pry. He stays with me as I sip my milk, and I wonder if he's going to send me to bed too, after I've finished the drink. Surely Siobhan didn't mean it literally. When am I supposed to have dinner, then?

At that moment, Carlisle steps into the kitchen. He's still in his work attire and he looks tired. His hair is a bit messy, as if he's been worrying it with his hands. Maybe Edward has that habit from his dad.

Carlisle greets us both, but does a double take when he sees my face. "Bella?"

I duck my head, ashamed of my tears. Surely, a man like he will tell me it's useless to cry, and he will have no patience with my childish behavior. I wipe my face with an angry gesture, but my sleeves were already soaked, thus doing little to help.

Edward looks up at his father. "She came out of therapy like this. Her therapist told me that it had been a rough session and to make sure Bella gets some sleep. And she's going to call mom?" His words become a question, as if he's not sure what he's saying.

Carlisle simply nods. "That's good to know, Edward. And thank you for taking care of Bella like that."

Edward looks back at me again. His hand reaches up as if he wants to touch me, but he stops mid-air and drops it again. "Did you want to go to bed? I can tell mom to save you dinner if you don't wake in time."

I shake my head, fighting the overwhelming desire to go upstairs and hide in the dark. I have to be strong. And I don't want to burden Esme with any special treatment, when I can just stay awake, right? If I can just keep my eyes open, nothing will be wrong.

"Edward, I hear your mother in the garage. Why don't you see if you can assist her with the groceries she's brought?"

The excuse is less than subtle and I can tell Edward realizes it too. Yet, he leaves me behind with Carlisle, and fear replaces exhaustion as I wonder with cold apprehension why he would want to be alone with me right now.

He takes a seat across from me, folding his hands on the surface of the breakfast bar. His eyes are kind, and try as I might, I can't find anything but compassion in his gaze.

"It's okay to cry," he says softly, and as I blink, new tears fall from my eyes. "Don't be ashamed of your tears. You never have to be."

New tears fall, seemingly encouraged by his words. Does he mean them? Why does it mean so much to me to have him tell me that my tears are okay? I don't understand why I am crying in the first place. Then why can't I stop?

Or maybe I do know why I'm crying. I cry for the renewed pain of my past, for the realization that it's okay to hate what happened to me.

I have to sniffle before I make an even bigger idiot out of myself, and Carlisle is quick to hand me a paper towel.

"I know I am not the first one you would go to when you seek comfort," he says after a moment of silence. "But I want you to know that I am there for you, just like everyone else in this house. You don't have to hide how you feel. We completely understand. And we won't think any less of you if you have a bad day like this."

His words come in as through a daze, but my snarky mind is quick to reply. _Will you still think the same of me if you know of my past?_

Then again, Carlisle does know, doesn't he? He's read my file. At least he knows what happened with Stefan. Yet, he's been nothing but nice. I sigh in confusion and frustration.

"So, you had a rough session?" he asks carefully.

I nod, my head still low. I don't want to meet his gaze right now. The shame of my past makes it impossible to look him in the eye.

"You know," he says, "as a doctor, I've seen my share of wounds. Sometimes, the deepest wounds don't heal the right way the first time. Instead of healing from the inside out, only a thin layer of new skin is formed, but underneath, the wound is still there. And however much it hurts, sometimes it is better to reopen the wound, in order to let it heal correctly, and forever."

At first, I want to contradict him, because my past is not a wound. But then I see myself as a girl again, curled up in a bed, and however strongly I want to believe that it was all my fault, it wasn't the fault of that six year old girl who bit her pillow so her cries would not be heard.

When Carlisle pushes pen and paper towards me, I can't help but write. New sobs tear through me as I force the words out.

_I don't think these wounds can be healed. _

He makes me meet his gaze by saying my name. "They can. But in order to do that, you will have to go back and make sure hey are treated properly."

_I'm scared_

"I know you are. But you're doing incredible, Bella. We're all very proud of you."

This makes me look up at him out of my own accord and in his eyes I can see that he means what he says.

"We are," he repeats, a hint of a smile in his voice now. "You are starting to realize the weight of your past, and yet you take it all in stride. Few people would be as strong as you."

I duck my head again, uncomfortable with his praise, or whatever it is.

"Do you know _The Velveteen Rabbit_?" he asks next.

No, and I don't understand why he is bringing that up right now.

"I'll be right back," he says, and he disappears up the stairs.

As he is gone, Esme and Edward come inside. Edward is carrying a paper bag with groceries, leaving Esme free to rush to me when she sees my state.

"Are you okay?" Her voice is nearly frantic, making me anxious in turn. I nod my head to answer her. We both know I'm lying. "Did Siobhan say when she was going to call?"

No, she didn't. She only told me that she would.

"She said to make sure Bella gets some sleep," Edward says as he places the bag with groceries on the counter. His eyes are on me when he talks.

Esme nods. "Have you been sleeping poorly, lately?"

Nodding to answer her, I focus on my mug again. I don't want all this hassle. I just want some quiet in my head, but at the same time I am vividly aware that my brain is not going to be calm again anytime soon.

I can't stop the images that play in my mind like a movie on repeat. Laurent's face is vivid in my memory, the white of his eyes a sharp contract against his dark skin.

"_I met a man, Bellarina…"_

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head to make it go away.

"Bella." Esme is closer to me now, her face tight in concern. "What's going on?"

In my peripheral vision, I see Edward slipping away from the kitchen. Esme attracts my attention again when she stretches out her arm, offering her hand in comfort. No longer able to fight the screaming need for contact I have always denied myself, I grasp her hand with both of mine and squeeze as I cry again.

I don't know how long we sit there. Carlisle hasn't come back yet, but I don't have the energy to wonder where he is. Sometime during my breakdown, Esme has moved a little and wrapped her free arm around my shoulders, holding me as I cry.

My tears only stop when I am simply too exhausted to cry any more. I pull back from Esme, wiping my face with the sleeves of my sweater. She looks at me with a sad smile, her eyes moving back and forth as she looks into mine.

"Do you want to go to bed?" she asks. "I can wake you in time, so you can sleep tonight."

My body begs me to give in, and when I nod, she gets up with me. Only then do I see Carlisle, sitting at the kitchen table. Has he been here all this time? What must he think of me now? Did he foresee this happening when he told me it was okay to cry? And now Esme is late for dinner, and that's my fault.

There is no sign of any negative emotion in his face when he meets my gaze. Just the same sadness as Esme is wearing right now. I didn't mean to ruin their moods with my crying. Yet another thing I have fucked up, I guess. I'm too tired to really care.

As I move to leave the kitchen, weary to the bone, Carlisle hands me a folded piece of paper. "I couldn't find the book, but I found the text online. Read it whenever. It reminded me of you."

I can only nod and continue my trip upstairs, feeling numb, exhausted, empty. The phone rings just as I close the door behind me, and when I hear Esme say Siobhan's name, I know that when I wake again, Esme will know the full scope of my past.

I don't even have the energy to read the text Carlisle gave me. I crawl under the blankets without bothering to pull off my clothes, shivering from cold, exhaustion and something deeper, darker.

It takes only seconds before I drift.

**~O~**

I sleep through the night. When I open my eyes the next morning, I can just tell that it's late. Checking my phone for the time, I see it's past ten am. I'm completely awake immediately, stumbling out of bed and jumping into my clothes. I've overslept horribly, and I can only imagine what Esme is going to say.

I'll lose more than my e-reader this time, I think.

Running down the stairs, I literally run into Esme as I enter the kitchen, looking for her. She catches me and places her hands on my arms gently, holding me upright so she can look at me.

"My, what's wrong?" she asks, alarmed. "Calm down."

My eyes are wide when I look at her, and I know the terror must be clear on my face. I point at my watch, telling her I'm late. Doesn't she know?

"Calm down," she says again. "Sit down first."

Frowning, I follow her to the kitchen table. I'm not at all at ease when I take a seat. What is she planning?

"I couldn't get you awake," she says as soon as we're seated. "I knocked quite hard, but I figured you needed your sleep. So don't be so panicked. Or are you really that worried about missing school?"

I shake my head, not believing what I'm hearing. I'm not worried about school, but about Esme's reaction.

"Anyway, I called you in sick. You were so exhausted."

My mind is a chaos when she gets up to make me a mug of coffee. When she returns, she has pen and paper as well. Sipping the scalding beverage, I write.

_So you're not upset? I overslept_

"You overslept because I let you," she contradicts easily. "What kind of message would I be sending out if I let you oversleep and then blame you for it?"

I look down at my mug again, confronted with this new reality that I have to admit, makes sense. I hunch my shoulders at the discomfort of my old life.

"Bella," Esme says carefully, "I don't blame you for oversleeping. Not after yesterday."

I nod, once.

"Would Stefan have blamed you?"

Again, I nod. It was my own responsibility to be on time. He sure as hell wasn't going to help me with that. He was quick to make me pay, though.

"And Laurent?"

My eyes fly up at Esme. So she knows. What does she know? Just what my therapist said she would tell, or more?

"Siobhan called me yesterday," Esme says quietly. "She told me about Laurent. No details, because you asked her not to, but she explained that your childhood has been tougher than we initially thought."

For some stupid reason those rotten tears are quick to show themselves again. My eyes are burning as soon as the saltiness spreads, and my head throbs. Haven't I cried enough yesterday?

"Talk to me," she says, pushing the paper towards me.

_What must you think of me?_

She looks lost. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean."

_Knowing this all. It went wrong twice. What must you think of me?_

"What are you saying, Bella?" Esme asks, her voice pained. "That this is your fault?"

I nod as I write.

_I must disgust you now_

"No." Her voice is so strong, I have to look up at her face. She means it, but her fierceness is focused on the denial of my assumption. I frown in confusion.

_This doesn't change anything? _

"It doesn't," she confirms. "We still love you."

Love... She says she loves me, that they love me. The word is alien, and in my memory, Laurent hisses that I will never be loved. How can someone like me ever deserve love?

The memory feels heavy on my shoulders and I hunch under the imagined weight, pulling my hands over my sleeves in a fruitless attempt to hide from this world, from the shame and the fear.

"Bella?" Again, she makes me meet her gaze. "We love you."

My shoulders seem to sag further under her words.

"We love you," she repeats, holding my gaze. "No matter what you think you've done wrong, or how bad you think you are. We love you. Unconditionally."

I want to ask her, _really_? I want to ask her for reassurance. Instead, the words are stuck and I sit paralyzed, trying to fight the overwhelming fear that she will take the words back when she learns just exactly what my past has been like.

But I can't tell her, now can I? I can't tell anybody. Not even Siobhan, even though she knows more than I like. My mother warned me to never talk about it again…

Esme gets up to walk around the table, and kneels next to my chair, looking up at me. "We love you," she says again, more quietly now. "Nothing will change that. Nothing."

I shake my head in denial and turn away from her to write.

_I've been a horrible girl. I'm bad._

"No, you're not," she contradicts, a tiny frown puckering between her brows. "Who told you this? Stefan? Laurent?"

I nod, my heart breaking all over again.

_My mother, too_

I can actually hear Esme swallow as she reads my words. "Your mother was wrong," she says, her voice rough for some reason. "And Stefan and Laurent were wrong, too. They made you believe these horrible things to justify their own actions against you."

I look into her eyes, searching for something I don't know. Acceptance, maybe? For Esme to tell me it wasn't me all this time. How long have I been waiting to hear just that? But I can't believe it. It went wrong _twice_.

"You are a wonderful, strong girl, Bella. Look at everything you've achieved so far. You are a straight-A student. You have helped both Alice and Emmett with their Trig. You are an excellent cook. And above that all, you're a gentle and caring person. You go out of your way to help others whenever they need it. It's so sad you can't see that."

As always uncomfortable with her praise, I look away.

"Remember when you first came here?" she continues softly. "You had panic attacks, sometimes more than once a day. And look at you now. You're interacting with everyone in this family. You're allowing touch. You're talking to me right now, about your worries. You're learning, hopefully, that you don't have to carry the burden of your past alone."

_But you can't take it away_

"No," she says sadly. "I can't. But I can be there for you and hold you when you need it. A little bit of affection can go a long way, if you just allow it."

Thinking back to the discussion I had about this with Siobhan, I write one last question.

_It's not a burden to you if I want that?_

"Not at all," she says reassuringly, the sincerity ringing in her voice. "I _want_ to be there for you."

Siobhan was right, I realize with a shock. By asking affection, I make others happy, too. Moving my gaze from the words on the paper to Esme's eyes, I reach out my hand tentatively. Hers comes up as if automatically, and she holds my hand, resting hers and mine on my leg. It feels wonderful, really. I can no longer deny how good it feels to have a hand to hold like that. We sit for a long moment like that, and then we both smile.

"Do you know what else helps, sometimes? Doing something fun. What would you like to do today?"

I blink in confusion at the sudden mischievous look in her eyes.

_I thought you called me in sick?_

"I did," she says smugly. "As in, unable to focus on school today. I won't justify my actions to that principal. If you want to go out, we'll go out. Or would you like to do something else? Some baking, perhaps? Some shopping? Your call."

Biting my lip, a sudden childhood desire resurfaces. When I was younger, I would sometimes dream of having a mother who would spend time with me, just as Esme is proposing right now. One of the recurring activities in those fantasies would be watching a movie with her. Curled up on the couch with drinks and candy, not caring about our health.

"Tell me," Esme says. "You look so dreamy all of a sudden. What would you like?"

Could I ask her? Would she agree? I bite my lip again, in insecurity this time.

"Go on," she coaxes. "Anything. I'm all yours today."

_Would you maybe watch a movie with me?_

I use much more words than necessary, coating my request in politeness.

Her smile is wide. "Of course! It's a bit early for popcorn though," she adds with a smirk.

I don't care about that. I'm just amazingly happy that she would even consider doing such a boring thing with me as watching a movie.

"What movie would you like to see? We have quite the collection, and I've seen almost none of them. Know what? You choose, while I go and get some laundry going quickly."

She's up and away before I can protest. Her sudden excitement hasn't gone unnoticed by me. I put on water for tea and then go to the living room, trying to choose a movie from their vast collection.

I settle for _The Green Mile_ and Esme is delighted when she sees what I've chosen. "One of my favorites. I just love Tom Hanks."

She gets the movie started as I make us tea, and when I come back, Esme is curled up on the couch, the blanket half over her. I join her, letting her place the other part of the blanket over me.

The movie is long, and it's easy to get lost in it completely. As the story progresses, I'm shifting closer and closer to Esme, one detail of my old fantasy nagging endlessly in my thoughts. Only when I feel her hands on my shoulders, guiding me with the softest pressure, do I know it's okay. With a heavy sigh that seems to hold all of my worry, I let myself slide down until I am lying on the couch, and my head is resting in her lap.

**~O~**

We're busy baking cookies by the time the others come home from school. I have taught Esme how to make colored icing and we're on the second batch when Jasper's voice drifts into the kitchen.

"Now that's a smell to come home to!" He steps in sight and smiles brightly when he sees the cookies cooling down on the breakfast bar. He reaches out to take one, but pulls back quickly when he feels how hot they still are.

"Teaches you to ask first," Esme says with a snigger.

"Oh, are those fresh baked cookies?" Alice says as she steps into the kitchen. "Nice!"

"Just wait for a bit until they cool down, and then we can have them," Esme answers.

"Edward is off with Ben," Alice says. "He'd be home before dinner." She looks at me. "How are you? Feeling better?"

I nod, moved by her concern.

"I wrote down your Trig homework for you," she continues. "Although I imagine you don't even have to do that, you're so far ahead now."

"What do you mean?" Esme asks from behind me.

Alice looks at her mother incredulously. "I thought you would know, since you were all for Bella tutoring _Emmett_ in Trig?"

"Oh," Esme says, her hand covering her mouth. "How did I not realize this? Bella, why didn't you say anything?"

Wait, what? How do _I_ have something to do with this all of a sudden? Uncomfortable, I shrug and look away from them all. To my great relief, Esme lets it go.

"I'll fix some drinks. Go put your backpacks away."

As soon as Alice and Jasper are gone, however, she's back on to me. "Just let me know if you'd like to do something about Trig. I'm sure your teacher can give you more advanced work if you would like that."

I nod with a shrug, not committing to anything. I don't want attention like that. The students in school have finally started to completely ignore me. If they sense that I'm good at Trig, I'm sure the looks will start again.

Esme smiles vaguely, for some reason I don't understand. We move a tray with drinks and cookies to the living room and wait for Alice and Jasper to join us.

They talk about school, and Alice fills me in on what happened. She also asks Esme if it's okay for Angela to come over the next day, so they can do homework together. Esme approves easily.

I listen to their conversation and later help Esme with dinner, feeling lulled by the now familiar goings on in the house. Edward is home for dinner right on time and he is the one to ask me to join them at the table. I do.

After dinner I'm up in my room, trying to focus on some homework. It's not working, and when a soft knock at my door sounds, I'm actually grateful for the distraction. Opening the door, I see Edward, journal in his hands.

"We got quite the assignment for Biology, so I figured I'd come by," he says by way of explanation.

I nod and step aside to let him in. He smiles when he hears what music is playing. "You still listen to that CD? I can make you a new one, if you'd like? For a change of tune?"

I would love that, actually, but I'm afraid to ask.

He interprets my hesitancy accurately. "It's okay to want it, you know."

I smile meekly at his words and go to my desk to open my journal, letting him know I'm ready to talk business.

"Right." He clears his throat and walks around the bed, sitting down in my rocking chair. My old quilt is still on it and he leans back against it, unaware.

The Biology assignment is silly, but requires some work, indeed. It's some sort of case, about people who are stranded on a deserted island. They have certain items from their boat still, and the island has fresh water and fertile soil. We have to write a plan how they are going to survive.

When Edward is done talking, I look up at him with incredulous eyes.

"I know, right?" he says, laughing. "I thought that maybe we could work together on this? Mr. Banner said we had to form pairs."

I nod in agreement and we spend the next hour setting up a first draft for the first part of the assignment: how will they live through the first week?

"This is like _The Blue Lagoon_, but different," Edward mutters. I don't know what he is referring to, but he ignores my questioning gaze. "Anyway, I'll type this out. Are you better, by the way? You were a mess, yesterday."

I type on my laptop.

_Just a lot to think about_

"I figured," he says. "I just… It's painful to see you hurting like that."

The sincerity is clear, and again I am tempted to ask him why he cares. I know I will get the same answer though, and for once, my mind is able to move on from that point, and realizes that it makes me feel good to know that he's concerned.

_I'll be fine. _

"You sure?" he asks. "If ever you want to talk, I'm here. You know that, right?"

I know.

_I don't want to burden you._

"You're not, and you know it," he counters easily.

I smile without humor.

_You'll go running and screaming, I'm sure_

"Try me," he says, and even though his voice is light, his eyes are not.

_I can't. _

"That's okay," he soothes. "And I won't go running, I promise. That's what friends are for, right?"

Right. I wouldn't blame him either if he wouldn't tell me what was bothering him. But if he would want to talk, I'd be there for him as well, of course.

He talks some more, about his afternoon with Ben and how he's looking forward to Spring Break, even though that's a while away. When it's getting late, he gets up to leave. He wishes me goodnight quietly and closes the door behind him.

I lock the door and turn back to the room. The rocking chair is still moving slightly, jostled when he got up. The quilt is still lying over its back. Moving towards it to pick it up, I can feel the heat his body has imparted on the fabric. Hugging the quilt to me as I have done countless times before, a scent hits me.

Thisscent. The same scent that caught me off guard on my first day here, when Alice lent me his sweater. I can't help but push my face into the quilt and inhale deeply.

It smells like him.

**~O~**

Angela drives home with us the next day after school. She follows us in her own car, and I find myself wondering what it must be like to be mobile like that. After we get home, I fix myself a drink in the kitchen and plan to go upstairs, not wanting to interrupt their time together, when Angela stops me.

"Where are you going?"

Bewildered, I point to the stairs.

"I thought you were going to stick with us," she says in that soft voice of hers. "I had hoped you would, but if you have other plans…"

I'm utterly amazed that she would want me here. Alice looks up at me with a knowing smile. "Stay. We're going to watch some TV before we move on to homework. We'd like for you to join."

Angela looks at Alice as she speaks, listening carefully to the words she's using. For some reason, this makes me uneasy. As we settle in front of the TV, Angela insists we watch Dr. Phil. I try not to roll my eyes at her request. Like people can be fixed in ten minutes.

Today he's handling impossible teenagers with desperate parents. I tune the program out and instead let my mind drift to last night. Like every night, I had slept with Renée's quilt around me. Only this time, it had smelled of Edward. And for once, I didn't dream of my past. I dreamt about him.

It was nice, albeit a bit disconcerting in a wholly different way.

Voices next to me catch my attention again.

"I'd love to become a fashion designer," Alice says dreamily. "But I guess I will have to settle for something _sensible._"

Angela grins. "I want to become a therapist. I want to help people, you know?"

Oh. That explains her love for Dr. Phil, and the way she's been observing how the others are around me here. As long as she doesn't want to try it out on me, I'll be fine.

"You'd excel at that," Alice says. "You're such a kind heart."

"Thank you," Angela replies with a blush. She looks at me furtively. Having had enough, I get up to go help Esme for dinner. They can do homework alone.

"Does she always help with the cooking?" I hear Angela ask behind me.

"Yes, she's like that," Alice answers easily. "Let's start on our homework."

"Don't you want to join them?" Esme asks quietly on my other side.

Meeting her gaze, I shake my head. I'm too chaotic in my head to focus on homework and social interaction at the same time. She seems to understand, because she keeps me occupied with light chatter.

She has started to read _Coraline_, too. Edward wouldn't stop talking about it. I smile at her words. It is some book, indeed.

Angela goes home before dinner, which is a relief for me. Had she been here I wouldn't have been able to eat anything. And the pasta Esme and I made sure smells too good to pass on.

I spend the evening with Emmett at the kitchen table, working on my new Gym assignment. It's really starting to take form, and Emmett is very forthcoming. He has given me a lot of information to read through, and he's very patient with me.

He tells me that this is how he pays me back my help with Trig, but I know he loves the attention. And once you get to know him, he's not so bad to be around. He's funny, and behind his physique lies a gentle, kind guy.

Who would have thought I'd be spending time with men like this?

Friday in school passes like every other day. During lunch however, I feel eyes on me. Looking into the direction of the source, I can see that rat Mike Newton looking at me intensely. When I meet his gaze, he doesn't look away.

"Is he looking at you again?" Jasper says, his voice dark. "He is, isn't he? Do you want us to stop him?"

I shake my head, still not breaking eye contact with Mike. The moment he smiles at me, although on his face it's more like a leer, I bring up my hand carefully, so he can see it, and flip him off.

He looks taken aback, but I just cock my eyebrow at him. I can live with him never having said 'sorry,' but I feel also strong enough by now to let him know I don't want his attention. He doesn't live in my house, and he has nothing to say over me.

If he gets angry now, so be it.

"Oh my God," Alice says, awed.

Tearing my gaze away from Mike's, I look at her.

"Awesome," Rosalie says. "Well done." She's beaming at me.

When I look at the others, I can see they're all having proud looks on their faces.

"Good for you," Jasper says with a grin. "Teaches him to bother you."

I blush at their unanimous support of my incredibly rood behavior, and I'm still reeling over it when the bell rings.

"That was amazing," Edward says as we walk to Biology together. It feels so good to be walking _next_ to him.

I smile a little bashfully at his praise. If I could talk, I would tell him that I just don't like Mike. And that it feels amazing to know that they were supporting _me_ just now, instead of him. They agreed that I didn't like Mike looking at me like that.

I fought.

I fought! And they thought I was right!

Why this only hits me now, I don't know, but it does, and I stop in my tracks in my realization.

"Bella?" Edward asks, stopping and turning to see why I've come to a halt. "What's wrong?"

Hm, how to tell him? Around us, the hallway is getting emptier. Knowing I won't be seen, I gesture to Edward. I point at myself first, then ball my fists, and then make the sign for the letter 'm.' _I fought Mike. _Now to hope he'll understand.

"You did," he says with a smile that copies my own. "Makes me proud," he adds in a slightly joking tone. His eyes tell me he's serious. When he raises his fist in invitation, I bump it quickly.

"Come on," he says. "Let's go to class."

We walk into the full classroom, both still with a silly grin on our face. Several students look at us, including Mike, and I force my face back into a neutral expression. I don't want Mike to see my smile. Ever, if I can help it.

After school, Esme drives me to Port Angeles for therapy. In the waiting room she tells me that she's not going anywhere today, because she wants to read the book _Coraline_.

I smile at her girlish enthusiasm, and when Siobhan calls me in, I follow her. All of a sudden, the weight of last Tuesday's session crashes down on me. I've been working so hard to distract myself, that I didn't really prepare for today.

"Hey, what happened to that gorgeous smile of yours?" Siobhan asks as we sit down.

I can't help but smile at her words. Her laptop is at the ready on the small table between us, so I type.

_Had a good day at school, but then I remembered the previous session._

Siobhan nods as she reads. "Let's talk about the good stuff first."

I tell her how I let Mike know I didn't like his attention, and how all the Cullen siblings praised me after that. Siobhan compliments me as well. "You've done well. Although I would have opted for less rude behavior," she adds with a smirk.

"Now tell me," she continues, "what do you remember most about our last session?"

The pain, I think. The desolateness I was left with. The realization that I _knew_, even then, it was wrong what was happening. Whatever they tried to make me believe. But I'm scared of opening that wound. Scared of letting those emotions in.

I don't know if I'm ready.

That's what I tell Siobhan. She understands, but asks me when I will be ready.

I don't know.

"I think you never will be," she says. "Not really."

_How did you deal with it?_

"I pushed myself through it. I discovered that it helped to talk about it, and to hear that it wasn't my fault. Most of all, it helped to realize that nobody was going to hate me for what happened to me."

My lip is bitten raw, I feel when it disappears between my teeth.

_Esme wasn't disgusted, she said_

"There you go," Siobhan replies. "And it really helps to talk about it."

_My mother said I shouldn't_

I've said too much, as it is.

"Is that why you stopped talking?"

Her question is sudden, and I realize that this was never really discussed. When I nod, she nods in return.

"How did you feel, when she left?"

_Alone. Left behind. _

I can't say 'betrayed,' even though I want to. I don't even know how I feel towards her. It's wrong to not love your mother. But she left me. With Laurent. Knowing full well what that meant. She didn't care.

She left me.

_She left me_

"She did," my therapist says. "Do you still think that's your fault?"

_I can't make sense of it all if I wasn't to blame_

She merely looks at me, waiting for me to continue.

_First the trailer, then Laurent, then Stefan. I'm the only common factor there._

"Still, it wasn't your fault," Siobhan says calmly. "I think that deep down, you know this. Deep down, you know that what they did to you is wrong and punishable by law."

_I deserved it._

"No, you didn't. The law doesn't make distinctions between what crimes are justifiable. And you were a child. Last Tuesday you told me that you knew a child could never be blamed. And, tell me then, what exactly did you do wrong? Were those really such grave mistakes?"

I feel like a child under her strong words. But she's not done.

"You were abused, emotionally, physically and sexually. That is never right, Bella."

My wall is crumbling. All my life, all my life I have waited to hear this, waited for someone to tell me that I really couldn't help it, that it wasn't my fault. Then why is it so hard to believe now?

And why did nobody see? Why wasn't there anybody to step in? And why didn't _I _fight harder to get out of it?

"Tell me what you're thinking," she coaxes.

_Why didn't anyone see? And why didn't I fight?_

"You fought," she says. "You left Stefan. And I've told you that sometimes, by not fighting, you're fighting as well. You're fighting to survive."

The question if I could have stopped this sooner is eating away in my brain. Could I? Had I talked to someone, would it have stopped? Would I have had a different life? I write down my questions for Siobhan to read.

"It's no use thinking about that. This is how your life went."

_But it could have been different_

"Yes," she says. "But it didn't."

Her words are almost harsh, something I'm not used to from her usually gentle nature.

"Bella, your past is horrendous. It's not at all surprising that you have been trying to push it all away. And that you've learned to cope by blaming yourself, because like you say, what person has this amount of horror happening to them?"

The word 'horror' lingers. Yes, I realize. It was horrific.

All at once, it feels like all my bad memories come washing over me. I exhale in shock as moment after moment plays in my mind's eye. Every beating, every harsh word. Every time I felt the weight of either Laurent or Stefan on top of me in my bed.

I collapse. It's all wrong. Everything that happened is wrong, and I had to go through it all, for some reason nobody will ever be able to give me. It's too much.

Why, why, why? The question echoes through my mind and I grip my hair to try and distract myself from the pain that the realization brings.

It could have been different.

It wasn't my fault.

It never was.

Siobhan lets me cry. A lifetime of grief seems to escape through my sobs.

It could have been different. It wasn't me. It was just my bad luck.

As I cry, desperation is creeping up my backbone. The first edges of panic make themselves known in my breathing, in the tensing of my muscles. I can't seem to get out of my memories anymore, and the profound loneliness I've always known, resurfaces.

I feel lost.

The panic intensifies when I realize I can't even shut down to escape the pain.

Make it stop, please, make it stop…

"Bella?" Siobhan's quiet voice breaks through the haze.

My breathing gets deeper as hyperventilation sets in. A strange awareness settles over my body, much like I felt when I was expecting punishment. Like I can be hurt any moment now, even though I know I'm safe in here.

"Bella? Shall I get Esme? I'm sure she can comfort you now."

I can't say yes, but I won't say no. I can only hope that she won't recoil when she sees me like this. As Siobhan gets up, I curl up into a ball and squeeze my eyes shut. It doesn't help. I can still feel the pain I felt then, the fear, the loneliness. The confusion. And in every memory, I can now see how I was rarely wrong. There was nothing I could do. No way out.

I cry harder.

I want to disappear.

Soft hands on my shoulders. I jerk away, startled by the touch.

"Ssh, it's okay." That's Esme, and, no, it's not okay. Not at all.

"Ssh," she says again. Her hands guide me, much like they did on Wednesday morning when we were watching the movie together.

My hands are clenched so tightly in fists that they are starting to hurt. My entire body is hurting with the tension that is coiling in my muscles. Esme helps me unfolds myself and then pulls me against her.

I fight her. Try to pull away. Don't rely on others, they will always let you down.

"Hold on to me, I'm here for you," she says softly in my ear. "And I will never, ever let you go."

I want to give in. I want to, so badly.

A soft click of the door registers at the edge of my mind. Siobhan has left the room. I want to give in. I want to be held by Esme, as I have longed to be held by someone, anyone, for so long.

When she makes that comforting hushing sound again, my body relaxes with a heavy sigh and I curl into her, my face hiding in her neck.

To think I could have had a mother like Esme for all my life. To think of what happened to me. It was wrong. I see that now.

Esme is nothing but kindness and gentleness, and her arms around me are warm and strong. I could have had that. But I have it now. Finally, it's here.

I cry, harder if possible than before.

A whimper breaks the silence in the room. A soft, keening sound I don't recognize, and at first I wonder if it's Esme.

It takes me a moment to realize it's me.


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N Twilight is not mine**

_Welcome to chapter 50. Fifty... It's almost unreal to me. Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing. I know I am fail at replying, but I do read every single one. It's amazing how long you have been on this journey with me already.  
_

_Thanks, as ever, to the one and wonderful Sherry, my beta. Thanks also to Deb, Bob, and Aleea. You are my confidence. Thanks to KsPeoplesChoice, who pointed out _The Velveteen Rabbit _to me._

* * *

I'm exhausted. Numb.

No, not numb. Just tired, perhaps.

I don't let go of Esme's hand when she leads me back to her car. During the drive home, I keep my eyes on her constantly. It's like I'm afraid she will disappear if I look away.

It's like I have finally found her.

I blink profusely when my eyes fill up with tears again, trying to stop my vision from blurring. I don't want to let her out of my sight.

When she parks in the garage, she doesn't get out of the car immediately. Instead, she looks at me.

"Okay?"

Yeah.

She smiles at me, and I revel in the gentleness that radiates from her face. Then she exits the car. I follow suit, trailing behind her into the house. It feels like I am in a vacuum as I shrug out of my coat, and then follow Esme into the kitchen, where she drinks a glass of water.

When she turns, I am right behind her. She looks me over. "Come." Her hand reaches out to grasp mine and I follow her into the living room, where she sits down on the couch.

"Come," she says again, with a gentle smile this time. Her arms open in invitation, and almost without hesitation, I crawl on to the couch next to her.

A violent shudder works through my body when her arms close around me and I am once more held in a warm, tight embrace. I allow Esme to cup the back of my head and nestle my face in the crook of her neck. When I exhale, the vacuum disappears and time seems to be moving once again.

I don't know how long we sit like that. I'm not even sure I am crying anymore. Just bothering Esme with my senseless need for contact. Now that this dam has been breached, I feel like I can't get enough. It feels so good to have her arms around me.

I want to be selfish. I don't want her to let me go just yet.

For a brief moment, I even wish I could tell her. But to do so, I would have to write, which means I would have to move.

Instead, I hold Esme tighter. And maybe she understands, because she tightens her arms around me as well.

Someone clears his throat, but I don't want to move my head to see who it is. I don't want to know yet if I have to move, or if I am doing something wrong.

"Everything all right?" Jasper asks.

"It will be," Esme replies.

She doesn't make a move to push me away or get up, and I press my face deeper into the crook of her neck. She smells like home. Her cologne is light and sweet.

"Maybe we can cook," Alice says. I didn't know she was here as well.

"That would be lovely, dear," Esme says. I can hear the smile in her voice.

We remain seated after I hear Alice and Jasper disappear. I want time to stop again. Now that I have found this, I want to stay like this forever.

Of course time doesn't stop, and before long, dinner is ready. Home made pizza, Jasper announces proudly.

"Bella," Esme says softly. "I'm going to need you to let me go now, so we can eat something. You can come sit with me again later, okay?"

With great reluctance, I allow Esme to disentangle herself from my grip. When I lift my head, I realize with a shock that everyone is in the living room, looking at us. Even Carlisle. When did he come in? The coffee table is set for dinner, and everyone is patiently waiting for us to join them.

I completely missed all this. That's uncharacteristic of me.

Taking a better look, I can see that they all regard me with some mixture of concern and relief. But why would they be relieved?

Well, at least they're not annoyed or angry. Or laughing at me, for that matter.

Too tired to try and analyze it, I focus on the pizza that Alice and Jasper have made. It's really good, and I try to let them know with my gaze that I like it.

Alice smiles happily at me, her eyes squeezing shut as she grins like a Cheshire cat. She hops up with Rosalie after dinner to clear away the dishes, telling me to stay put on the couch. Emmett and Jasper follow them to take care of the kitchen, and we can hear their banter from the living room.

Apart from Esme and me, Carlisle and Edward remain. Carlisle on the other couch, Edward in the winged chair I always use, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

With them present, I'm not sure if I can seek out contact with Esme again, but when she opens her arms, I sink back into her embrace easily. As if I've done it a million times before. Unbelievable.

"Can I ask you what happened?" Edward asks quietly, hesitantly.

Esme thinks for a moment, squeezing me reassuringly before she answers. "Let's say there was a breakthrough."

"I got that," Edward says. "I just can't define if this is a good or a bad thing."

"How so?" Carlisle asks.

Their voices are gentle. I kind of like how they talk about me, involving me in the conversation without wanting me to actually participate. I crawl closer to Esme and she chuckles softly. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispers.

"It breaks my heart to see you so miserable." Edward replies to Carlisle's question, but his words are directed at me. "However, you're allowing a hug, so, no, I'm not sure."

"Can I tell him?" Esme asks quietly, even though I know Edward must hear.

To my own surprise, I nod my head. Edward knows me, and I have a distinct feeling that I know what Esme will say. Carlisle doesn't know yet, but all of a sudden I realize that I do want him to know, as well. I'll finally have certainty if he disagrees.

Deep down though, I know he won't.

"Bella realized today that her past is not her fault," Esme tells Carlisle and Edward.

Silence, only disturbed by the voices from the others in the kitchen.

"That's huge," Edward says quietly. "That is really wonderful."

"It really is," Carlisle agrees. I can hear no trace of insincerity in his voice. "I am glad, for as far as the situation allows for such an emotion."

They don't deny it. They don't say, but I thought it was? As far as I can tell, they're only happy for me that I am realizing it. It makes me wonder if they think I should have known this all along.

I sigh deeply, trying to release some of the tension that is coiling up in my stomach again.

"Are you going to fall asleep on me?" Esme asks quietly. I can hear a hint of amusement in her voice, and I shake my head, no. I wouldn't sleep here, but I am going to stay here just as long as she will allow me to.

One by one, the others come back into the living room. It seems that, even though my newfound desire for affection is a novelty, nobody has a problem with my new position in the room. They arrange themselves around Esme and me easily, and nobody even hints at displeasure with my want for love.

And with a shock, I realize why.

It's not my fault. And they agree.

My surprise must show, because Esme asks me if everything is okay. I pull back to look into her eyes, and nod with a slight smile.

"It's a day of epiphanies, isn't it," she says, and I can only agree with her.

After a long time, I carefully disentangle myself from her hold. She lets me go easily, recognizing that I have had enough for now. It just feels so wonderful though. I can't get over how wonderful it feels.

How have I been missing this all this time? How have I been pushing this away? I don't even care if it's really selfish or not. I want to be selfish if it feels this good.

"If you ever need a brother bear hug, come to me," Emmett says suddenly. He smiles at me, dimples showing. I think he knows I won't come to him anytime soon, but the offer is nice.

"Or a fatherly hug," Carlisle adds in a softer voice.

"Or a sister hug," Rosalie and Alice say, almost at the same time. It makes them all chuckle.

And I'm smiling too, to have them say this, to hear them tell me that I can come to them for affection, too. It's so amazing.

They don't blame me. And even though my evil mind protests that they don't know what happened and as such can't have a proper judgment, this voice is weak. They don't blame me.

I'm beginning to realize that truly, I can't be blamed.

"Shall we play a game?" Alice asks. "I'm feeling like playing a game."

"Like what?" Jasper asks.

"Scrabble," Edward says. He's looking at me.

"I'm out, then," Emmett says. "Go and make merry without me."

"Me, too," Jasper says. "Emmett, shall we play something?"

"Yes, let's." They easily decide on a computer game and turn on the console.

In the end, Carlisle, Edward, Rosalie and I will play. Alice is going to watch, and Esme disappears into the kitchen quickly for drinks and snacks. We settle around the coffee table. Edward and I go sit on the rug on either side of a corner of the table. Carlisle and Rosalie sit opposite us.

I'm not half as nervous about playing a game as I would have been. It's nice to feel so light. It's nice to be able to focus on the game, instead of all the possible consequences.

Sometime during the game, Edward stretches his legs out a bit, and his shin touches my foot. He looks into my eyes for a moment, and when he sees I'm not alarmed, he leaves his leg to rest there. For some reason I don't know or understand, I feel grounded by the contact.

I win. I tried not to, but I lost track of the scores of others and when Alice counts the points, she announces me as the winner. Taken aback, I look at the others for any sign of annoyance or anger.

But there aren't any. They congratulate me for winning, and just like that, we start a second game. Carlisle wins this time, easily so. And all the while we are playing, Edward's leg rests comfortably against my foot.

**~O~**

I can't sleep. I don't understand why. One should think I am tired enough after this day. But I toss and turn, and even when I lay quietly, sleep won't come. Finally, I just get out of bed, intending to make myself some hot milk.

The house is quiet, lit only by the bluish light of the full moon. It's rarely unclouded here, so to see the moonlight is kind of a treat. I quickly fix myself the milk and sit at the breakfast bar. What a day it has been.

I feel weird now. Detached, almost. The earlier pain of realizing that I am, indeed, a victim, and that things could have been different, not if I tried harder, but if I had met other people, has disappeared. Instead I feel a strange form of numbness, not that I'm less aware of it all, but more that I am unable to attach any emotion to it.

Maybe my body is protecting itself now, after my utter breakdown.

I made a sound. It was a weird sound, and very embarrassing. Apparently I'm not as in control over my voice as I always thought I was. On the other hand, it means my voice still works. Should I ever decide to talk again, this is good to know.

Will I ever talk again? I have no idea. Sipping my drink, I allow myself some time to ponder this question. I realize it's going to be very hard to function as a mute in a world where you have to communicate to get around. I never put much thought into the future, and I never really thought what it would mean for me if I wouldn't, or couldn't, talk.

Yet, thinking about talking makes me nervous. I've been silent for so long, I don't even really remember what my voice sounds like. It has changed, though. That much I could hear when I whimpered in Esme's arms. It's lower than I thought.

I frown and sigh softly. I guess only time will tell. Sure, every now and again I feel the desire to be able to use my voice, but it's not a need that can't be ignored. I'm so used to getting around without talking, it usually doesn't bother me.

I do wonder if Esme noticed what I did though, and if she now expects things. Or if she would want to talk about it. Or Siobhan.

She brought all this about. The crying, at least. The breakthrough. Do I thank her? I feel like I should, even though my mind is in even a more chaotic mayhem than it has always been before. But she made me see the truth, didn't she? It just feels so uncomfortable thinking that it was never my fault. Somehow, things were easier to bear when I thought I brought them on to myself.

_Of course_, I think, I think every form of violence or unhappiness is more easily to cope with when it has a clear reason.

My body seems to fold in on itself when images of the violence I've seen flashes before my mind's eye. The beatings, and not just those. The sudden smacks, the announced punishments. I cringe at the memories.

Will the pain of those ever fade? Will I ever be able to be really happy? Whatever happened and whose fault it was, doesn't even really matter. I'm damaged by my past, socially stilted, forever afraid. Having the tentative knowledge that my past is not my fault, won't make me less afraid of people, I think.

My own life bears testament to the fact that some people are just evil, and don't need a valid reason to be violent against others. The thought makes me even more afraid for a moment. If it wasn't my fault, there's nothing I can do, will be able to do, if someone decides to beat me again.

It makes me feel even more vulnerable than I have been.

And this new found feeling lingers, keeping me up for the rest of the night, until dawn arrives and the light stings in my tired eyes. I get dressed long before the rest of the house wakes up. Around eight, Emmett comes down the stairs. And so, for the second time, he makes omelets with me looking on. Only this time, I join him at the table, and even manage to eat something with him present.

He makes pleasant small talk, and asks me when I want to come to practice with him.

"You look mighty tired today," he says, concern lacing his voice. "I guess yesterday took its toll on you?"

I nod to answer his question, hoping he won't pry. As he eats and talks, I study his face and wonder if he could be a man who would suddenly become violent. It's hard to even conceive the notion. I've seen him angry, and even then, he showed no signs of violence.

Emmett swallows, and then tilts his head. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Busted, I avert my gaze quickly.

"Do I have something on my face?" he presses, but he's smiling, and his eyes are twinkling. He brings his hand up, but lowers it again when I shake my head.

"Between my teeth, then?" His eyes narrow. "I don't have lipstick on my teeth, do I?" He's really being comical now, and my shame is overridden by the smile that breaks out on my face. Still, I shake my head.

"Then why are you looking like that? Oh no," he says, mock horror on his face, "I'm not getting a grey hair, am I?"

I'm really laughing now, my body shaking a bit with it as I still shake my head, no.

"I give up," he says, throwing his hands in the air. "Why were you looking?"

I deflate, sobered by his question. How to tell him that I was just trying to determine if he could ever be violent? That's not even a question to ask. What if it makes him angry?

Footsteps on the stairs save me. Rosalie steps into sight, in her pajamas still.

Emmett reaches out to her and Rosalie walks easily into his embrace, kissing the top of his head as he rests it, well, between her breasts. I avert my eyes at the display of their intimacy, uneasy, but also caught off guard by the longing to be as comfortable as they are right now.

"I came to kiss you before you left," Rosalie says quietly.

Emmett lifts up his head at her words and she bends down, bringing her lips to his. I'm not sure what to do. I don't want to watch, but in my peripheral vision I can see them as clearly as if I were looking right at them. I don't want to get up though, afraid to interrupt their moment.

When Rosalie straightens up again, her eyes find mine before she looks down. Do I see discomfort in her gaze? What is that all about?

As she shuffles to the counter to fix herself a mug of coffee, Emmett and I get up to clear our dishes away. He gives Rosalie a final kiss and hug, and then disappears into the garage, leaving for his football practice.

Rosalie turns to me. "How are you today?" She does a sharp double take. "Jesus. Did you sleep at all last night?"

No, I didn't, actually. Too much chaos in my head.

"Shit," she mutters. "Maybe you can nap later? You're not going to last the day like this."

Oh well, she'd be surprised. But I must admit that a nap later does sound good. If only my mind would let me shut down for a bit. I'm all over the place.

"Hey, I've been thinking," she says as she sips her coffee. "Renée will be coming, right? I know you want to look nice for her, maybe I can give you that haircut."

Looking nice for Renée, that sounds like a very good idea indeed.

"We can do it now. Upstairs in your bathroom, if that's quieter?"

_Now or never_, I think unbidden, and to my own surprise I get up and follow her upstairs.

"I can wash your hair over the sink, or you can do it by yourself," Rosalie says as she carries in a straight-backed chair from somewhere. "What do you prefer?"

I opt to wash my own hair, hanging upside down over the bathtub, keeping an eye on Rosalie, who thankfully makes sure she stays in my line of sight.

"Don't be scared, I'm just going to help you rinse the suds out," Rosalie says. In the next moment, I can feel her taking the showerhead from my hand. It feels weird to have this done for me. I'm waiting to have the spray aimed at my face in any moment, but she doesn't of course. She just wants to help.

When my hair is clean and drenched, she wraps a towel around it and rubs it dry. I find I allow it, but my hands are clenched around the edge of the tub so tightly, the knuckles are white.

"Just relax," Rosalie murmurs. "You know I mean you no harm."

She guides me to the chair and wraps a dry towel around my shoulders. "I can't do anything fancy, but maybe just cut a few inches to make it healthy again?"

A few inches? I look up in Rosalie in alarm. What will be left to hide behind if she cuts off all my hair?

She smiles understandingly at my alarm and, making sure I can see her hand move, gently grasps a wet hair lock. "If you want it to be healthy again, I think you should let me cut a little over two inches. It will still be long enough." She indicates how much she wants to take off. "I worry that the longer you wait, the more will have to be cut in the end."

I think over her words for a moment. I don't care much for healthy hair, nor do I care for the notion of looking pretty. But Rosalie seems adamant and I must admit, the idea of looking good for when Renée comes, sounds very nice. I want to show her how well I am doing, and how happy I have been here. Even though it felt as if she were sending me away at first, I do realize that she couldn't keep me. And the Cullens have been so wonderful so far.

So I nod at Rosalie, and she carefully starts to brush out the tangles in my hair. She talks to me as she works, about school, homework, the college she is going to with Emmett. She's going to study something technical, but "will probably end up becoming a car mechanic anyway." Then she meets my gaze in the mirror.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

I meet her gaze at her question as with a fine-toothed comb, she starts to part my hair. The sensation is much too intimate and it nauseates me, making me recoil from her touch.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" The concern is evident in her voice.

I shake my head, but my frown lingers.

"Can I continue?"

Yeah, I guess. When the comb traces the parting in my hair, I shudder, and Rosalie laughs gently. "I guess it's a strange feeling when you're not used to it. You're doing good."

As the first bit of hair falls to the ground, she repeats her earlier question. It is then I realize that she is trying to distract me from the stress of being fussed over. Regardless, I don't have an answer. And I can't think while she is cutting my hair.

But she talks me through it, and about half an hour later, she is done. My hair has dried significantly in the meantime, and when I go through it with my hands, I am shocked at how short it is.

"It's still long," Rosalie says, interpreting my reaction correctly. "And it's very pretty. You have really thick hair. I wish I had hair like yours."

Her words immediately bring Siobhan's question to mind. How many perfect people are unhappy with themselves? Hearing Rosalie wish her hair had more volume makes me realize that even she has things to wish for.

She smiles at me through the mirror, pensive for a moment. She takes a breath to speak, reconsiders, and then opens her mouth again. "I know what it's like to be touched without permission. I can only tell you that if you find the right person to share it with, it's wonderful. It really is."

Silence stretches between us and a thousand questions explode in my mind. Before I can decide on even one, however, she seems to recompose herself. "Mom is awake. Want to go and show her your new hair?"

I nod, my thoughts muted still at what she told me just now. She knows what it's like to be touched without permission? But... Who touched her? Someone in this house? Won't I have a right to know who did it, then?

I catch her arm before she can leave the bathroom. She turns to me, a questioning look in her eyes. Managing to make it clear that she should follow me, I write down my question at the desk.

_Who hurt you?_

She shakes her head. "I can't tell you, I'm sorry."

Taking the risk of upsetting her, I ask her again.

_Was it someone in this house?_

Her eyes go wide. "Oh god, no. Oh, did you think that? Shit, I'm sorry. No, it wasn't someone in this house. But, Bella? No one knows." A pleading look comes into her eyes at her last words.

I understand what she feels, though.

_It's safe with me_

"Thank you," she says quietly. "I'm sorry to put this on you, though."

I think for a moment, then write again.

_That's what friends are for, right?_

Her smile is brilliant. "Right."

**~O~**

They like the hair. Esme especially, keeps gushing over how wonderful I look. When I've had enough of the unnecessary praise, I put up the hood of my sweater. She laughs good-naturedly. "Okay, I'll stop. Put your hood down."

I do as she says and help prepare breakfast. My eyes are burning with the lack of sleep, and when my stomach is full with food, I'm decidedly sleepy. Since there's little to do around the house and homework can wait, I decide to curl up in the winged chair in the living room with my e-reader. I've started something new - _Pride and Prejudice._

Even though the story is captivating, my eyelids become too heavy quickly and I can't stop myself from falling asleep. Some time later, voices rouse me. I listen to the words as I slowly wake up further, keeping my eyes closed and my breathing even. They're talking about me.

"Oh, I think she's sleeping." That's Esme's hushed voice.

"She didn't sleep at all last night," Rosalie responds. "I was wondering if she would make it through the day."

"Let's let her sleep. She must have needed it."

I drift off again before I can summon the energy to realize that they don't even mind I am napping in the living room.

When I open my eyes again, it's close to noon. I blink a few times to get the world back into focus again. Carlisle is reading on the couch. Alice is next to him, sewing a button on a shirt. They both look up at me when I sit up.

"There you are," Alice says with a sweet smile. "You were really out of it." She snaps the thread with a quick jerk, and gets up to put her sewing away.

My gaze shifts to Carlisle. Even after all the reassurances I got, I am still afraid of what he will think. Sleeping in the middle of the day is not something I got away with in my old home. At least, not when Stefan noticed it. He rarely did, though. Fortunately.

Carlisle merely smiles. "How have you been sleeping lately?"

I shrug his question away. I think it's clear that I'm not sleeping well. I don't consider it a problem, however. I can cope with exhaustion; I'm used to it.

"If you want to, I can give you something to help you sleep. Just something light. It's not addictive, and it can help break the cycle of insomnia."

I shake my head. I don't want drugs.

"I figured you wouldn't want it," he says. His voice is completely unassuming. "But if you ever need something, come to me, all right?"

We both know I'm lying when I nod.

Contrary to my expectation however, Carlisle isn't done with his inquiry.

"Can you tell me why you aren't sleeping? Are you worrying?"

I shake my head. Well, yeah, I am worrying, but that's not the reason why I can't sleep. It's the dreams that jolt me awake, draining me of what little energy I have gained.

"Dreaming?" he asks.

Can he read my mind, or what?

"Tell me about your dreams," Carlisle says. It doesn't escape my notice that he doesn't ask me if I want to talk about it.

I still shake my head, even though his question doesn't really leave me that option. I hope he won't be upset that I don't like to confide in him.

He doesn't press. "Maybe you can discuss this with your therapist," he offers. "It's clear that it occupies your mind."

I smile weakly at him. He's just being nice, I'm telling myself. Plus, he really didn't chastise me for sleeping in the living room.

"Your hair suits you," he observes casually. "It's good to see you getting healthier, and I'm saying that both as a doctor and a father."

Again, no negative edge is to be found in his voice or behavior. I'm falling from one miracle in the other, or so it feels.

Alice bounces back into the living room. "Look what I found for you at the mall yesterday. You kind of weren't in the right state yesterday to get it, so I am giving it now."

She holds up a midnight blue hooded sweater. I like the color immediately.

"Go try it on," she says, gesturing for me to go upstairs.

The sweater is much tighter fitting than what I'm used to. Although it's not figure hugging, it makes my silhouette decidedly less bulky. I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with it.

"And?" Alice calls from downstairs.

I can't answer her, and I don't really want to go down in this sweater, either. When I open the door of my bedroom, Edward is just coming down the stairs. He stops in his tracks when he sees me. His eyes travel over my body, taking in the sweater, lingering on the shorter ends of my hair.

"Wow."

I look at his eyes, his gaze my surest way of finding out what he means. And I'm thrown off guard by what I see. Awe. Admiration even, although I can't be sure. There's no hint of any malicious intent. He's just looking at me, momentarily stunned, it seems. Is this like when I saw him in his vest on Christmas Day?

Self-conscious, I fidget, raking a hand through, my way too short, hair.

"I like it," he says, breaking out of his stupor. Even in the artificial light of the hallway, it seems as if the tips of his ears turn a bit darker. Is he blushing?

"Bella, if you're not coming down, I'm coming up," Alice calls from downstairs.

"Keep the sweater," Edward says, a shy smile on his face. "It really suits you. She's coming down," he adds in a louder voice to Alice.

He precedes me down the stairs, and I follow him, stunned. He really likes the way I look right now.

And I like that he likes it.

**~O~**

Everybody likes the sweater. Only when I finally threaten to take it off again and switch to my black, oversized hoodie, doe they stop talking about it. I'm uncomfortable with the way they try to reassure me I look well. I don't want the attention.

The haircut is a success as well, even though I am not at ease with the new, shorter length. It feels unnatural. Like a part of my shield has been removed.

After lunch, I go to my room, leaving the door ajar to have some sense of connection with the rest of the house still. I'd really much rather go to Esme and ask her to sit with me again, but I know I can't do that. Instead, I try to curb the desire by working on the quilt for her birthday. I have about a week left. It's going to be tight.

When I'm cross-eyed from all the tiny stitches, I sit back and rub my eyes, My gaze falls to the piece of paper Carlisle gave me yesterday. Reaching for the paper, I read the quote from _The Velveteen Rabbit_:

.

"_Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. It doesn't happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."_

_._

I exhale heavily once I reach the end. This is a beautiful piece of writing. I have to let Carlisle know how these words resonate with me. Not less Real even though you're not perfect, not being ugly except to those that don't understand… A tear appears unbidden and slides down my cheek. When I sniffle, loudly to my own frustration, someone clears his throat at my door.

"Bella," Carlisle says. "Forgive me, but I heard you were crying. Are you all right?"

To my own vague surprise, I don't feel threatened with him standing at the door like that. Suddenly wanting to communicate with him, I hold up the print he gave me yesterday.

"Ah," he says in recognition. "_The Velveteen Rabbit_." He hesitates for a moment. "Can I come in?"

After a moment of trepidation of my own, I nod once. He smiles at me and steps into the room, moving to the rocking chair. He almost loses his balance when he sits down in it, a sheepish smile appearing on his face. To see him like that, so utterly human for lack of a better word, makes me relax a little bit around him.

"What are you working on?" he asks with a nod at the sewing machine on my desk.

I hold up a corner of the quilt for him to see.

"Very pretty," he says sincerely. "Does it make you happy to be creative like that?"

Immediately, my guard is completely up. Laurent used to take away everything he knew made me happy. He made me learn to hide all my likes and dislikes, as he would use them against me invariably.

Carlisle notices my sudden tension. "What's wrong, Bella?"

I can't tell him. Of course I can't. I won't arm him like that.

"Don't close down now. Tell me," he coaxes. He's genuinely concerned, but I'm not at all at ease.

He sits back, thinking for a moment. "I'm not sure what has you so guarded suddenly. We agreed to do this together, remember? We can't get to know you if you push us away."

I look over my shoulder at the quilt and say goodbye to the hobby quietly, before I pick up a pen. For lack of a quick means to write on, I use the back of the print he gave me. The words don't come out like I want them to at all.

_Don't take it away please_

He's confused. "Take it away? Why would I take it away?"

My mind wars between confusion, relief and understanding. I am not to blame, my mind tells me. I didn't deserve the treatments I got before. My old life is not the norm.

I bite my lip in contemplation for a moment. Does he know about Laurent? Would he understand if I told him? I opt for an in-between.

_In my old life it would have been taken away if I had liked it_

His expression goes tight and grim for a moment, before he composes himself again. I watch his face carefully, trying to figure out what he is thinking and what it means for me.

"Just so you know, such a thing will never happen here. The thought alone is abhorrent to me."

He's serious, it seems.

"So, now you know I won't hold it against you, will you tell me if this creativity makes you happy?"

Still a bit nervous to admit it, I nod. I write.

_It helps me clear my mind_

He smiles gently. "That is good to hear. And it really is very pretty."

I write again.

_It's for Esme's birthday_

His pleasant surprise is endearing. "I'm very sure she will be very happy with it. It's going to mean a lot to her that you took the effort of making that."

My reply comes out as almost sarcastic, but he gets it right.

_You took the effort of taking me in_

"We did. Though I want to assure you it has nothing to do with effort. We simply wanted to give you a good home. I hope we succeeded."

I write rather than nod and I know my answer to be true the moment I put it on paper.

_Yes_

I can tell we're both happy with my admission.

After a comfortable silence, Carlisle speaks again. "So, _The Velveteen Rabbit_?"

I unfold the paper I've been writing on. Yes. The Velveteen Rabbit.

"It made me think of you. Can you see why?"

I nod, even though I'm more wanting to see why than actually believing it.

He sits forward a little, leaning his elbows on his knees. "I think it goes without saying that your past is horrible beyond comprehension. I gave you this quote because it rings true to me. What happened to you makes you not a lesser person. There is no need to be ashamed, even though I can imagine that you are. I just want you to know that no one will regard you less highly when they learn about your past. In fact, I should think they'd even think higher of you."

I'm suddenly too tired to ask why. The emotions from yesterday resurface, but not in a negative way. For some strange reason, it feels freeing to cry. It feels freeing to be able to accept his words, well, not _all_ of them, but at least the part where he says that my past doesn't make me a lesser person. I want to believe what he says. I want it to be true.

Unbidden, I think of what Siobhan has made me do so often before. If it were someone else, would I blame them? The answer is clear.

_Never. _

It's almost as if he sees my epiphany in my eyes. His smile makes me think he does.

"Want to come downstairs with us? Maybe a little distraction will do you good."

I follow him out of my room. Just before he's about to go downstairs, he turns. "Thanks for talking to me. I know that you stay away from me instinctively, but I hope you know that I support you as much as the rest of the family does."

Somehow it hurts me that he has noticed I have stayed out of his way as much as possible. However much I want to be safe above all things, I don't want others to feel left out, either.

"You'll make it," he says. "I'm sure of that."

I nod at him with a tentative smile, and then in a sudden rush of inspiration, I hold up my hand. He understands immediately, and with a smile, gives me a high five. He can barely conceal his joy when he turns to walk down the stairs.

I find that I am grinning, too.


	51. Chapter 51

**A/N I don't own Twilight. **

_Hello all. Your response to this story never stops to amaze me. Thanks so much! Thanks as well to Sherry, my beta, to Bob for hand-holding, to Aleeab4u for her invaluable feedback, and to my affair Deb. We need some alone-time again soon, my love. _

_I still endeavor to update **roughly** every 10 days. I have a life, and I cope with severe pain on a daily basis. __If I am a day late in your perception, so be it._ It doesn't automatically mean this story is abandoned or that I forgot about it. Just wanted to say that. Have some faith in me!  


_I had a plan for this chapter. And then Edward looked at the script and said something like: "Nope, not going to do it like that." This the result. I hope you like...  
_

* * *

Renée is coming next week. She will miss Esme's birthday, which is this upcoming weekend, but she couldn't make it earlier. She promises to bring presents, she says when she's on speaker phone with Carlisle, Esme and me. We're in the kitchen when the details are discussed, and all the while I am grinning like an idiot.

Alice has offered to sleep in Jasper's room for the time Renée is here. Now the guest room is taken, she would have to rent a hotel room.

Nobody tells me to sleep on the couch. Nobody asks me if I would be willing to share my room with my old therapist. I think they know the answer to that already. If they think it's childish I can't sleep with someone else in the room, they don't say anything.

And so, Renée will be arriving Thursday after next. It can't come quickly enough.

I linger close to Esme on Sunday afternoon. She asks me to help her in the kitchen, and we go all out on some sort of soup she has been wanting to make for a while now. We use letter vermicelli, and it causes some hilarity at dinner, when the others keep trying to spell words with it until Esme chastises them good-naturedly to start eating before it goes cold.

I can spell the word 'mom' with mine.

After dinner, things are quiet in the house.

"I'm bored," Edward states after a while. The TV can't hold his interest, and he's out of books to read. Maybe he will go back to the library soon. Maybe I can join him, if he will let me. I mean, I did refuse to come the last time he asked. Maybe I ruined my chances to go with him.

"Play something," Esme says quietly. "I haven't heard you play in a while."

"Oh, I'll join you," Rosalie says suddenly. "Let's play _Heart and Soul_."

Edward's face lights up and he gets up immediately to go to the baby grand. Rosalie follows him and sits down next to him on the piano stool. One moment later, Edward starts a rhythm and Rosalie plays the melody. I recognize the song easily. I didn't know Rosalie could play though.

"She only knows a song or two," Emmett says when he sees my surprise. "She doesn't really care for it."

Oh, what I'd give to be able to play 'a song or two.' How cool would that be?

However, I remember vividly what was said on the first day I got here. The piano is Edward's, and I am not allowed to touch it. So I don't. Instead, I will listen to the songs Edward and Rosalie are playing now. When she's done, which is quickly, Edward plays some other songs as well.

Drawn closer by the music, I drift over to the parlor where the piano is and lean against the wall to listen. Edward's hands find the right keys confidently. Instead of tapping them, it's almost as if he is stroking them at times. Lovingly handling this instrument as if he were coaxing the music out of it, instead of telling it what to do.

I know my thoughts are silly. But it's just such a sight to see someone play piano like that. He has the sheet music in front of him, but he doesn't need to look at it. He also doesn't really need to look at the keys to find the right notes. What would it be like to have a confidence like that? To be so good in something that you don't even have to think? Would it make you feel more secure, perhaps? Pleased with who you are?

I wouldn't know.

I let my thoughts drift away on the music, focusing on the notes that float around the room. When the song ends, I let out a happy, contented sigh. Edward turns to see who is behind him, and smiles.

"Hey."

_Hey_, I think.

"Like the music?"

_Always._

I'm momentarily lost when he reaches out his hand. "Come here." His expression is sweet. Disarming. A boyish smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

It's as if I am drawn in by him, and there's nothing I can do but to step up closer at his invitation. He pats the piano bench, indicating I should sit down next to him. Now I hesitate. I wouldn't come so close to a man out of my own volition. Every cell in my body warns me to keep my distance, stay out of reach. But my gut feeling, for once, tells me something else entirely.

I _want_ to be close to him. A frown ghosts over my face as that realization sinks in.

"Take your time," he says quietly, pulling me from my thoughts. He turns back to the piano and starts playing a new song. I've never heard this one before. It's warm, somehow. Sweet. Embracing, but also a bit sad somehow. I like it immediately. The sheet music helps me with the title, _Love Me _by Yiruma.

As the music progresses, I can envision it enveloping me like a warm blanket, or a hug. Subtly, Edward shifts a little further to the edge of the piano stool, making more space for me to sit down.

In a sudden rush of boldness and… _want_... I sit down next to him. Being careful that our bodies don't touch – I don't want him to be bothered by me – my heart is still crashing out of my chest. I've never been so close to a man before. Not out of my own volition at least.

I can feel his body heat from where I am sitting. I watch his hands on the keys, but I know he's looking at me from the corner of his eye. I hope he doesn't mind me being so close. Then again, he told me to come sit here, right? Right?

He could push me away if he wanted me gone.

When I look up at him tentatively, there's a faint smile tugging at his lips. He meets my eyes and, feeling busted, I look away quickly. He nudges me gently, never faltering in his playing, and when I look up again, his smile is reassuring.

Relaxing infinitesimally, I let the music wash over me once more. Without really realizing it, I close my eyes and just listen.

When the song comes to an end, Edward starts a new one almost seamlessly. I have heard this one before. It's the song that starts hesitantly, as if the player wants to start again, and then the music picks up. It's lighter than the previous song he played, with a hopeful undercurrent.

I'm so lost in the music I only realize that I have started to lean my head against his shoulder the moment I touch him. Startled, I stiffen, momentarily torn between the urge to run and the urge to freeze.

"It's okay," he says softly. When I look up to meet his eyes, his gaze is clear and kind. "It's okay," he repeats.

However uneasy and nervous I am, at the same time I'm positively sure I don't want to move away from here. I don't understand why, yet I just want to be here and stop my thoughts for a moment.

Edward plays on, unhurried. I can feel the movements of his arm against mine, the subtle movements against my temple where it leans on his shoulder. He doesn't seem tense at all, and due to that, I am able to relax a bit as well, slowly but surely.

The song morphs seamlessly into another one I have never heard before. It must be Yiruma as well, since the style is the same. It's a lighter song, with higher notes.

"This one is called _Kiss the Rain_," Edward says, his voice only just rising above the notes.

I relax further as the song progresses, and when it is done and the last notes fade into silence, I sigh the last bit of tension in my body away. Edward sighs as well, an easy exhale, and rests his hands in his lap. The room is suddenly quiet, but it is not an oppressive silence.

Somewhere behind me, the muted sounds of the TV drift around the house. It's not disruptive. It's all part of the atmosphere.

I've not been this relaxed in a very long time.

And then I feel Edward's cheek rest against the crown of my head.

We sit together for a long moment, and I try to make sense of the tumult that is going on in my brain. Why is he leaning his head against me? And how do I feel about that? Does he want anything else, or is this enough? And what do _I_ want?

I'm not threatened, but deep down I am scared. Worrying, mainly, that he will want more than I can give him. That he will take what he wants anyway, and hurt me. But why would he lean against me like he does now? Why would he allow me to sit with him like that? Is this what friends do? I didn't think so, but what do I know?

My hands start to fidget as all my questions remain unanswered. Edward pulls back, and my body feels cold where it has been leaning against his. He swallows and composes himself. Then he looks at me and smiles, but it's forced.

I understand right away. Saving him the struggle of having to tell me this was a mistake, I get up from the piano bench and stumble up the stairs towards my room. I curl up in the rocking chair with Renée's quilt that no longer smells like Edward.

No matter how I try to analyze it, I liked being close to him like that. Even though panic claws at my backbone, even though fear puts my teeth on edge when I think of it. Even though I have _no_ idea what I'm thinking, wanting to be close to a man to begin with.

It's simply not possible. I can't even begin to list the reasons why not. It's just not possible. I won't ever be able or fit to have a normal relationship like others do. I know this. Edward knows this. His gaze told me all. This has never bothered me.

Then why does it bother me now, all of a sudden?

**~O~**

Monday in school, I am sadly distracted. Once I got to my room yesterday night, my thoughts had become knotted until I could see no sense anymore. When Edward had gone to his room, I had felt compelled to go back downstairs again. I spent the rest of Sunday evening close to Esme, finally giving in when she told me for the third time I could come sit by her again. Without my emotional levels at an all time high, it was hard to let down my guard enough to accept her embrace. But once I had finally lost the tension in my body, it simply felt so good to be close to her.

I've slept like shit again, though. It seems as if the reintroduction of touch is bringing back the memories more strongly, and more often. I am no longer safe in my dreams and I am caught in the irony of not wanting to go to sleep once more. This time however not because I am afraid the waking will disturb me, but because of the dreams.

At the end of Biology, Mr. Banner asks if we have all completed the first part of the assignment. I am horror struck as I realize that I didn't even think about that during the weekend. And now I haven't finished our homework in time.

"Relax," Edward says softly when he sees my stress. "I took care of it. You obviously had other things on your mind."

Oh, he did? Gratitude fills me as I meet his gaze, but I am immediately reminded of yesterday night. The pained look in his eyes had said enough back then. It's nice of him to help me, but he must know I don't expect this of him. Of course he merely wanted to save his own ass.

The realization is sobering and the smile disappears from my face as I look forward again, to where Mr. Banner is writing the new homework assignment on the board.

"Bella?" Edward asks.

I pay more attention than needed on writing down my homework, planning to make sure to do the majority of this week's assignment. From the corner of my eye, I can see Edward leaning forward to catch my attention.

"Oh no you don't," he says. "I'm not going to let you retreat like that again."

Just at that moment the bell rings, and around us the students start to pack their bags and get up. When I make a move to do the same, Edward places a hand on my arm to stop me. The look in his eyes takes me off guard.

"How passionate are you about going to Gym?"

Um...

"Can you go tell the coach you want to go to the Port Angeles library and that you won't be back to check in at the end of class?"

His eyes are hopeful, and something else. Mischievous? Not dark or angry in any way. My newfound desire to be with him wars with my assumed knowledge that he doesn't want me that close. When he presses again, I nod once, and he walks with me to Gym so I can give the note to coach Clapp.

The coach agrees, but 'only for this once.' I nod solemnly and turn to walk away as he goes into the gymnasium.

Edward falls into step with me when I round the corner, and together we walk out of the school building, towards his car in the parking lot. He opens the passenger door for me and gets in on the other side. I get out my phone immediately to type.

_Will you not get in trouble for skipping class?_

"No, so don't worry about that," he reassures me. "Where do you want to go?"

I stare blankly at him. What does he mean? I thought he proposed to go to the library? Or was he joking?

Edward looks through the windshield to the sky. It's blue, and the sun is out today, for the first time in ages. You can actually feel the first hint of spring in the air.

"What do you say about that meadow you found? I know a place we can drive to, and it's not a far walk through the woods from there."

I don't know what he sees in my gaze, but he smiles winningly and starts his car. I'm still not sure if this is a good idea when he turns off the main road and drives down the dirt trail until even that stops. Leaning over me suddenly, he opens the glove compartment and pulls out a bag of candy.

"Want to go to the meadow?" he asks again. He searches my eyes. "I am willing to bet you are dying to go out for some fresh air. Come on, let's go."

He's right about the fresh air. Still, I'm apprehensive about going to that meadow with him. We will be as isolated as we can be. There isn't even cell reception there, and I know he knows it.

His gaze changes. "You know you can trust me, right?"

My lower lip disappears between my teeth as I contemplate his words. I think he won't do anything, but I have learned a long time ago that you can never be sure about such a thing. It's the obvious pain in his eyes that makes me decide to get out of the car at last. His disappointment at my hesitation was palpable. Now I can only hope that it's not a trick.

Then again, I try to reason, had he wanted to try anything, he could have done so a long time ago.

"Stop over thinking it," Edward says as he closes the trunk and locks his car. "Come on. It will do you good to be out. I know _I _need it."

He guides the way through the woods. There is a path, but if you wouldn't know it was there it would be hard to notice it. I allow him to help me climb over a fallen tree log, and he holds some branches out of the way so they don't hit me in my face. It's all very considerate, and underneath it all I realize that I would do the same for him.

Even though Edward says it's not too far a walk to the meadow, I find it quite the journey. This may partly be because I don't know how far it's going to be, but also because I am simply horribly out of shape. I need to move around more, be more active, because right now I am panting like an idiot.

Just as I am considering to let Edward know I need to rest for a bit, he pushes a final branch out of the way and we're back in the clearing I spent so many hours not so long ago. The first signs of spring are already showing in the undergrowth, and even though the grass will probably be too wet to sit on, it's already a lovely place to be.

Edward breathes in deeply and smiles happily. "Oh man I've missed this place. I used to come here to read often."

I wonder why he stopped doing that. His face is alight with the memory.

He looks around for a suitable spot, and then spreads out the blanket on the ground. "I only have one blanket," he says apologetically. "That means you're going to have to sit _awfully_ close to me." His boyish banter is endearing.

He plops down on the blanket and leans back on his hands. "I can't wait for the summer. You must have missed it, too. Phoenix is always hot, isn't it?" He looks over his shoulder at me to see my reaction, and I nod. Phoenix was always hot. And although I like the heat, I have found that the cold of Forks has a benefit I never foresaw.

It's very easy to hide my skin here.

Edward pats the blanket next to him, and when he tells me literally I can sit down if I want to, I go over to him and sink down on my knees, my hands tense on my thighs. He looks at my hands for a moment, before he sits forward, crossing his legs Indian style. Plucking at the grass in front of him, he is quiet for a moment before he speaks.

"I don't even know how to start a conversation right now," he finally says. "Sometimes I think you're really doing better, and then the next time you're as tense as a string again. Is it really so hard to believe that I am not dangerous?" He meets my eyes at his last words, and my shoulders sag when I see the sadness in his gaze.

I pluck my phone out of my pocket to write.

_It's not you_

"I know," he says after he has read it. "But still." He shakes his head, as if to clear his thoughts. "I shouldn't bother you with this, though. It's not as if you can help it."

I suck my lower lip into my mouth as I type again.

_But you can help me_

Our eyes meet for a long moment, and we're both trying to read the other.

"You want me to help you?"

I nod, suddenly shy.

He turns to face me. "Tell me how."

His eagerness catches me off guard.

_I don't know. I wish I knew_

"You asking me to help you. That's a good first step, right? I mean, I'm no therapist, but I think it's a good thing you're willing to try."

I remember what I thought once, that he would make an excellent therapist. I write down as much, and he smiles.

"Therapy is nothing for me. I don't think it would make me happy to try and fix people all day long. At least, psychologically. If I'm really becoming a pediatrician, I will be fixing regardless, but in a different way." The corner of his mouth turns up in that crooked grin I've seen him done before, and I wonder what specific situations cause him to smile like that.

I latch on to the first part of his answer.

_Aren't you trying to fix me, then?_

He looks shocked, almost insulted, and somehow it's a huge relief for me.

"No," comes his reply. "I am not trying to fix you. If I ever gave you that impression, I am sorry."

_You never did. _

"That's good."

I type again.

_I can't be fixed_

Instead of denying it, he meets my gaze. "I don't think there _is_ anything to fix. You just have to be brought out of your shell. It's all in there, somewhere." His conviction is genuine and I look away, shy once again.

"So," he says, suddenly business-like. "Why were you pulling back during Biology? Don't think I didn't notice."

Oh, that. I chew on my lip again and sit back a little, creating the illusion of some distance.

"You can tell me," he coaxes. "If you want me to help you, that is," he adds in a lighter tone, but he's still serious.

I try to write.

_Yesterday at the piano_

"Yes?" he says encouragingly.

My next words take longer to type. I can feel the soft wind on my face when I press the buttons on the phone.

_I saw your look. I'm sorry that I went too far. I didn't want to bother you._

A frown ghosts over his face as he reads. "What do you mean?"

_You don't have to tell me. I understand._

"Understand what? I'm sorry, I really don't know what you mean right now."

Pressing my lips together, I force my hands to move.

_Weren't you going to tell me that you didn't want that to happen again?_

"No?" He frowns. "I actually liked it, but I thought _you_ didn't."

_But I saw your look. _

"What look?"

_I don't know. Disappointed?_

He chuckles humorlessly. "I was just thinking about how much effort it must have cost you to sit with me like that. I was worried I had pushed you too far."

I don't think he's lying, but he's hiding something. What he says is not the complete truth. I study his face, trying to find a clue for more information.

_But that's what friends do, right?_

"Yeah. Right," he says, looking down at his fidgeting hands.

He is definitely hiding something.

_Talk to me_

The recognition in his eyes when he sees his own words used against him is clear. He smiles crookedly, but it morphs into a sad expression. "You'll go running and screaming."

I cock my head. I've been afraid that he would be the one to go. Yet, here we are, at his request. What could he possibly tell me that makes me want to run?

_Quite some things,_ my evil mind whispers. I squash that voice and type.

_Try me_

He takes a deep breath and looks to his right as he thinks. Then he looks down at his hands again. I can tell that he's trying to start speaking several times, before he actually says something.

"You're going to hate me." His voice is quiet.

Briefly I consider telling him I could only hate him if he would ever willingly hurt me, but I don't want to interrupt this moment. Somewhere between the car and this meadow, the notion of him hurting me has become quite ridiculous.

I wait patiently for him to continue. My legs, still folded underneath me, are starting to burn. I don't want to move though. I want to know what he is going to say.

"Bella, I like you. A lot. Maybe more than I should."

Okay, this alarms me. I sit back a little further, as if the distance will help me. I swallow thickly when he looks up and meets my eyes. His face is pained, and he's clearly unhappy.

A thousand emotions and questions crash into me at once. Of course he's disappointed. He must be wondering what's wrong with him to like someone like me. What does he want to do with it? What does he expect from me? Is he going to take what he wants?

"See, I thought you would want to run," he says sadly. "I just… You have to know that I don't expect anything from you. I just can't help myself. But I'm not going to do anything. Nothing has to change." His words are rushed towards the end, but I'm halfway to standing up.

When he reaches out, I get up completely and step away from him. My heart is beating wildly and I am shaking. How did this happen? Why does he see me as something special? Doesn't he know how… tainted I am? If he knew he wouldn't want me. Should I tell him? Or would that make him think that he could do what he wants, like Stefan did when he found out what Laurent did?

I grip my hair. I don't see a way out of this. Why did this have to happen? He must hate me so badly now. Just when I think that he was merely nice, it seems that from the beginning, there has been an ulterior motive. What does he want? Am I still safe around him?

Oh, God. Will he try to come to my room at night? Tell me it's out of love?

I feel sick.

"Bella? Bella, please," Edward says to my right. He's approaching me, and I hold out my hand to beg him to keep his distance. I'm pacing restlessly, hoping that my stomach will calm down and I won't have to make an ass out of myself.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have told you."

My head whips around to look at him.

Not told me? What would have happened then? No, I think it's good that I know.

In a rush, memories dawn. The way he looked at me only this weekend, when I was wearing the new sweater that showed my form. All the times he smiled at me.

When he told me it was okay to sit with him yesterday, did he get off on that?

Oh shit.

Bile rises and I sprint to the edge of the meadow, holding on to a tree as I bend over and try not to soil my clothes and shoes. Everything is tense, and as I keep retching I curse how vulnerable it makes me. How often am I going to throw up in his presence? Shame burns on my cheeks and I can't get myself to look up and meet his gaze.

It's all going to hell.

Just like I expected.

"Here," he says quietly, handing me a packet of tissues and a small bottle of water.

I rinse my mouth and clean my hands, then lean against the tree in defeat. I can't even open my eyes, the embarrassment is just too much. Tears escape from between my closed lids, adding to the misery of this situation.

Edward stands by at a safe distance, lost. "I'm so sorry," he says again. "I thought you'd be upset, just not this badly. But it doesn't mean anything, Bella. Nothing has to change. I still want for us to be friends. I meant what I said once. I really don't want anything from you or expect anything."

With shaking hands, I type on my phone.

_We can't be friends if you want more_

He reaches out for the phone, but in my sudden fright to touch him, I drop the device and it falls to the ground. I walk away from him as he reads, afraid he will come after me.

"I don't want more," he says. "Shit, I really just shouldn't have said anything. Me and my honesty." He tugs at his hair in frustration, messing up his already wild do.

I wrap my arms around myself, seeking comfort I know I won't be able to find. What a rollercoaster these past few days have been. From realizing my past was probably not my fault, to learning Carlisle and Esme still accept me after all that happened, to Edward telling me he likes me. More than he should.

It stings.

Because deep down, I know I like him too. But what do I do about it? I can't ever be in a normal relationship. Fear implodes in my guts when I even think of such a possibility. No way, no go. I don't even want to think about it.

I sigh desperately.

"I wanted to say that I hoped this wouldn't ruin anything," he says quietly. I can hear him walking around me to approach me. "But I guess I ruined it anyway."

He stops a few feet away. A gust of wind blows through the clearing and I shiver, suddenly cold.

"Bella, please look at me?"

I meet his eyes, and the pain I see there distracts me.

"I'm so sorry," he repeats. "I just want to spend some time with you. I thought that was the same for you, too."

His words disarm me completely, because he is right. I wanted to spend time with him, and all this time I have been worrying that I was a burden to him. But he's not right when he says nothing has to change. I don't think things will ever be the same again. I will always wonder what he will do when he's close.

He swallows before he speaks. "Not all men are evil, you know? I know you're not ready for anything and I know that you don't see me the same way. That's okay. I won't force you into anything. But I would hate it if I were to lose our friendship."

I hug myself tighter, needing time to think but knowing I won't find any clarity soon. I wonder if Siobhan could help me with this, or Renée. But they're not here right now, and Edward is.

Edward steps closer. I step back instinctively.

"Please don't be afraid of me," he says, his voice broken. "I really don't want you to be scared. You know there is no need." The pain in his voice slides through my soul. It's real. I can tell it is real, because I have felt like he does.

I have been in need of affection for so long, I know exactly how it feels. I know it is what Edward feels now.

And so it appears that I now have the absurd need to comfort _him_.

Slowly, carefully, my arms unwrap themselves from around my torso. Edward makes no move to come closer, giving me time I think to relax again. I can only appreciate it and I can see how the tension leaves his body when I calm down again as well.

After a while I let out a deep sigh, trying to rid myself of the coil of fear that is still sitting tightly in my chest. I try to make a mental inventory of the situation, but come up short. It's too much to process. My buffer is overflowing.

When I meet Edward's gaze finally, he tries to smile. "I'm so sorry. I really shouldn't have burdened you with this."

I shake my head. I think I'm glad to know. I mean, don't I have a right to know? I would have felt bad if he had kept to to himself for a very long time. Which makes me wonder how long he has known that he likes me. More than he should.

Ugh, this is all way too confusing.

Also because of course, I still can't deny how _I_ feel when I am close to him. What am I supposed to do with _that_? I never thought it would be possible to ever even feel something for someone. But it doesn't matter, does it? Regardless of what I feel, it won't ever be possible. Ever.

Even though Rosalie said something about it being awesome when you share it with the right person. But how do you know who is that someone?

I'm so conflicted. And scared. The tension that had started to fade, rebuilds. Memories I want to forget force themselves on me. No way out. And here I am, alone with him. He can take what he wants. Is this all a trick? I have to get out of here. I turn to leave, blindly. I'm not even sure which is the way to the car but I don't care.

A hand on my arm. Edward, wanting me to stop. It's not a restraining grip, but I can no longer tell the difference. Stuck in my past, I flinch away from him, violently. Don't touch me. Don't hurt me, please. I've been hurt so often before. If it happens again, I'm afraid I will break.

"I'm sorry," Edward says again, his voice rough with sadness. He steps back, and I remain at the edge of the meadow, my arms once more around me.

I need something to hold on to, an anchor, just one thing that is the same after everything that has changed over the past few days. It's too much.

"I would never hurt you," he says. "Ever. You know this. I know you do."

The silence rings. I can hear the wind, the soft sounds of the forest around us. Somewhere in the distance, a lone birds sings. It grounds me for some reason, providing a lifeline with sanity I so desperately need.

I close my eyes for a moment, looking at the grass in front of my feet. Trying desperately to compose myself. I don't want to run anymore. I don't know why, but I don't want to run. Deep down I know it won't solve anything if I run.

But I don't know what to do right now, either.

"Bella?"

I pull back further in myself. I can't look at him right now. I don't want to see the pain in his face, the pain know all too well. I can't give him what he wants, it can only lead to disappointment. But that's not the real reason I can't meet his eyes. I'm afraid that if I do, I will really start to realize what I feel for him. Right now, I can still push it away. I don't want to see his tortured gaze. He will draw me in until I can't get out anymore. Until I don't want to get out. And that is when it becomes dangerous.

"Won't you even look at me?"

I shake my head. I can't. I can't see the hurt, for it is much too similar to my own. Tears come up once again and spill down my cheeks. I don't even bother to wipe them away. Things can't get much worse, anyway. And for some strange reason, I want him to see my tears. I don't know why.

I don't know anything anymore.

"I'll take you back to the car," he whispers after a long silence. "I can take you home, if you want to."

He walks up to me to start guiding the way, but I step around him. I don't want to leave just yet. I need to figure this all out before I go back to the reality that is the rest of my life.

Taking a cleansing breath, I walk to the middle of the meadow. The sky is still blue. The days have been getting longer steadily, and I revel in the extra light. I didn't realize how much I had missed it until I started to get it back.

When the lonely bird in the distance stops its song, I turn around to face Edward. His gaze is open, vulnerable, and for a moment I get the uncanny feeling that I am looking straight into his soul. And somehow, deep down, I suddenly know.

He won't hurt me. He never will.

I gasp under the weight of my realization.

Edward doesn't move. He looks back at me, not trying to hide anything. His hands are hanging relaxed by his sides, there is no sign of any aggression. And I would know. I've seen it too often before.

But never in Edward. He is waiting for me, to make the first move, perhaps. To let him know in some way that I won't go running. But he needs to know I need time. And distance, probably. I don't want to lose him, but I realize that in time, I probably will. To another girl. One who can give him back what he wants. What he needs.

What he deserves.

I sigh, and wander back to the blanket where I sit down, my back to him. He doesn't move. The wind is in my direction and I would be able to hear it if he moved.

He is waiting.

I make my decision. Looking over my shoulder, I meet his gaze once again. I don't know what will happen now.

I only know that I want to let him in.

* * *

_The songs Edward was playing are all from Yiruma: _Love Me_, _The River Flows in You_ and _Kiss the Rain_._

_I'm very curious what you thought of this chapter!_


	52. Chapter 52

**A/N I don't own Twilight  
**

_Thanks for the overwhelming response to the previous chapter. You all rock! Thanks too for the well wishes. I really appreciate it. _

_Thanks to Sherriola, beta extraordinaire,_ _thanks to Bob for being awesome, thanks to Aleeab4u who makes me see sense. Thanks to Deb for being who you are. We need some alone time again soon, my sweet..._

_This chapter picks up right where the previous one left off. Music that kind of goes along with it: V_anVelzen: Right this time & On my way. Maria Mena: Just Hold Me & All this time. _Enjoy!_

* * *

His gaze never leaves mine as he walks over to me, his steps slow and deliberate.

"Can I sit down?" he asks quietly.

I nod, once, a curt motion that betrays the tension I feel.

He moves to sit next to me, brushing my arm when he shifts into a more comfortable position. For a long time we both look forward, lost in our thoughts.

He takes a breath to speak, but then reconsiders and closes his mouth again. When he does it again, I take out my phone and type.

_Talk to me_

A crooked smile appears on his face. "You're using my own words against me now?"

_I'm still here. I want to hear what you have to say_

He looks down. "It's so weird… Now you are here I don't know what to say anymore."

And like that we sit in silence again. He's relaxed but on guard, and it takes me a while to realize that his tension comes from worrying about me. When he realizes that my nervousness is fading away, his anxiety seems to fade as well.

"I like being in your company," he says suddenly. "But I hate it so much that you are afraid of people, that you are afraid of me. I would love to hug you and show you there's really no reason, but I know that's not the wisest thing to do." He meets my eyes at his last words, and I see a mixture of despair and understanding there.

_I need some time, I think_

"I know," he says, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I just wish there was something I could do to help."

I want to tell him to just keep doing what he is doing right now, but somehow that doesn't feel right.

_Your patience will wear out_

He looks up at me after he has read my words. "Why do you think that?"

I shrug.

_You're a nice guy. You deserve a nice girl. _

He frowns. "I don't know what you mean."

_I can't give you what you want_

"You said that before. And you're wrong," he says now, his face smoothing out again. "You don't even know what I want. Ask me what I want."

I do.

"I want to spend time with you," he says, turning to face me a bit better. "That's all."

I shake my head.

_That is not true. _

His shoulders sag. "I wish I could make you believe it _is_ true, though."

_I'm not stupid, Edward. I know what men want_

The moment he reads the words I realize the gravity of my mistake. I turn away from him in shame, hiding my face behind my hair.

Silence stretches. A light breeze travels through the meadow, tickling the hair at the back of my neck. The sensation is new and unknown, and I hunch my shoulders against it. Briefly I wonder what it would feel like to be touched there by a loving hand, but I push the thought away.

"I'm not… I won't…" Edward stutters behind me, breaking the silence. "Bella, please look at me."

I shake my head. I can't face him right now. My skin crawls. I feel so dirty, I wonder why Edward is even still here.

I stiffen when I feel his hand on my back. The touch is so soft I can barely feel it, but it's most definitely there.

"I wish I knew how to comfort you," Edward says softly. "I wish I knew how to make you believe that you have nothing to fear from me."

His words are so honest, his voice sounds so broken. I sag under the weight of his admission, relaxing underneath his touch. His hand moves slowly in comforting circles, not searching or pushing at all. It's all so new to me.

But I still can't look at him.

"I've said before I don't know what happened to you in your past," he whispers. "Sometimes I'm not even sure I want to know. But I want you to know that I would never force you to do anything. I can't even imagine doing something like that."

His hand stills. "You said you know what men want. But not all men simply take what they want. Does that make sense?"

I nod curtly, once. It doesn't have to be true, though.

He exhales, a half-sigh I can't read. "You decided not to run when I told you I like you. I hope this means you are at least willing to try to let me in."

I can't move, waiting for what else he is going to say. For some strange reason, it's so very comforting to hear his soft voice.

"But you have to help me," he continues. "I can't do this alone. I don't _want_ to do it alone."

His hand is still on my back, and I imagine I can feel the warmth of his skin seeping through my coat.

"As for the other things I want, you will find I have simple needs. I merely want to spend some time with you. To be close to you sometimes. Is that so much to ask?"

My head moves from left to right before I can stop myself. I want to be with him, too. I just can't shake the worry that I'm a burden to him with my need for closeness.

He sighs again, and then I suddenly feel his forehead against my shoulder. I don't push him away, and as soon as he realizes I am okay, I feel the weight of his head more clearly.

"I wish I could clear your worries for you," he says against my back.

We sit like this for a long moment. That he is leaning against me, seeking comfort I think, is nothing short but a wonder to me. Never before have I meant something like that for anyone else. Never before did someone approach me for comfort.

It feels surprisingly good.

As the desire to look in his eyes again grows, I move to turn around to face him again. He pulls back when he senses what I want, and meets my eyes when I have repositioned myself.

"Hey."

_Hey_, I think.

He licks his lips in a nervous gesture. "Will you let me in?"

I bite my lip. I want to — it's the reason why I decided to stay. But now the moment is here, fear is paralyzing me, making it impossible to move.

"You're still here," he says quietly. "So can I take that as a yes?"

I swallow, then nod.

His smile shows relief, but then he sobers. "I didn't even ask you what you want. Or what you feel. Because I don't want you to feel obligated or anything, you know that, right?"

It feels so good to hear him say that.

"Talk to me," he says, a lopsided smile appearing at the repetition of the words.

I type.

_I want to be here_

I can't tell him I want to be with him. It's nearly impossible for me to allow or acknowledge emotions. Sometimes I will feel something for a while, like I did over the weekend, but I am quick to push it away again and often I don't even notice it.

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. I push my emotions away, because I am scared of them. I'm as scared of the intense hurt I have felt not so long ago, but also of the happiness I feel when I think of the promises Edward's words entail. It's nearly impossible for me to feel that, to let it in. Will I ever be able to feel anything for Edward but apprehension and anxiety?

"Bella?"

But I want to be close to him, that much I have gathered. That must mean something, right? It clashes with everything that happened, though. And unbidden, the pain and the shame of my past force their way to the surface of my thoughts again.

Even if it isn't my fault, I am still far from normal, whatever that may be. Soiled, tainted. Not only are my emotions stilted, I can't react normally to touch either, and I wonder if that will ever change. That is, if anyone will ever even want to touch me when they find out what happened.

"Earth to Bella."

I blink a few times to get Edward's face into focus again. He is smiling gently, but there is worry in his eyes.

"Tell me what you're thinking."

My blush is hot on my cheeks when I shake my head.

"That has me intrigued," he says in a teasing tone. "Sure you don't want to share?"

I have to think a long time about the words I could use to voice my concern. In the end I decide to just be blunt, since there is no way of putting this that will make me feel less vulnerable or exposed.

_I'm not sure if I can ever feel the right things _

His eyebrows rise in surprise as he reads my words. "I beg to differ," he contradicts me. "I think you are a very emotional person. You just have to allow yourself to let it in. Or out, depending on how you look at it."

He sees something in my face that makes him reassure me even more.

"I've seen you sad, and I've seen you happy, I've seen you afraid and I've seen you relaxed. Bella, when you smile, the whole room lights up. But sometimes I still feel you're afraid to show your emotions, is that true?"

My lip disappears between my teeth as I nod. It's why I learned to push them away. Now I am discovering that I am afraid of the intensity of my emotions when I don't suppress them.

"That's sad," he says in a quieter voice. "Was it better for you to hide them?"

Yeah, always.

"You don't have to hide them from me, you know."

I look into his eyes and get lost in his green gaze for a moment. So many thoughts are swirling through my head, and so many emotions I can't even name one. Or I can: I want to be here, with him, right now. However apprehensive I am, the desire to be here is like a steady undercurrent, giving me the strength to stay here and try.

He smiles shyly under my intense gaze. "What is it?"

Now it's my turn to be shy. I look down, fidgeting with the phone in my lap.

"Hey, this is exactly what I meant just now. Let me in. Don't be scared to show yourself."

Again I can't answer, and even when he ducks his head, I refuse to meet his gaze.

"Bella."

I sigh deeply with the impossibility of my situation. Then I type.

_You're going to lose your patience with me_

"No, I won't. I would have done that a long time ago, before I really wanted to get to know you. I'm very much willing to wait."

Oh, how to explain this to him?

_I can't be your girlfriend, Edward_

Well, that came out completely wrong.

Instead of denying my words immediately, he simply meets my gaze. "I'm not asking you to. All I want is to spend a little time with you, but only if you want that, too. I want you to feel free to say no if you don't want me near. I know that's probably hard for you."

Oh, I feel busted now. I duck my head further, trying to hide my blush behind my hair.

"This is what I mean," he says with a humorless chuckle. "I'm really trying to understand you, but I honestly can't read your emotions right now."

I look up at him with a smile of recognition, surprising him.

_I don't understand myself, either_

He laughs, a relieved, happy laugh. I watch his Adam's apple bob as he throws his head back in amusement.

"So shall we try to figure you out together?" There is a sparkle in his eyes as he speaks.

_Siobhan said I have to rediscover myself_

"Maybe she was right, he says after he has read my words. "I think the groundwork is there. You just have to tweak your software a little."

_I didn't know you knew a lot about computers_

"I don't," he says easily. "But I want to know a lot about you."

His eyes are so intense suddenly, I have to look away. Of course I blush again, and he chuckles lightly.

"I didn't mean to make you blush, although I must say I like it when you do it for the right reasons."

Oh, evil man. My blush deepens, and I bring my cool hands to my cheeks in an effort to make it go away.

He laughs again, gently. "I'm sorry."

When I feel that my face resembles a normal skin color again, I tentatively look back up to meet his gaze.

"I didn't mean to make you blush," he says, his eyes kind. "Mainly I just want to make you happy, make you smile."

_You do that already_

"I want to do it more often. Like I said, it wrecks me that you are still afraid of me. If I touch you unexpectedly, you shy away. I don't want to startle you, or frighten you. It breaks my heart to see fear in your eyes, especially if I caused it for whatever reason."

Does he know how much it means to me that he's saying that? I think if he wanted to take what he desired, he wouldn't be worrying about my well-being. Yet, it seems that he really wants me to be happy, too. It doesn't solve anything, though.

_I'm not sure if that will ever go away_

A pained look flashes over his face. "I know. I realize that."

_Then why are you here, waiting for something that might never happen?_

He meets my gaze with those intense green eyes. "Just tell me if you feel the same, if you want this, too. As long as you do, I am willing to try. The question is, are you?"

I chew on my lip as I think over his question. It's not easy to answer.

"Bella?"

The worry in his voice tugs at my heartstrings and I meet his gaze again, trying to reassure him with my eyes. I think he sees something worthy, because his face softens.

"I know it's hard. Or, no, I don't, but I can imagine it is. I can only hope that you are here with me because _you_ want to be, not because you think I want you to."

_You know me so well_

"I don't," he says with a sad smile. "But I'm trying to. So, are you here because you want to be? Or because I want you to be?"

_I told you I want to be here. I would have left if I didn't_

"Would you?" he asks, his eyes narrowed. "Really?"

I swallow under his scrutiny.

_I'm here. I'm not lying_

"Fair enough," he says, his shoulders relaxing. "I need you to be honest. I can't bear the thought of you ever doing anything you don't want to, to please me."

My breath halts at his words, and again I have to look away. My heart is suddenly beating wildly at the memories and emotions his words bring forth. Swallowing a sudden lump in my throat away, I wrap my arms around myself in that old gesture of empty comfort.

"You have had to do that before?"

My nod is barely perceptible. I blink furiously to keep those stupid tears at bay.

"I'm so sorry. And this exactly is why I don't _ever_ want you to do anything against your will. It breaks my heart to see you like this."

He's silent for a moment, and I focus on my breathing to calm myself down again.

"Hey," he says, making him look at me with his voice. "You said you really want to be here. That's enough for now, isn't it? For me, it is, anyway."

I nod. He stretches out his hand slowly, making sure that I know his intentions before he gently tugs my arms away from their vice like grip around my body.

"I'm likely to mess up sometimes," he says solemnly, but with light eyes. "Like it wasn't the best idea perhaps to tell you about my feelings after the weekend you had."

I want to interrupt him, but he stops me with a smile. "I figured honesty might be better. But I will mess up. And you will probably push me away more than once." He holds my gaze. "We are just not going to follow the rules. The only rule I will never, ever break, is that I respect you fully and completely. I will never try to push you too far. I promise."

I breathe his words in, letting them take hold in my soul.

"And the only rule I expect you to follow, is that you won't do anything you don't want to. I want you to say 'no.' I won't hold it against you. Ever."

I can't look away from his eyes, and I feel as if he's looking right through me, seeing everything I've been trying to hide for so long. It doesn't alarm me, however. It feels… good.

"Nothing will have to change. I just... I hope you will let me hold your hand every so often." Putting action to his words, he lightly grasps my hand with his, resting them both in my lap.

I look from his hand to his eyes, and a happiness I have never known bubbles its way up and out of me.

I smile brighter than I have ever done before.

**~O~**

I can't seem to wipe the smile off my face all through Tuesday. Whenever Edward catches my gaze, he smiles back at me, a genuine smile that reaches his eyes. Like he promised, he's not different all of a sudden. He's not seeking contact every other second. He's as reliable as ever, and I amaze myself by even allowing such an observation.

My slight anxiety of being alone in the car with him for an hour as we drive to Port Angeles after yesterday's revelations, turns out to be uncalled for. He's relaxed as ever, turning up the music when one of his favorite songs comes on the radio.

He asks me what music I like.

I find I can't answer him, and not only because I can't make him read my words while he's driving. I've never allowed myself to like much, and as such I don't have a special taste in music. I do love the CD he compiled for me, though.

Edward invites me to take his CD case out of the glove cabinet so I can browse through his music. I only recognize a few, and it makes me realize how little I know of the world. Not only have I been kept away from it all for a very long time, I've hidden from it, as well.

Before long, we're at the therapist's office. Edward announces he wants to go to the library in the meantime, and promises to be back in time. He smiles brightly before he disappears around the corner.

I find I'm distracted during the session. Lost in my thoughts of what happened yesterday and last Friday, I am slow to answer Siobhan's questions.

"So, I was thinking we should have our next session in Ecuador?" she asks.

I nod along, until her words register. Blinking a few times to clear my head, I look at her in surprise.

She laughs. "There you are. What has you so distracted?"

My cheeks puff out when I release a sigh.

"Talk to me," Siobhan coaxes. "You had a really rough session last week. How did you feel after that?"

She makes it easy for me to talk about what happened, and so I tell her how I spent the rest of the day glued to Esme. But, without her encouragement I also talk about the discovery I made, that I seem to be pushing my emotions away without even wanting to. That I am scared to let them in.

"It's a coping mechanism," she says. "You will have to learn to feel your emotions again, to allow them to influence your mood. That can be scary, because emotions can be intense. They will make you feel out of control. How did you feel last Friday?"

And so she talks me through my emotions, encouraging me to recall them and feel them again. She tells me that it's not a sign of weakness to bear a sadness that lasts for days instead of hours.

She tells me that after the epiphany I had last Friday, it's perfectly normal to want to mourn the childhood I never had.

"Likely there will be several phases you go through. For now, you cope by ignoring it, you think about it as little as possible, am I right?"

I nod.

"You know that nothing will change, and it won't go away as long as you don't let it in. You have to come to terms with it. You will likely feel sadness, despair, and anger at the people who did this to you. And that's okay."

I look at her like she has grown a second head. I know better than to be angry with them.

"Recall how you felt when Stefan came to your bed at night. Was it just fear?"

No, I realize. I felt hatred as well. I just perfected the skill of hiding it, because if he saw I was angry or annoyed, I was in for it.

"It's going to be a long journey," she continues. "But you have made the first steps and you're making quicker progress than what is average for people like you. I think in time, you might want to consider group therapy, to talk with others. But only if you want to."

The idea of group therapy freaks me out. Be with others and talk about my past? No, thanks.

"So how are things with Edward?" she asks suddenly.

Her question catches me off guard and I nearly choke on my coffee.

"I saw him smiling at you just now. Have you accepted his friendship?"

If anyone can help me with this, Siobhan can, I guess. And so I tell her of the meadow, that Edward told me he likes me more than he should, about my worry that my emotions are somehow damaged or broken, and about my fear of what I might feel.

"Then let's focus on this: how does it make you feel that he likes you?"

_Fear. Worry. _

"Is that all?"

_It overwhelms the rest_

"What rest?"

_I'm secretly happy. But I'm afraid I can't give him what he wants_

Siobhan smiles at the first part of my answer. "Have you talked about this to him?"

_Yes. He promised me he wouldn't push my boundaries_

"It was very brave of you to discuss this with him. How did you feel after he promised that?"

_Promises are easily broken. He's bound to lose his patience. It's not like I can ever be a normal girl, let alone girlfriend._

"Do you really think so?"

I do. I don't bother writing down the arguments. Siobhan knows them as well as I do.

"And, not unimportantly, do you think Edward cares about that?"

I look at her, incredulous. Of course he does.

Siobhan smiles gently. "He has known you since you came to live with his family. He knows you, and it's you who caught his attention."

Oh, how I hate it that she has a point.

"Does he know about your past?"

_Some of it_

"Did you tell him?"

I shake my head.

_He guessed and I didn't deny_

"Then why are you worried? I don't know Edward, but he comes across to me as a genuine guy who loves unconditionally."

_If he knows all, he will turn away in disgust_

Siobhan leans forward to put emphasis to her words. "I think he won't. And if he does, well, then he isn't worth your attention at all."

Again, she does have a point. We end the session by going through some exercises that should help me deal with my emotions with more ease. Whenever I feel something, whether good or bad, I should allow it to wash over me, let myself feel it, and try to experience how it affects me, instead of trying to control it.

My head, as usual, is completely full when I reemerge from the therapy room. Edward is up immediately, ready to take me home.

"How was it?" he asks as we walk to the car.

I type on my phone and hand it to him. His fingers brush mine as he takes it from me, and a weird fluttery feeling erupts in my stomach. Huh.

_We talked about you _

He looks at me in time to see my mischievous smile, and he grins. "Only good things, I hope."

_So far, I have nothing bad to say about you _

My blush explodes after my bold admission, and he looks shy, as well. We walk along for a moment, both lost. The silence is a little awkward, but not in leaden way. It's hard to put my finger on it.

"I'm so hungry," he suddenly announces. "Want to go get a snack?"

_What about dinner?_

He shrugs. "I won't tell if you won't, either."

I make the gesture of zipping my lips, and he turns right abruptly, making me stumble in my attempt to follow him. He leads the way to a tiny shop, almost hidden in between regular houses. From the outside I can already smell what they are selling.

Edward holds open the door for me and I bite my lip in shyness as I walk past him. The shop sells all sorts of nuts. My attention is immediately drawn to honey crusted pecan nuts. While Edward goes for macadamias, I go for the sweet treat.

We walk back to the car, my bag with nuts feeling slightly warm in the pocket of my coat. It's getting decidedly warmer, and I register that I will have to buy a new coat soon, unless I can use the Burberry again I borrowed last autumn.

It's unbelievable I have been with the Cullens for half a year already. Yet, it feels like a lifetime.

Edward opens the car door for me when we get there. I look at him, a little incredulous. He laughs bashfully. "Let me do this for you."

I shake my head, trying to let him know that he really shouldn't bother.

The look in his eyes is nothing short of endearing. "Indulge me."

Well, if it makes him happy…

"We're going to go to the garden center Saturday morning," he says when we're well on our way home, both munching away on the snacks we bought. "The greenhouse arrives around three in the afternoon. That way, when mom gets all those plants, she won't know what to do with them." He's smiling, anticipating the fun they will have tricking Esme.

"I'm guessing we are all giving her a personal gift as well," he continues. "Do you know something you could buy for her? I can help if you want to."

I shake my head when he looks at me for a short moment, before he focuses back on the road again.

"Okay," he says, smiling. "Whatever you have in mind, I am sure she's going to love it."

I smile to myself. Carlisle said much the same the other day.

The conversation comes to a halt when the clouds break open and heavy rain starts to fall down. Edward is squinting his eyes to keep his focus on the road, and he gets us home safely again.

I wish I could thank him somehow.

The rest of the week passes in a wonderful way. As per Siobhan's instructions, I try to focus on how I feel. When I feel good or sad, I try to let it take hold in my soul, as if I am mentally stepping back instead of fighting it.

I am clingy. I get on my own nerves with it, but Esme seems completely okay with my new desire for proximity. When I feel like I am going to suffocate for lack of contact, I only have to brush her elbow with the lightest of touches and she's there for me. Sometimes it's a hug, or just a look. Sometimes she asks me to sit on the couch with her. I'm not always glued to her side, but we do sit together a lot. I haven't hidden my face in the crook of her neck like I did that first time, but it just feels good to be close to her.

The others are different around me as well, or so it feels. More at ease, it seems. I spend a lot of time with Alice, sewing. She's working on some garment as I try my best to finish the quilt for Esme.

Since sleep has become a luxury I can no longer indulge in without being haunted by horrid nightmares, I have taken to sewing by hand during the nights. Once I even sneak down to the library, where I sit down in the window seat and watch the moonlit garden, the quilt in my lap.

The unthinkable happens though — I fall asleep in that same window seat, and am awoken the next morning by Jasper.

"She's here," he calls over his shoulder. When he turns back to me and I see the worry in his eyes, his gaze softens. "You were late this morning, and you weren't in your bed. Your bedroom door was open. We jumped to conclusions."

Alice comes running into the library. "We thought you'd run away," she says bluntly.

But she's thinking quickly, as always, and helps me hide the quilt with only seconds to spare before Esme comes running in, her cheeks tear-stained.

"Oh, thank God you're okay," she says with a sigh of relief.

I scramble to my feet and let her pull me into a hug. I breathe in the lingering smell of her perfume and hug her back. I wouldn't run from here. Why would I?

On Friday, Esme texts me that my meeting with Siobhan is canceled, because she is sick.

I'm a bit lost in my thoughts as I go home with Edward, Alice and Jasper. Jessica and Lauren were at it again today, and they made nasty comments. That my muteness would never land me a boyfriend, and that I am too ugly to get one even if I spoke.

Why their words hurt me, I don't know. Up to a few weeks ago, I would have taken them for a truth and ignored it. But now, with Edward so obviously happy that he spent time in the meadow with me last Monday, it makes me wonder.

I'd rather die before I ask anyone if I'm really ugly, though. I think I am, so I guess that will have to suffice.

When we arrive home, Esme immediately tells Alice and Jasper she wants them to come and help for the groceries. "You're too tired," she tells me when I look at her with a questioning gaze.

She might be right. I've been dead on my feet. Stupid dreams.

As soon as the car has left the garage, silence rings around the house. I'm alone here with Edward, I realize all of a sudden. He's at the fridge, fixing himself a drink. His face shows worry when he looks me over, but he doesn't ask me what's wrong.

Instead, his eyes light up a moment before he steps up to me. "I have an idea," he says. He takes my hand and takes me to his piano, where he invites me to sit down to his right.

Still distracted by the way he took my hand just now, like it was nothing, I don't realize immediately that he wants me to pay attention. He plays a string of notes, seemingly insanely difficult, and then asks me to copy them.

I simply gape at him, and he laughs at my expression.

"I'll do it again. Watch," he says and he plays the notes again, slower this time. It's easier to see now that although there are many notes, the order isn't that challenging at all.

He concludes the piece of music, and asks me to copy him again. He points at the first note for me, and I press the key.

It's just about the loudest sound I have made willfully in a very long time, and I pull back my hands immediately, shocked. Edward chuckles. "It's supposed to do that you know," he says in a lightly teasing tone. "Try it again."

My breathing hitches when he takes my hand and places it back on the keys. Hesitatingly, I press the key again. And then another, and another, reproducing the melody Edward just taught me.

I miss a few notes, but he plays along with me again and again, until I can play it nearly faultlessly. I only understand what his purpose has been all this time until he tells me the keep playing the melody, and starts playing something else at the same time.

It sounds so good that I lose my rhythm and come to a stop, my blush flaring at my failure.

"It's okay. Let's try again," Edward says. He gives me a sign to start and we both play again, and again and again until it's one fluid melody on the piano, played by four hands.

I can't believe it.

"Beautiful," Rosalie says suddenly behind us when we are done. "You're a natural, Bella."

I duck my head, blushing.

"But that's not the entire song. Wasn't there a second part?" Rosalie asks.

"True," Edward says. "Want to go on?" he asks me.

Searching his gaze for any sign of him getting tired of this, I nod slowly. And so Edward teaches me the rest of the song. We're so engrossed in our playing that I don't even hear Esme come back home. When we play one final time and the song comes to an end, she, Alice and Jasper applaud.

"That was amazing," Esme says, beaming.

Shy under her praise, I can't meet her eyes, and I get up to help her with the groceries. She's celebrating her birthday tomorrow, and I guess she will want to bake the pies tonight.

As we work on several sweet and savory snacks in the kitchen after dinner, Esme tells me who she expects to come over tomorrow. So far she has refused to let me bake her a special birthday cake, instead insisting on making pies together.

"If it's too crowded for you tomorrow, just step away for a bit," she says gently. "I've asked Alice and Rosalie to help me with drinks and such, so don't feel obligated. I know you don't like to be around people you don't know."

Although it's nice to know she's thinking of me, it also feels like a form of coddling as well. I take her words to heart though, and after we're done with our preparations, I sit close to her on the couch as we watch some comedy on TV.

I finish the quilt overnight, wrapping it in the colorful wrapping paper that Alice gave me. As far as I know, everyone has some sort of personal gift for their mother, apart from the enormous amount of plants that we go purchase Saturday morning with Emmett's Jeep.

My foster siblings all have shit-eating grins on their faces when they see Esme's confusion. She tries to be happy with the plants she got, but it's clear she has no idea what to do with them. Still, she hugs us all, and surprises me out of my wits by pressing a kiss to my cheek as she wraps her arms around me.

I look at her with wide eyes, shocked by this new token of affection.

"Good?" she asks carefully, and very softly.

I can only nod.

Very, very good, indeed.

Determined as I was to not slip away for fresh air during the entire party, I find this resolve waning that Saturday afternoon as I see that Emmett sneaks out with James, who has come over as well, and Jasper and Edward are outside playing soccer with Jacob and Seth.

There a so many people in the living room, that extra chairs have been taken from the kitchen to seat everyone. I don't recognize all the guests. Some are her cousins, Esme tells me in the kitchen when we fill a tray with treats, and they only come over once a year, if they come at all.

Charlie is there as well, as are a lot of people from the Reservation, and some people from the hospital. I recognize Sue Clearwater and Esme's friend Kate.

Some of the people are way too interested in me, trying to get my attention and start a conversation with me. Alice and Rosalie are my saving angels though, being constantly alert and helping me out more than once, preventing most of the uneasiness I could have been experiencing.

I will have to find a way to thank them for it. When I meet heir gaze, they simply smile in happy reassurance.

Then the clock strikes three and Carlisle announces that he wants Esme to come to the porch with him. Game, she accepts his arm and they walk outside together. We all follow them. I linger behind, not comfortable with having strangers standing behind me.

Carlisle points to an empty spot in the garden, and asks Esme what she would love to have most.

"I don't dare ask," she says, almost girlish in her sudden shyness.

"Ask," he encourages her.

"A greenhouse?" Her voice is timid, proving that indeed, she hardly dares saying the words out loud.

"A greenhouse indeed," he says, and just at that moment, a truck comes down the driveway.

"Oh, darling!" Esme exclaims, wrapping her arms around Carlisle's neck and kissing him soundly. He picks her up from the ground completely as they kiss, much to the amusement of the onlookers.

"I take it you're happy?" he asks, cupping her face in his hands.

She just beams at him before she dashes down the porch steps to meet the delivery party.

"That's just part of the material," Jasper tells me. "The rest will come on Monday, I presume. It was expensive enough to have one truck deliver on a Saturday."

I nod at him and then focus back on Esme, who keeps listing things she wants to keep in the greenhouse, in between profuse thanks to us for giving her a head start with all the plants we bought her.

By the end of the afternoon, most of the strange new people have disappeared again. Some people from the Reservation, Kate and Charlie remain.

I help Esme to fix a dinner for everyone. Then, after the first course, Jasper suddenly jumps up, telling his mother that he has something for her. He hands her a wrapped box and when she opened it, she reveals some framed photographs Jasper has taken with his new camera.

Everybody in the room admires the photos, complimenting Jasper with his skill. Just when Esme wants to get up to arrange the rest of dinner, Emmett announces he has something as well — the first edition of a book that must mean a lot to Esme, as she dabs away a tear from the corner of her eye.

It turns out we all have something for her, just as Edward predicted. He has studied a piece on his guitar and plays with us listening. Rosalie has made a stunningly beautiful sketch after a picture of Carlisle and Esme. Alice has made her mother a smart jacket.

And I find I am too shy to go and get my quilt, until Alice nudges me. "She's going to love it, I swear."

As uncomfortable as I am giving my present with all these other people in the room, I run upstairs and come back with the biggest package so far. Esme's eyes are glittering when she accepts it from me, reassuring me with her gaze.

Admiring gasps fill the room as Esme unwraps the paper and the quilt is revealed. I tried to use colors I hoped she would like, and from the look on her face it seems I succeeded.

She unfolds the quilt, spreading it out over her lap as she admires the handiwork.

"You made this?" she asks, but I know she knows the answer.

Still, I nod, and another wave of awe goes through the room.

"It's beautiful," she whispers. "It simply is beautiful." She falls silent, and after a moment excuses herself to the kitchen, claiming she has to check on dinner.

I know for fact that there is nothing to check on, and, worried, I follow her to the quieter place of the house. She's standing at the counter, pressing a tissue to her eyes.

Touching her elbow lightly, I try to understand what has her so upset all of a sudden. Esme opens her eyes to meet my gaze, and I can see the corners of her eyes are wet.

"Don't worry," she says, smiling as she sniffles. "I'm just overwhelmed. That quilt is so pretty, Bella. It's too much. Thank you."

How can I tell her that nothing I can ever give her back will be enough after all she has done for me?

"It makes me hope that you're starting to feel at home here," Esme continues, pulling me from my thoughts immediately. She catches my gaze. "Dare I hope that you do?"

When I nod, her tears finally spill over. I finally realize that she was crying happy tears.

I realize as well, that I probably could have done nothing better to show my gratitude, to pay her back, than by letting her know that I am happy here.

Because I am. Happy here.

I feel like my chest is about to burst with the emotion. And as per Siobhans request, I let it take me over, until my eyes close and my mouth smiles, and my head buries itself on its own accord once more into Esme's neck.

* * *

_Edward and Bella were playing a song called Going Baroque. You can find it here: youtube com/ watch?v=l42zQkQDe6c_. 


	53. Chapter 53

**A/N I don't own Twilight.**

_Thanks to all of you for reading my story. Thanks to Sherry for superior beta skills, and for pointing out some important plot details to me. Thanks to Aleea, Deb and Bob for general awesomeness. Deb, can't wait to have you in my arms again next month! _

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My still wet hair sticks to my head, cold droplets tracing down my back. I have taken to showering twice a day, sometimes more. With the reliving of my past comes a sense of dirtiness that I can't seem to wash away, however hard I scrub, however hot I make the water. My skin is flushed red from my shower, and still I feel icky. If I work less hard on ignoring it, it feels like something is crawling over my skin, and underneath it.

I can't shake it, and it's annoying. So far, I have dodged the questioning looks others have given me, but I know I will have to talk about this to Siobhan tomorrow.

Rolling my shoulders, I try to get rid of the itch that is burning under my skin. I know it's all imagination. If I give in and start scratching, I probably won't stop until there is blood. And then it still wouldn't be enough.

It worries me.

I have to focus on other things. Renée is arriving today. As much as I begged to go with Esme to the airport to collect her, my foster mother wouldn't budge. She wouldn't let me skip school so I could see Renée sooner.

So, now after school, I am waiting not-so-patiently for them to finally, finally arrive.

I have baked cookies. I have made a pie with the word 'welcome' written on it in white icing. I have made sure that there is coffee milk in the fridge. I have put on my new blue hoodie, even though I'm still not quite comfortable with the tight fit.

I have checked the clock about five hundred times in the last ten minutes.

I swear to God, if the time were to go any slower, it would be going backwards.

"What time is she supposed to be here?" Alice asks as I pace by her for the umpteenth time.

I hold my hand up. Around five o'clock. Fifteen minutes from now. Maybe I should get dinner preparations ready, so I will have more time with Renée later. Then again, if I start now, it really is too early and the vegetables will be less fresh. Unless I cover them, perhaps. Do we even have cling foil in the house?

Just as I am about to open a drawer, Alice's voice breaks through my thoughts. "I think I hear a car on the driveway."

Running at full speed to the porch, I can indeed see a car coming down the driveway. My disappointment stings when I realize it's Emmett in his Jeep. I decide to stay out on the porch to wait, though. Alice comes out after a few minutes, handing me my coat.

I can't seem to stand still, until I hear another car. Tensing up in expectation, I strain my eyes to look through the trees, to get a glimpse of the car that is coming down the driveway now. When it finally appears, my heart leaps when I recognize Esme's car.

Back in October, when Renée brought me to the Cullen family, I never thought I would talk to her again, let alone see her. But she kept emailing me, and now she's about to stay a few days in the house where I live as well. I just can't believe my luck.

I wait impatiently for the car to reach the house. Esme parks directly in the garage, so I run inside and come to a halt in front of the door that leads to the hallway and the garage. I don't want to crowd her, but oh, how I long to see her.

Alice takes my coat from me again, and I'm too distracted to even thank her. My heart is beating nervously when I hear Reneé's voice behind the door. And then, finally that door opens and she stands in front of me.

I can't stop the wide grin that spreads over my face when I see her. Renée stops talking mid-sentence and takes me in, smiling brightly as well.

"Hello, Bella," she finally says.

I bite my lip, still smiling, and hug myself. It's not enough. I missed her so much, and to see her hear is such a miracle.

Esme appears behind Renée and she beams at the sight of us. "I believe someone's happy to see you," she tells Renée softly.

Renée nods, and holds my gaze for a moment longer before she speaks again. "How are you?"

I can only nod to tell her that I am, in fact, doing okay.

Renée's elation is evident. "That is so good to hear. Are you happy here?"

Once more, I nod. What a revelation to be able to tell her this, and know that I mean it as well.

"Wonderful," she replies. Then she looks around the house and turns to Esme. "I love what you have done to this place. Where are your other children?"

"I'm here," Alice says as if she's summoned. Edward comes walking in behind her. He meets my gaze, smiles, and turns to Renée to shake her hand.

"Emmett is upstairs, and Rosalie is with a friend, I think. Jasper has practice," Esme says. I look at Alice and Edward carefully, curious what they think of her.

Renée nods. "And is your husband working as always?"

"As always," Esme answers with a chuckle.

As Renée goes back to the garage with Edward to retrieve her luggage, I touch Esme's elbow in an attempt to thank her.

"You happy?" she asks quietly.

Yes, very much so. I can't wait to spend some more time with Renée.

When she comes back inside, talking non-stop to Edward, I can't help but hug myself again at the sight of her. We used to do that, hugging ourselves. It was the closest I could come to a real embrace.

"Maybe Renée would like a real hug?" Esme offers carefully.

"I would always like that," my former therapist replies easily, having heard Esme's proposal. Her eyes are expectant, but as always completely non-judging as well.

Taking a deep breath, I step forward and reach out my hand tentatively. Renée grasps it lightly in hers, and it feels so wonderful to finally be able to touch her, that I don't hesitate to take that last step up to her and wrap my arms around her back.

Renée makes a little sound of surprise, but embraces me as well, leaning her cheek on the top of my head as she sways us gently from left to right. "And here I was wondering how you were doing," she says softly. "I think you answered that question quite efficiently."

**~O~**

I am so happy that Renée is here. I can hardly believe it. More than once, I find myself looking at her fondly. _She_ is the one who took me in, when I ran from Stefan. _She _is the onethat got me here. _She_ was perhaps the first one who believed unconditionally that what had happened, wasn't my fault.

In my memory, years of sessions with her come to the surface. She told me often I wasn't to blame. The realization I had with Siobhan not two weeks ago, could have come so much earlier. It would have saved me so much strife, so much pain…

"As ever you have me wondering what goes on inside that head of yours," Renée's voice breaks into my stupor. "Want to share?"

Suddenly self-conscious, I look away from her curious eyes. Maybe I will work up the courage to tell her, but not now, and not with all these other people in the room.

As I help Esme to prepare dinner, Renée and Carlisle, who has come home from work, are talking quietly at the kitchen table. I can easily hear what they are discussing and even though they are not talking about me, I can't ignore how they both glance at me frequently.

The expression on Renée's face borders on comical when I sit down at the table with everyone when dinner is served.

"Since when?" she asks with an amazed smile.

"Thanksgiving," Esme replies. "It was her gift of thanks to us."

Renée shakes her head in disbelief. "Amazing."

I help clear away everything after dinner, ignoring Esme's protests. Alice and Jasper chat with Renée in the living room. I look in the direction of her voice longingly, hoping to have some time alone with her soon.

"Have you showed your room to Renée yet?" Esme asks me, loud enough so that Renée herself can hear. "Maybe she'll like to see what you did with it?"

It's not even a very subtle hint, but I take it, as does Renée, and she leads the way upstairs to what she has known as the guestroom. She waits for me at the door, and I open it for her so she can step in.

"Oh, this is nice," she says immediately. Her eyes fall on the rocking chair and on the string of lights that is hanging above my bed, and then her gaze flickers to her old quilt.

"You have that still?" she asks, turning to look at me so I can answer. She wears a smile on her face. "And a rocking chair. I bet you spend a lot of hours in that thing."

I nod in confirmation.

"May I?" she asks, walking to it. She sits down gingerly, tension leaving her face when the chair tilts back and rocks her gently. "Very nice."

I smile at her, and at her invitation sit down on my own bed. Pulling up my legs, I wrap my arms around them and rest my chin on my knees. Renée looks at me with her knowing gaze and for a moment a strong feeling of nostalgia washes over me.

"Tell me how you are," she says gently.

I nod with a smile, letting her know that I am really okay.

"Do you like it here?"

Again, a nod.

"That's so good to hear. You can't believe how happy I am to see you now. You've changed so much, it's unbelievable. Have you talked yet?"

This time I have to shake my head. I reach to my nightstand for a notepad and paper, and write about the episode at Siobhan's office. Renée sympathizes, but slips into her old role as therapist immediately. She asks me something that Siobhan didn't touch upon.

"How did it feel to hear your own voice?"

Only to Renée could I ever tell the complete truth. I have known her since I was fourteen, I think, and she has always consistently been my safe haven.

With a slight mental frown I realize how this almost feels disloyal to the Cullens, who have been nothing but nice to me ever since I got here. I push the thought away to chew on later and focus back on my writing. What did Renée ask? Oh right, how it felt to hear my own voice.

_Out of control. But relief as well._

"Relief because you knew you still could?"

Yes, exactly.

"Do you think you could do it again?"

Tension grips my body immediately and I shake my head quickly.

_Don't want to_

"That's not what I asked," she answers easily. Her eyes tell me she's completely serious.

_Maybe. But I don't want to_

"We've established that. I'm not asking you to."

Her style is so vastly different from Siobhan. I wonder how far she would come with me now, now that I'm so different from when I was with her. I realize I would like to find out. But she's not here to be my therapist. She's here to see her old friends, and maybe she likes seeing me as well. I hope talking to me doesn't feel like an obligation to her.

So, to establish the fact that she is not my therapist, I ask her how she is.

She launches into a story about her life, and for the first time I hear things about the woman she is when she's not doing her job. She looks so happy when she is talking, and I smile along with her when she tells me a funny anecdote about the pottery course she went to. It was a complete disaster.

A soft knock on the doorframe interrupts us. Edward pushes the door open further, looking shy. He's holding something in his hand.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company, but your door was open."

He steps into the room when he meets my gaze. Without thinking, I twist my hands and point at him, sign language for 'how are you.'

"I'm good, thanks. You?'

A faint smile crosses over my face. I can't stop thinking about what happened in meadow when I see him, even though it happened over a week ago. We haven't had much opportunities to be alone together and where I would have shied away from that thought before, I find that now, I would like to spend some time with him again.

"I'll come back later if you want. I just wanted to give you these CD's." He steps forward as he speaks, placing the discs on my bed. He says hi to Renée and then disappears from the room again, clearly not wanting to break into my time with her.

When he's gone, I pick up the CD's and look them over. I don't recognize any of the names. Edward has put a post-it on the top jewel case:

_See if there's something you like. E._

"That's awfully thoughtful of him," Renée observes. "Did he just do that out of the blue?"

I shake my head and with a blush I write down how we talked about music, and how he told me I could come and look at his CD's. It just didn't happen yet.

"Really," she drawls, a knowing look in her eyes. "You've just been talking?"

Ehm, well, we might have spent some time together every now and again. And, you know, he may have told me that he likes me. More than he should.

Damn that blush!

But it's so much easier to talk about this to her than anyone else. Maybe it's because I have known her for so long and feel like I don't have to hide anything. Or maybe it's because she's not a part anymore of my everyday life. I don't have to worry she will slip up and tell others.

When I meet her gaze after she has read my note about my history with Edward, she smiles in understanding.

"How does it make you feel?"

_Scared. Overwhelmed. Anxious. Happy. _

"Special?" she adds carefully.

Yes, special. If I allow myself to believe that it's all actually happening, and that Edward is not mistaking his feelings, taking them back once he realizes who, what, I really am. Then it does make me feel a bit special. It's altogether impossible to believe that he wants to spend time with me, though.

"Sometimes, having someone who loves you like that can work miracles on your healing process."

Oh, she's _such_ a therapist.

_He'll tire of me, though. And then he'll leave_

"You think?"

Of course I do. I'd tire of me, so why wouldn't he?

"What if you tire of him?"

Wha-?

"That's possible as well, isn't it? He must consider that, too. Yet, he still seeks you out. He's taking a chance."

Why didn't I think of that? Moreover, and Renée doesn't even know this, I already tried to push him away once, and yet he still tries.

Huh.

Renée's expression changes a bit. "As long as you make your boundaries clear. Don't do something against your will to please him. You don't have to do that ever again, do you hear me?"

Hiding my face behind my hair against her reprimand, I write for distraction.

_He said the same_

"Good. Else he will have me to answer to. I don't want to see you hurt."

The look in her eyes is so fiercely protective, it brings a lump to my throat.

_Do you think it's possible? For me to be in a relationship?_

She looks at me for a long moment, and I know she will give me the answer I feared. "I don't know, Bella," she says finally. "It's all up to you. I think that deep down, you realize that what happened in your past has damaged you deeply. Then again, when I see how far you have come in only six months? I never expected that, to be honest. So, I don't know. Maybe with the right person, you can achieve some form of a relationship in the future."

I take in her words, knowing them to be true.

"It also depends on what you want. If you have a desire that's strong enough to battle your fears, who knows how far you might come. But it will be a hard road. It will be worth it, but it will be hard both for you and the one you are with."

Nodding slowly, I chew on my bottom lip for a moment. Renée continues.

"Of course, you're very much worth loving, so anyone you would decide to share that part of your life with, is extremely lucky." Her eyes light up at her words and I am, as usual, uneasy under her praise.

"But it'll be a hard road to travel. I think it's worth it, but it's you who has to battle years of abuse."

Involuntarily, I cringe at that last word.

"I should hope that you recognize it as abuse by now," she says quietly.

I nod slowly. I think I do. But it's so hard still, so hard to see myself as the victim in this scenario.

"Look at it from a sunnier side," Renée says after a moment of silence. "You're considering letting Edward into your life. That's the first step, and the most important one. You'll get there. Don't let your past dictate your future."

When she falls silent, I look back up at her. Her face has morphed into a more serious expression. "In order to do that however, you will have to come to terms with your past. Pretending it never happened, or hiding from it, is not going to work forever."

Her subtle reference to our past together still stings. I hid what was going on for years, was just glad to be in her office for an hour. Sometimes I even slept, and she let me, focusing on what I needed in the here and now.

Looking back, I know that I had my reasons to hide it all from her as well as I could. I didn't want to disturb the safe haven that was her office. I didn't want her to know that life had turned against me again, afraid that she would agree that it was my fault, and stop the sessions. But now, I am beginning to see that my logic wasn't that strong. I write.

_I should have told you_

Sadness washes over her face. "And I should have seen the signs. I can't ever forgive myself for what I missed. I can only hope that you will."

I shake my head with a frown.

_This wasn't your fault. I hid it all from you. I didn't _want_ you to know_

She smiles without conviction, and then averts her eyes. "I still think I should have seen that you were hiding it."

I need to comfort her. I don't want her to take the blame for this. Frantically, I search my mind for the right words to give her.

_If it had gone any other way, I wouldn't have gotten here, with the Cullens. _

The tension visibly fades away from her body. "Maybe you're right. You couldn't have found a better family than this."

I nod in agreement, but worry about the sadness that lingers in her eyes.

_You really care_

"I do," she says with a weak, but genuine smile. "Why do you think I'm here?"

_For Carlisle and Esme?_

Her expression softens. "I'm here for _you_, Bella. I'm here as your friend. I know I am no longer your therapist, and I don't want to fulfill that role anymore. You have your new therapist now. I just wanted to see how you were doing, not as professional, but as a human being. Seeing Carlisle and Esme is just an extra benefit."

Her words go straight to my heart, and my chest constricts. I sit forward then, reaching out my hand to her. She hesitates for a moment, and then she takes it, squeezing it gently.

"I am still getting used to you accepting contact now. It must have been quite a step for you to get that far."

I nod, thinking back to everything that happened, everything that led up to this moment, to who I am now.

Renée beams. "I am _so_ proud of you."

**~O~**

I don't want to go to school on Friday, but I know I will have to. Renée is staying until Wednesday. The excellent thing is, that Spring Break starts right now. We will have two weeks off from school, but even more so, I get to spend the next five days with Renée. I can't wait.

She comes along with me to therapy after school. She says she wants to meet Siobhan and before my session starts, my old and my current therapist spend a few minutes alone in the therapy room together. When Renée comes back out, she's beaming.

"She's perfect for you," she tells me. Siobhan chuckles when she hears it, and invites me in as Renée and Esme make plans to have coffee during my session.

I think for my sake, Siobhan keeps the session light. We talk about the happiness that Renée's presence induces, and how it feels to allow myself to really feel these emotions. We talk about my plans for Spring Break. I don't tell Siobhan, but I secretly hope that Edward and I will go to the meadow again. I am determined to not freak out this time.

My obsessive showering habit is not brought forward by me. It can wait.

In the end she wishes me a pleasant holiday and she tells me that we will see each other again in two weeks. I wonder what it will be like for me, to not have to see her for such a period of time. Sessions with her have become such an integral part of my life.

She tells me that if something happens, I can always email her. We both know that I probably won't, but the offer stands and that is nice to know.

Esme and Renée talk excitedly on our way home, and I sit back and listen, basking in the happy atmosphere.

For some reason, it is decided that we'll go to a zoo on Saturday. Everyone is coming along, piling into various cars, and the weather couldn't be better. It's _so_ nice to feel the warmth of the sun on your face.

"Miss the Phoenix sun?" Renée asks quietly when she sees me tilting my face up towards the light.

I nod. It's just about the only thing I miss about Phoenix though. Well, and Renée, of course.

Everyone is in a good mood. Jasper has brought his camera and even though he does it unobtrusively, I notice more than once that he is taking pictures of me. When I finally look into his direction pointedly when he stealthily tries to snap a shot, he looks busted.

"Sorry," he mumbles, falling back behind us as we walk along.

I spend most of the morning walking with Renée. We watch the animals in their recreated habitats, but I can't help but think that it's still a cage they are locked in. They can't go out if they want to, there is nothing they can do. Unexpectedly, seeing these animals locked up makes me sad.

"You're pensive," Renée observes when we stop at some kiosk for drinks.

I shrug and focus on the bottle of soda that is in my hands. The cap is screwed on so damn tight I can't even twist it.

"What's wrong?" she presses.

At that moment, the bottle is pulled gently out of my hand. Looking up, I see it's Edward. He twists off the cap easily and hands me back my drink. I nod at him in thanks, completely confused that he would notice my struggle, and do something about that as well.

Renée looks from Edward to me with a smile, and then focuses back on me again. "What's bothering you?"

With a slight frown, I pull my phone out of my pocket.

_Can't I just be thoughtful for once?_

"Of course," she replies, completely unoffended. "But usually, when you look like that, something is bothering you. And I don't like it when you worry."

I shrug, and give in to make her stop worrying.

_Seeing those animals locked up makes me sad_

"I guess it is sad, in a way," she agrees.

"What is?" Carlisle asks as he comes walking up to us, a cup of coffee in his hands.

"Animals in cages," Renée explains.

"Ah yes, that can be a bit sad. But they have good lives here, though. Plus, some species can only survive with human help."

I'm already more than done with this subject, and as Carlisle and Renée continue the discussion, I wander off, walking toward the pit where bears are kept. Leaning over the railing I can see them wandering around aimlessly.

"I wonder what bear would taste like," Emmett says to my right suddenly. Looking into his direction, I can see he's talking to Rosalie, who elbows him in the ribs.

"That's just gross."

"Why?" he says, genuinely surprised. "We eat deer and boar, why not bear?"

"Because predator meat isn't very nicely tasting," Jasper says matter-of-factly as he joins them. "At least, I heard. Something about they way they live." He lifts his camera to his face and snaps a few shots.

As I focus on them and their conversation, I don't notice that Edward has walked up to my other side.

"Did you feel caged?" he asks so quietly that I'm not even sure if he said anything at all. I turn my head to look at him, and find that he is looking at me with some sort of sadness in his eyes. "In your old life," he clarifies. "Did you feel caged?"

I look forward again as I think about his question. Yes, I guess I did. There was nowhere I could go. I rarely entertained thoughts of leaving though. Where would I go, who would take me in? I thought it was all my fault.

"This is supposed to be a good day," he offers quietly, nudging my shoulder gently with his. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring you down with my question."

I shake my head, hoping to let him know that he didn't. When I meet his eyes again, I notice how the sunlight makes the green look like jade, and for a moment I am lost in his gaze.

"All right, love birds, let's go see the spiders and snakes," Emmett announces loudly as he walks by us, clapping Edward on his shoulder.

Edward breaks the contact to glare at his brother. When he looks back at me, a bashful, lopsided grin appears on his face and he gestures for me to go first.

Now not only Renée is watching, but Esme and Carlisle are as well.

Excellent.

I shove my hands in my pockets and hang back through the rest of the day. Renée spends a lot of time with me, but I understand that she wants to catch up with Carlisle and Esme as well. I never have to walk alone, though. At all times I have the company of one or more of my siblings, and even Esme walks with me for about an hour, chatting for a bit.

Plans for Spring Break are a recurring topic of conversation. I don't have much I want to do, but Alice and Rosalie especially are overflowing with plans. For now, I just want to spend every possible second with Renée. My heart constricts when I think that come Wednesday, she'll go away again, and God knows when she will be back.

We go home for dinner, tired but pleased with the day we had. Esme announces she's too exhausted to cook and asks us if we like to order pizza. Excited cheers break out and the call is made quickly. As we wait for the delivery to arrive, Emmett, Rosalie and Jasper go upstairs for a bit. Carlisle got a voicemail he has to deal with in his office, so he disappears from the room as well.

"You should play for Renée," Alice says suddenly, with sparkling eyes. "Didn't you play that song with Edward last week?"

My eyes grow wide at her suggestion. I can't perform. I'll just mess up and waste everyone's time.

"Oh yes, let's try that," Edward says enthusiastically.

I shoot him a pleading look, but he chooses to ignore it and walks to the piano. Switching my gaze to Renée, I can see the expectant look in her eyes.

Well, so much for not doing anything I don't want to do to please someone else, I guess.

Taking a deep breath, I follow Edward to the piano. He scoots over on the bench to make room for me and so I sit down very, _very_ close to him for the third time. Only this time, we have an audience. I can feel their gazes on my back and it makes me tense.

"Remember where to start?" Edward asks so quietly I'm not even sure anyone else but me can hear it. Seeing my hesitation, he points out the right keys to me. Then he turns his head more fully to see my face. Pain flashes in his eyes and I frown, wondering what makes him worry like that.

"It's okay," he says softly. It's barely a whisper. "I'll lead, you follow. Focus on the music."

He shows me how to play again, and I copy him, remembering the notes. After trying a few times, he lets me play alone and falls into step with me, as it were, with the supporting chords.

And, just like that, we're making music again.

He smiles at me sometime during the melody, and it distracts me so much I mess up the notes. I quickly recover though, relieved that nobody is telling me how useless I am for fucking up. When the song is done, Edward winks at me and seamlessly launches into one of the piano pieces he knows I love so much.

When I move to leave him to his playing, he whispers something so softly I'm not even sure I heard it right. "Stay."

Looking at him, seeking reassurance, he meets my gaze. The pain is gone. Instead there seems to be some sort of longing, and a profound loneliness I know all too well.

And that's when it hits me suddenly. All the conversations we ever had come rushing back to me. His loneliness. His desire for affection, but only with the right people. His fear that he's not good enough to be someone's friend.

With a shuddering breath, I realize that he wants exactly the same as I do.

My profound epiphany is interrupted by the pizza delivery. Esme calls the others downstairs for dinner, and we all gather in the living room, to watch TV and eat.

I am once again lost in my thoughts, but for a completely different reason this time.

I want to talk to Edward.

But Renée is still here, and I want to give her all my attention, too.

So I opt to sit between Esme and her for dinner in the living room. I share a pizza with Esme. When she takes a bite, she reaches for the pepper mill that's on the coffee table.

"This needs a bit of spice," she says, spreading some pepper over her pizza. She turns to me. "Here, have some pepper, this pizza really is a bit flat, don't you think?"

I can't even blink. Vivid memories crowd my mind and even though I _know_ this is not the same, there is nothing I can do but watch helplessly as Esme holds the pepper mill over my part of the pizza.

"No, Esme," Renée says so quietly that apart from Esme, only Carlisle looks up in surprise.

"What?" Esme asks, a bit confused.

"No pepper," Renée clarifies. "Please."

Esme doesn't ask, instead places the mill back on the table. Her confusion is clear in the sudden tension in her shoulders. I can't even eat anymore, not even when Renée tries to encourage me to do so.

After dinner, the three of us go to the kitchen to clear up the dishes.

"Can I ask what's the deal with pepper?" Esme asks carefully. "Are you allergic?"

I shake my head, pulling my sleeves over my hands, uncomfortable.

"Will you tell her or do I?" Renée asks.

I nod into her direction. I don't even want to talk about this at all. In order to distract myself, I start loading the dishes into the dishwasher. I don't even want to be here right now, but at the same time it's impossible to walk away.

"Laurent used to punish her by making her eat Tabasco or other spicy things," Renée says quietly.

My clattering the porcelain is not enough to drown Esme's gasp out. I walk away from the kitchen before I can hear any more of their conversation.

I don't want to think about it.

We play charades after dinner. Or, everyone else plays and I keep the score. No _way_ I'm acting out assignments in front of other people. Keeping the score is a good distraction for me though, to get my mind off the memories, and off the knowledge that Esme knows something else about me now.

Once the tension I didn't know that had built in me starts to fade, I can smile along with the others. Especially Emmett and Renée go all out when it's their turn, and it makes me happy to see that the Cullens can see how crazy Renée can be as well. As she was sometimes during those two weeks I lived with her.

I sit back and take it all in, liking the happy glow of this evening. Before we go to bed, we talk about our plans for the next day. The weather is supposed to be rainy, so there is little we can do.

"Oh, Bella, I think we should go to town soon to buy you some clothes for spring," Esme says during the discussion.

"Or we can go tomorrow?" Renée says. "I'd like to see Port Angeles again. What do you think, Bella?"

_I don't need new clothes_

Esme looks as if she's about to argue, but reconsiders and relents. "Just a walk through town then? Or you two can go together if you'd like that?"

I like that. A lot, actually.

So on Sunday, Esme hands Renée the keys to her Ford. When Renée is getting our coats, Esme comes to me. "If you see anything you need, don't hesitate to buy it. You need new clothes Bella, there's no reason to deny that. Just buy something if you like it, and try it on at home. If it's not good, we can return it this week."

My answer is clear: no.

Esme sighs, but seems resigned. "Have fun."

It's good to be out with Renée and have her undivided attention. We talk about a lot of things, and it's just nice when my own psyche is _not_ the topic of conversation for once. When we're making our way back to the car at the end of the day, we pass a street seller who sells friendship bracelets.

"Oh, let's get those," Renée says excitedly, walking over to the stand.

The bracelets are simple — strings in various colors put together to make different patterns in different sizes. My eye falls to a very simple, thin, bright blue bracelet, with a black thread woven through it.

Renée buys two of them and then asks me to hold out my hand so she can tie it to my wrist. When she returns the gesture, I try to keep the knot loose.

"No, make it tight," she says. "I don't want to take it off again."

The meaning of her words overwhelms me and on impulse I wrap my arms around her. She wants to keep the friendship bracelet, the one that she shares with me. Does she have any idea what that means to me?

Renée chuckles as she hugs me back, tightening her grip for a moment before she lets go again. "You like it that much, huh?"

Yeah, it's amazing.

As we walk back to the car, we both stick out our arms to admire the bracelets repeatedly. Like my old therapist, and may I hope, my new friend, I don't ever want to take off this piece of rope ever again. I am now more determined than ever to finish the quilt I am making for her. If I work through the night, I might stand a chance to make it and get it done before she leaves again.

Tuesday and Wednesday Renée and I spend as much time together as possible. Of course, she wants to see Charlie, and she visits Carlisle in the hospital as well. Renée borrows Esme's car again and we drive through Forks. I show her the diner and the high school. When the sun breaks out, Renée asks, "wasn't there a beach close by?"

I nod eagerly and after some wrong turns, we find our way to the reservation. Renée parks the car and we go out, walking towards the sound of the rushing ocean. I haven't been here yet when the sun was shining, and the view is simply stunning.

We walk along the surf, and of course Renée has to bring up the one subject I dread: my voice. After avoiding her third question, I finally get out my phone.

_Did Siobhan tell you to bring this up?_

"Does that matter?"

I sigh. I guess it doesn't.

_I just really don't like to think about it_

"Tell me why," Renée says. Her voice is different now, softer.

She truly wants to know, and her slightly seemingly irritated mood has vanished. She knows it's not just stubbornness that is keeping me from talking. I mean, that could have been a reason, and I _am_ pretty stubborn, but nobody is stubborn enough to not talk, at all, for over ten years.

_I don't know where to start_

"Start at the beginning. When did you stop talking? And do you know why?"

Jesus, Renée, way to launch a conversation. My shoulders sag as my mind completely blocks when I think back to what set this all into motion. Renée doesn't know about the poker, either. The shame is too sharp, burned forever into the palm of my hand.

"You were seven," she says after a very long silence. "Or thereabouts." She stops walking and waits until I look at her. "What happened?" Her eyes are so sad, it tugs at my heart.

_I don't want to talk about it_

She takes a moment to compose herself. "Very well. But promise me you will bring this up with Siobhan? There is obviously so much pain involved. I want you to heal from that."

_Talking about it won't make it go away_

"No. Nothing will make it go away. But talking about it will take the weight of it off your chest. You know this."

I sigh again and look out over the water. A few lone birds sail on the wind, setting course for the horizon. What I'd give sometimes to fly away and leave everything behind me...

"Can you tell me what's stopping you now from talking? I mean, it's established that your voice still works, so that's not a problem."

Relieved that she has moved to a topic of conversation I am more at ease with, I type my reply on my phone quickly.

_It's a hassle_

"A hassle?" she repeats, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "How so?"

We have reached the tiny bay with driftwood, where Edward and I have sat once. Where he told me he so desperately longs for affection. I tear my thoughts away from that memory and find a place where Renée and I can sit down.

_Speaking is scary_

"Elaborate," she says patiently.

_Give me a moment to type it_

"I'm here until tomorrow afternoon," she says easily. She leans back on her hands and looks out over the water, giving me the time to write.

_Not speaking is safer, I think? I don't miss it. People leave me alone. Speaking always has consequences and I don't think I am ready for that_

Renée reads my words thoughtfully. "What else?"

_Control. You know this_

"I do," she agrees. "But tell me, if you could talk, or would talk — the difference doesn't really matter right now, would it only have negative consequences?"

No, it wouldn't, but the positives don't outweigh the negatives. I like my silent world. It's hard to explain why. I tell Renée as much by typing it all on my phone.

"I agree that silence can feel safer," Renée replies. "Especially if you will just start speaking, it will draw a lot of attention. But it's not just that, is it?" She turns her head to meet my eyes. "It's about the other consequences as well. Knowing that if you start talking, you will have to talk out loud about what happened. And that means truly acknowledging it."

Her words hit home and I suck in a shaky breath as my eyes tear up immediately.

Carefully, she places her hand comfortingly on my thigh. "Your silence is a coping mechanism, just like the other mechanisms you have developed. It will likely be the last thing you let go of. And if you decide that that time has come, everyone will be there to support you — me, the Cullens, and Siobhan. But before that, I guess you will have to learn that you can rely on us."

I exhale, lost in my thoughts for a moment.

"Talk to me," Renée says kindly. "Even though I am no longer your therapist, it goes without question that what you tell me, stays between us."

Chewing on my lip for a moment, I try to write down what I feel several times, only to end up deleting it again. Finally, blunt honesty seems the best way to go.

_I'm scared to rely on others._

"That's understandable. You've been let down by those who were supposed to take care of you. But you don't have to do it alone. Not anymore. You've been exceptionally strong all your life. You still are, and you will need that strength to come to terms with what happened to you. But that road, at least, you don't have to walk alone. And you've made great progress so far. I mean, you hug now," she says with a smile. "And tell me, does it feel good?"

I nod. It does.

_But there's always the fear it will be taken away_

Renée nods grimly. "The only thing you can do is trust that it won't. I truly believe that Esme's love is unconditional, and for life. As is mine. We won't turn against you."

_I guess not_

"Oh honey," Renée says a little wistfully. "I wish there was more I could do for you."

_You're here. You know what that means to me_

Renée looks towards the water. "I must confess I was a little apprehensive about coming. I wasn't sure if you wanted to see me again."

My mouth drops open as I gape at her. Is she serious?

She chuckles softly. "I haven't seen you in six months, Bella. You were just a shell of yourself when I brought you to the Cullen family. You've grown so much, become so much more yourself. It could have very well been possible that you didn't want me in your new life."

_That is ridiculous. I would never push you away._

A gentle smile crosses over her face. "I'm going to deadpan this."

Oh, I know what's coming.

"The majority of people will think the same way about you."

Yep, there it is.

"But I'm really happy to see how far you've come. Do you realize that yourself?"

I think back to how I was when I arrived with the Cullens. Panic attacks, multiple times a day, and writing down even two words caused so much tension it made my muscles ache.

Yes, I think I have changed.

But it wouldn't have happened if Renée hadn't been there. I write.

_You saved me_

"No, Bella," she replies. "You saved yourself."

We just look into each other's eyes for a minute, as I try to process what she is saying. Maybe she is right.

"And you know there is one final step to take to become free," she adds, not breaking eye contact. "You have to press charges."

_No!_ my mind instantly shouts. I can't, I won't. I don't want this.

Loud barking interrupts us at that moment, and I turn my head to see a German Shepherd running into our direction. He looks happy enough, but I wonder where his owner is.

A piercing whistle sounds, and the dog turns around, running back towards the direction of the sound. A moment later, Jacob and another man walk around the corner of the bay.

"Do you know them?" Renée asks.

_The younger guy is Jacob. I don't know the other one._

At that moment, Jacob raises his hand and calls out. "Bella!" He comes jogging in our direction, followed by a bouncing dog. "What a surprise to see you here."

He holds the dog by its collar. "This is Missy. You're not scared of dogs, are you?"

I shake my head, and Jacob leads the dog over to me, so the animal can sniff my hand. I scratch her behind her ears gingerly, and the dog lets out a satisfied groan that makes Jacob laugh.

"Is she your family?" he asks, nodding at Renée.

"I'm Renée," Renée says. "I'm an old friend of Bella's."

God, I love how she is so subtle about that.

"You're not from around here, are you?" the older man says.

"This is Sam," Jacob says. "Sam, this is Bella. She moved in with the Cullens about half a year ago." Jacob looks back at us. "Sam is the head of the Tribe. He keeps an eye out for all of us."

I don't like this Sam guy. His eyes are dark and he looks distrusting. His stance is tense, rigid, and he looks nervous, as if he expects something bad to happen any moment.

With a shock I realize that this is how I must look a good part of the time. I frown and focus on petting the dog. Renée and Jacob exchange some words, but I barely hear them, distracted as I am by this dog Missy, who has placed his head in my lap and is now asleep, standing still on his feet.

"I guess he likes you," Jacob observes with a chuckle.

"Do you come here often?" Sam asks me.

All eyes are on me now, but before i can get really uncomfortable, Jacob answers for me.

"Not very often, I think."

Sam looks at me for a moment longer, and then he turns to Jacob with an eyebrow raised in question.

"She doesn't speak," Jacob says quietly.

Sams mouth pops open in a quiet 'oh.' Then he turns back to me. "Well, you're welcome to be here, just as long as you keep the beach clean."

"Jesus, Sam," Jacob mutters, embarrassed.

Sam shrugs, gives me a hard look that makes me cringe, and then he turns to walk away. "Have a good day," he says curtly, whistling for Missy to follow him.

"Yeah, eh, see you around," Jacob says, and then he walks on after Sam.

"Well, that's not the nicest guy in town," Renée says quietly when they're out of hearing range.

I shake my head in agreement.

_Let's go_

I'm suddenly very anxious to be away from here and I feel vulnerable in this open space. Renée seems to understand and she gets up immediately, setting a quick pace back towards the car.

**~O~**

Wednesday morning passes altogether too quickly. Renée and I spend some time in the new greenhouse with Esme. She's so happy with this birthday gift. It took the builders only a week to finish, and already she has been spending every free hour inside it.

When it's time to leave for the airport, there is no chance of me not joining them for that ride. Renée will transfer from there to Seattle, and from there take her flight home. It makes me realize how far away she will be again, and it brings a lump to my throat I just can't swallow away.

"I'm coming back," she tells me at the airport, her voice a little rough from emotion. "And maybe you can come see me over summer?"

She knows her question is in vain. Stefan is still out there, and as long as I don't press charges, he will not be put in jail. But I'm nowhere near ready for that. We talked about that again last night. I gave her the quilt then, as well.

She cried.

And now, we're both crying. I don't want her to leave again, but I know that it's unavoidable.

"You will email me?" she asks hopefully.

I nod. Of course.

"And maybe, in time, you'll give me a call," she adds in a softer voice. "I'd like that, you know."

She chuckles gently at my discomfort and places her hands on my shoulders. "You're awesome. Don't you ever forget that." Then she pulls me in for a hug.

Too soon, she has to pull back and walk towards security. I watch her retreating figure and tears spill over as Esme pulls me against her for comfort.

"You'll see her again," she says comfortingly.

It doesn't ease the ache I feel right now, though.

**~O~**

Wednesday afternoon I spend mourning the loss of Renée's presence. I keep to myself mostly, spending time in my room. I can hear the others talking downstairs, but I don't want to join them. I just want to cry.

Alice drops by on Thursday morning, trying to distract me by talking about the ideas she has for new clothes she wants to make. She asks me if I want to start a new quilt, and if I need new fabric for that, because then we can arrange for a trip to the store.

I let her convince me to go with her that same day, but when we are in the shop I just trail after her, listening to her chatter and carrying the things she would like to buy. I am so lost in my thoughts that I only realize we're at the car when Alice opens the door.

"Oh, sweetie," she says quietly. "You really care for her, don't you?"

It's not a question she expects an answer to, and thankfully she lets it go as we drive home again.

I spend the rest of the day in my room. I have pulled the rocking chair closer to the window, and watch over the garden as Emmett, Jasper and Edward play catch. The sun has disappeared again, but you can tell it's just not cold anymore. I watch their smiling faces, their playful moods. They won't miss Renée's presence, because she is not important in their lives.

Sighing, I lay my head back against the soft wood of the chair, and let my eyes fall closed for a moment.

A knock on my door startles me awake. "Dinner time," Jasper calls out on the other side. I hear his footsteps retreating immediately, so I guess he's not waiting to see if I heard him or not. Guilt washes over me when I realize I have been napping the afternoon away, and I wasn't even there to help Esme for dinner. I hope she won't be too disappointed.

As I join the others at the table, there is no trace of annoyance in Esme's face. "Did you nap?" she asks me as she gestures for me to sit down.

When I nod, she smiles gently. "I figured you needed it. Feel better now?"

I nod again, and then Emmett announces he is ravenous with a clap of his hands, and dives into his meal. I listen to their talk as I pick at my food. I don't feel like eating. I just want to be alone.

After cleaning the dishes away, I go back upstairs. Esme looks at me with studying eyes, but she doesn't stop me from going. And so I get to lock myself into my room again. After a few hours of nothing, I open up my laptop, suddenly hoping that Renée has emailed.

She has. A long message that states how much fun she had and how wonderful it was for her to see me again, and to see me so _different_ from how she left me six months ago. She says she is happy that she made the right decision, and she hopes I understand why I couldn't stay with her.

The guilt is clear between the lines.

I send a reply that's just as long, telling her how happy it made me to have her here, and how much I enjoyed our days together. After I press 'send' I half hope she will reply quickly, and when she doesn't I feel suddenly lonely again.

On impulse, I click 'compose.'

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Edward Cullen  
Subject: Hi  
**How are you?

.

I'm shaking after I have clicked 'send.' I have been wanting to talk to him ever since I had my epiphany of sorts, and in my want for distraction, now seemed as good a time as ever. If he replies, that is. I'm not even sure if he is in his room right now.

Just as I am about to give up and close the laptop, the sign for a new mail pops up.

.

**From: Edward Cullen  
To: Bella Swan  
Subject: Re: Hi  
**I'm fine, thank you. Just woke up from a glorious nap. How are you?

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Edward Cullen  
Subject: Re: Re: Hi**  
A nap at this time? Will you be able to sleep tonight then?

.

**From: Edward Cullen  
To: Bella Swan  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Hi  
**Oh, I don't sleep at nights. Didn't you know I'm part vampire?

.

A smile spreads on my face at his words.

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Edward Cullen  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Hi  
**No, I didn't. But I guess with your nocturnal activities it's not really a surprise.

.

**From: Edward Cullen  
To: Bella Swan  
Subject: Hahaha  
**Haha, touché! But, you never answered my question: how are you? Missing Renée, probably?

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Edward Cullen  
Subject: Re: Hahaha  
**Yes, I do miss her. But let's not talk about that.

.

**From: Edward Cullen  
To: Bella Swan  
Subject: Re: Re: Hahaha  
**Then what do you want to talk about?

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Edward Cullen  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Hahaha  
**I have been thinking... Remember how you told me that you longed for affection, and that you felt like the odd one out?

.

**From: Edward Cullen  
To: Bella Swan  
Subject: Nothing to laugh about anymore  
**I do. How could I forget?

.

**From: Bella Swan  
To: Edward Cullen  
Subject: Re: Nothing to laugh about anymore  
**I think I know what you want.

.

The reply is not instant, and for a long moment I fear I have made a horrible mistake.

.

**From: Edward Cullen  
To: Bella Swan  
Subject: Re: Re: Nothing to laugh about anymore  
**Can you come up?

.

I snap my laptop closed and exit my room with hammering heart. It's thirteen steps to the third floor, though why I am suddenly counting them is beyond me. Edward's door is ajar, and I can hear him moving around his room as I approach.

I push open the door, knocking on the doorframe at the same time to let him know I'm here. When he sees me he smiles, but apart from that his face is completely unreadable to me.

"Come in," he says when he sees me hesitate.

Stepping forward slowly, I watch how he straightens the comforter on his bed before he turns back to me.

"Hi."

_Hi. _

"So, you know what I want?" he asks, a crooked half-smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.

For some strange reason, my stomach seems to flutter and I take in a shaky breath before I am able to nod, once. Then my lip disappears between my teeth and my eyes lock on his form as he steps up to me slowly.

"And can you live with that?" he asks, quietly now. "Supposing we're talking about the same thing here."

_I think we are_, I think, but I can't look away from his eyes and there's no way I can let him know my thoughts.

"Affection," he says softly. "But only with the right person."

My heart beats wilder still, heavy beats in my chest that rises and falls quickly in the rhythm of my breath.

I nod again, nerves exploding. But they're different nerves from what I know. It's not the fear I am all too familiar with that is tugging at my backbone. It's something else, and even though I can't describe it, I don't think I want it to go away.

There is no desire to run.

So I stay in place as he closes the final distance between us. His hands come forward and take mine gently as he looks down into my eyes. I don't think he's ever been this close, and it's all I can think of when I get lost in his gaze.

His next words are unspoken, but I know they are as sure in his mind as they are in mine.

_Only with the right person. Only with you._

* * *

_Reviews, my dear readers, are love._


	54. Chapter 54

**A/N I don't own Twilight. I do own a TENS unit. **

_The response for the last chapter totally blew me away. Thank you so, so much! And yes, the dog had an identity crisis, forgive me. Thanks for pointing it out!_

_Thanks as ever to Sherry, you're amazing, did you know? Bob, you're awesome and your letters are even cooler to get. Aleea, your feedback is exactly what I need. Deb, counting down the days... _

_Music:_ Maria Mena - A few small bruises; Maria Mena - Patience; Laura Jansen - Use somebody (Kings of Leon cover).**  
**

* * *

For the longest moment, I actually think he's going to do something. Crazy images flash through my mind, like hugs or kisses. Instead he looks at me, holding my gaze. He squeezes my hands once, and when I squeeze them back, his eyes light up.

"This isn't so bad, is it?" he says quietly.

No, it isn't.

Slowly, so slowly, one of his hands leaves mine and it comes up to my face. Even though I see it coming, I flinch away when he reaches to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.

"It just breaks my heart to see you so scared," he whispers. "But dare I hope it's not _me_ you're afraid of?"

I look away, breaking our contact. Edward's hand falls back to his side, and his other hand leaves me as well. Then he steps back, creating some distance.

My body at the same time rejoices at the new distance and feels the loss of his proximity almost painfully. I don't know what to feel anymore.

"Hey, let's go to the meadow tomorrow. The weather is supposed to be dry, if not sunny. We can bring some food and just hang out. Would you like that?"

Before I know it, we're packing a lunch in the kitchen the next day. Edward has arranged for extra blankets, for which I am grateful.

"Where are you going?" Esme asks, curious when she finds me in the kitchen.

Edward walks by right at that moment, and he looks into my eyes for permission. When I nod, he speaks.

"We're going out for a bit, into the forest. We thought it might be nice to have lunch there as well."

"You are?" Esme asks, and the surprise is clear in her voice.

"We are," Edward deadpans, and it's clear by the look on his face that he doesn't want to make a big deal out of it. I'm glad about that, because I don't want that, either.

"Have fun," Esme replies. I can see the questioning in her eyes, and I will her with my gaze not to press. It is not a big deal, even though it is. And I don't want it to get a lot of attention. At least not until I have it all figured out.

If I ever do.

"Ready?" Edward asks.

I nod and grab my bag and coat and follow him to the garage. When Jasper passes us in the hallway he looks from Edward to me, and then back to Edward again. Contrary to Esme's studious gaze, he just seems laid back and happy.

"Have fun," he says as well, with a smirk I can't identify.

In the garage, Edward walks around the car to open the passenger door for me. He laughs when I raise a brow at his chivalry, and then drives us both to the dirt path from where we can walk to the meadow.

The breeze is chillier than I expected it to be and I am glad I decided to wear my thick winter coat. In the meadow however, we are mostly shielded from the wind, making it a more pleasant place to stay.

Edward spreads out the blanket over the damp grass and plops down on it. Then he looks up at me, smiling winningly in an invitation to join him. I can't suppress my own smile as I walk to the blanket, sitting down opposite him. Instead of crossing my legs, I pull them up, wrapping my arms around them.

"You cold?" he asks.

I shake my head. Not yet, at least.

"I brought tea," he says mock-solemnly. "I would have brought coffee but that stuff gets nasty in a thermos." He shudders a bit, and I smile again.

It's _so_ awkward to be here with him, and he's trying _so_ hard to lighten up the atmosphere a bit.

"I also have candy, and of course the sandwiches we made. And I have..." he pauses talking to rummage through his backpack, "my laptop."

I frown in confusion. What would he try to achieve with that thing here? To my surprise he looks a curious mixture between shy and sheepish when he speaks again.

"I may have gotten the American Sign Language DVD from the library as well."

My mouth pops open at his words.

"Only if you want to. But I was thinking it might be a good way to communicate some basic things? We can learn together." His gaze is hopeful, but a smirk crosses over my face as I get out my phone to write.

_A language that for now only you and I can understand?_

All humor disappears from his face at my words. "I didn't even think about that."

_Sure you didn't_, I think, but I don't press.

"But would you like to look into it?"

After deliberating for a moment, I nod. He scoots closer to me and opens his laptop, waking it from sleep. He bumps my shoulder as he repositions his legs. It feels so weird to not have my usual reaction to his touch.

In the quiet meadow, we watch the introduction video of the DVD. It's hard to see in daylight on the laptop screen, and truth be told the introduction doesn't really interest me. When it's done, Edward browses through the dictionary.

"I guess we'd better think of a few words you could use," he says thoughtfully as he looks at the screen. "Or did you want to start at 'A - abandon'?"

He realizes the meaning of the word a moment too late and his head whips around to look at me. "I'm sorry," he murmurs.

I sigh and shake my head with a frown. He couldn't know, and even if, I don't want to be the type of person that reacts so fiercely to random words.

_Oh but you do_, my inner mind whispers vilely. She's right, and I hate it.

Taking a deep breath, I focus back on the screen. Sure, whatever. Let's start with 'abandon.'

We move our way through random words. I don't think I will ever use much of it all, but I think I do get why Edward would think this might be good for me.

I do think he did know it would be a language only he and I would understand.

I think I am growing to like that idea.

Words such as 'promise,' 'complicate,' 'happy,' and 'thorough' are watched and tried out. I don't like the signs that involve facial expressions. Then again, I'm not your typical user. It feels almost disrespectful to use this wonderful means of communication simply because I refuse to speak.

But it's not just refusing to speak, is it? It's refusing to communicate. Shutting down so completely that I don't want contact with the outside world anymore. I don't want them to know my thoughts; I don't want anyone to touch on my psyche to mess with it.

A harsh sigh leaves me before I can stop myself.

"What's wrong?" Edward asks immediately, worried.

I shake my head, trying to let him know that it's nothing.

"Like hell," he mutters. He pushes the laptop away from him and turns to face me better. "What's going on inside that head of yours?"

A sigh escapes me again, a defeated one this time.

"Hey," he says, quieter now. He ducks his head to make me meet his gaze. "Let me in." A beat. "Please. Let me be here for you."

I duck my head, hiding from his searching gaze. I startle a little when he places his phone in my lap.

"Talk to me?"

_I'm so fucked up, Edward. I won't ever be normal_

He doesn't answer immediately, for which I am grateful. Then he takes a breath to speak. "Can I tell you something?"

Of course. Always.

"I don't want normal. I've tried it, with Jessica. I was still with her when you came to live with us, but already I was more than ready to break up with her. She wanted more than I did, and I just couldn't give it to her. It didn't feel right. She was disappointed when I didn't want to move to the next base, but I was able to keep her at bay. I broke up with her as soon as I could after that. It didn't feel fair to keep her hanging like I did. And you know what happened next."

I do remember. Jessica went around the school telling everyone that Edward cheated on her. I'm still happy for him that that rumor seemed to have died down pretty quickly.

We sit in silence as I mull over the rest of his words. The realization hits me hard and I feel like a stupid cow for not having understood it sooner. 'She wanted more than I did.'

My eyes widen and I look up at him in shock. He gazes back at me calmly, probably wondering what I am thinking right now but giving me time to get my thoughts in order before I say anything.

_She wanted more than you did_

"Yes," he says calmly, waiting for me to go on.

_What did she want? What did she do?_

"She wanted to do more than just kissing. I didn't. It just didn't feel right," he repeats. "I told her 'no.' I knew it would disappoint her, but I wasn't going to do something like that to please her. Like I told you before — I want to share those things with the right person."

There is so much in his words, my mind can't decide what first to latch on to. I frown while I write.

_I'm not sure if I will ever be able to share those things_

His expression sobers. "I do realize that, Bella. And I think that in the future we will talk about that, a lot. Maybe it's too soon to discuss this right now."

_Why? Because I am damaged?_

"Because you are obviously not ready to think about these things," he says, the ghost of a frown sliding over his face. He takes a deep breath. "I don't think you're damaged. But your past has left its scars on you. It's no use denying that."

_I wish it were different_

"Me, too. Believe me when I say I wish with all my heart that you didn't have to go through what you have been through."

My shoulders sag as my chin drops to my chest. I wonder what would have happened had I had a normal childhood, without the men that were supposed to be my fathers coming into my room at night.

I probably wouldn't have met Edward. I probably would even still be in Chicago, even. Living in a trailer, perhaps, on the same terrain as my grandparents and mother. But my mother ran away. First with me, then without. Sometimes I wonder if she is still there, or if she ran even farther away. I push the thought back down. I will probably never see her again, and I feel that's the best thing.

"What are you thinking?" he asks quietly, pulling me from my reverie.

_Just frustrated with everything I am incapable of doing_

"Don't be," he says sternly, making me look up at him. "You are who you are, and I sure as hell don't expect you to be anything different. I don't think you are incapable."

_I'm not normal, Edward_

"I told you I don't want normal," he says simply. "I've tried it and it didn't work out for me. I will choose spending time with you, like this, a thousand times over spending time with Jessica."

I blush at his unexpected words.

"I never asked you what you want, though. Not really," he says in a softer voice. "You focus so much on what you think you can't do, but what do you _want_?"

A sigh escapes me as I think over his question. It's not easily answered.

"Just be honest," he encourages quietly.

_I've never really thought about it. I always thought I would never find myself in this situation_

"What situation?"

_Being with you, like this. I never had a choice before. I never thought someone would want to spend time with me like you do_

The screen of Edward's phone is crammed with text once I am done typing. He takes his time to read my words before he looks back up at me.

"You never had a choice?" he asks carefully.

I can't help cocking my head at him. I think he knows what I am referring to and I don't feel like clarifying that tidbit of information.

"You know you have a choice with me, right?"

My jaw clenches, but I make myself nod for his sake. He doesn't buy it and a humorless smile appears on his face.

"Tell me more. What do you want?"

_I don't know. To be normal. To be like Alice or Rosalie with Jasper and Emmett?_

He narrows his eyes playfully. "I really don't need to think of my brothers and sisters like that, thank you very much."

I press my hand against my mouth at my mistake.

_I'm so sorry_

"No worries. I guess they're your closest reference."

I guess they are, too.

_But I don't think I can ever be like that. I'm too fucked up_

He sighs softly, thinking for a moment. "I really don't know what to say to that."

Silence falls after his comment, an easy silence in which we both are lost in our thoughts. Although this conversation seemingly isn't going anywhere, inside my chest it feels like a weight has been lifted. I've opened up more than I ever have, and he's still here. He's not denying that I am not an average teenage girl, nor is he proclaiming that he will help me get it right.

His unconditional acceptance brings a warm, fuzzy feeling to my stomach and a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.

"What has you smiling like that?" he asks me curiously.

_You. You're not running away screaming_

He chuckles. "Told you."

We lock gazes for a moment, and I can feel some of the tension that is forever present in my body, fall away.

The sandwiches are marvelous. Even though I can cook a dish or two, I will never deny that Edward's sandwiches are unbelievable. We eat and drink mostly in silence. Edward occasionally remarks about something, but apart from that, we focus on our lunch.

After our meal, I know we won't be able to stay for much longer. One of us is bound to have to use the restroom sometime soon, and it's quite the walk back to the car still. For now however, we're still here, on the blanket.

I have wrapped the extra blanket around my shoulders. Even though it's not really cold anymore, it's still too chilly for me to get used to. The blanket has the added value of feeling like a shield around me, and it feels nice.

Edward scoots closer to me, so that his knees are almost touching mine.

"Can I hold your hand?" he asks quietly, shyly.

His questions takes me off guard a little and unbidden, I think back to the first time we were here, when he told me he just wanted to hold my hand, sometimes. I reach out my left hand, letting him take it in his.

"Oh, they're so cold," he says, surprised. Wrapping both his warm hands around mine, he rubs it gently to get it warmed up. I watch with wide eyes as he brings my hand, cupped in his, to his mouth and blows his hot breath against it.

The sensation is completely unknown, and I still completely as I wait for what is going to happen.

Edward blows again, his smile visible in his eyes. "Better?" he asks, rubbing again.

When I nod tentatively, he switches his attention to my other hand — first rubbing, then blowing. When he rubs again, he frowns and stops his movements. Looking down at our joined hands, I hold my breath as I wait for him to find out what's going on.

Carefully, so carefully, he cups the back of my hand in one of his, and then gently presses the other against my palm. It won't flatten out, as he is discovering now.

I'm nervous, my heart is beating heavily and my breath is shallow as I wait for his reaction. For some unknown reason, I don't feel the need to pull my hand away. I want him to see this part of me. Not the story behind this scar perhaps, but the scar in itself, I want him to see.

I need to know if he will stay.

Edward turns my hand until the palm is up, and traces the scar with his fingertips. It's the weirdest sensation — I only feel a tiny part of it. The skin of the scar is completely numb, only the edges send signals to my brain.

With utmost care, Edward examines my hand. When he releases it, my fingers curl back protectively automatically, hiding the scar and easing the strain on the distorted skin.

"What happened?" he asks so quietly after a long silence that at first I'm not even sure I heard him.

I shrug and shake my head once at the same time, hopefully letting him know I don't want to talk about it.

"Tell me," he coaxes.

Shaking my head again, more clearly this time, I pull my hand back from his. I feel the loss of his touch acutely, which is completely new to me.

"It wasn't an accident, was it," he says softly. His words aren't even a question, and I don't have to react.

"Was it bad?" he asks quietly.

My breath halts as I remember the poker hitting my skin. It didn't even hurt initially, I only felt the impact of the iron. But then the heat started. My eyes lose focus when I remember the pain. A nod in confirmation is not even necessary anymore and Edward's eyes fill with compassion.

"Does it hurt still?"

I shake my head, and accept his phone so I can write.

_It doesn't bother me anymore_

"But does it hurt?"

_No, the skin is numb_

"Want to talk about it?" he asks carefully.

I shake my head quickly. I can't. Seeing his questioning gaze, I make the new-learned sign for 'complicate.'

Edward smiles gently and sits back a little. "Okay. I won't push you. It's okay."

When I realize that he really is going to let it go, my anxiety fades a little. After a moment of silence, he carefully reaches out and takes my hand between his again. He toys with my fingers a little, lightly tugging on them when he feels that it's impossible for me to relax under his touch. At last, he threads his fingers through mine and squeezes.

When I meet his gaze, I smile as brightly as he.

**~O~**

"I call for a girl's day out," Alice announces Saturday during lunch. "Who's coming?"

"I'm out," Jasper says jokingly, making Rosalie huff in annoyance.

"You do need a hair cut though," Esme says.

Jasper rakes a hand through his hair. "Now or next week, doesn't matter."

"Well, I'm in," Rosalie says. "You coming along, Bella?"

"Oh yes, that would be fun!" Alice exclaims. It's the genuine excitement I see in her eyes that convinces me to join them.

Rosalie drives, and she has the music on max volume as we go to Port Angeles. She and Alice belt along with the songs, bantering and laughing. I shake my head, smiling, basking in their happiness.

When she has parked the car, we immediately go to the mall.

"You need new clothes," Rosalie states solemnly.

When I start to shake my head, Alice pipes up. "Yes, you do. I think I know a few stores that have things you will like."

With a deep sigh, I admit defeat. I can at least go to the shops with them, and then simply claim that there is nothing I like. I don't want new clothes. I don't want to spend Carlisle and Esme's money. I am perfectly fine with the things I have now, even though my winter coat is starting to get too warm, especially inside the shops.

They win, though. Excited and happy, and in that way not making me feel like I'm a bother to them at all, they browse around clothing stores that I haven't been inside yet with Esme. I can't help but smile when they both show me clothes that I would indeed like to wear: loose fitting, dark colors, soft fabrics.

When we have our arms full of garments, we make our way to the dressing rooms. It's actually pretty quiet in the store, and I sit down in a chair in front of the cabins, holding on to everything my two foster sisters can't take with them into the tiny cubicles.

They don't ask me why I won't try on my clothes. I wonder if they know how immensely grateful I am for this sense of normalcy they give me by doing that.

They have obvious fun changing into new outfits and coming out to show it all to each other and to me. They keep asking for my opinion, which I am hesitant to give. Finally, they help me decide which items I would like to take home with me, holding the tops up against my torso to see if they will fit.

I revel in their attention, not because they make me feel special, but because they make me feel _normal_. For the first time, I feel like they're not walking on egg shells around me.

In the end, we all have quite some new things we want to purchase.

Still, I insist they call Esme to ask permission to spend so much money at once on clothes.

She agrees. "Of _course_," are her exact words. "Get some shoes, too. And a coat. And everything else you need. And don't call me again for permission. You have it."

O-kay.

Alice and Rosalie are pretty smug about it all, and I can't hide my own grin when I pay for the clothes and get three bags from the sales lady. She smiles sweetly at me and wishes me a pleasant day. I nod in her direction to copy the sentiment back to her, and then wait patiently for Rosalie and Alice to pay for their things as well.

We visit some other stores. I browse along the racks with Rosalie and Alice but these shops don't sell the kind of clothing I would like. I wait patiently though for the other two to try on new things, smiling when they both try on a new dress.

"Prom is coming up," Alice says.

"That's months away," Rosalie objects. "We have some other parties before that, still, by the way."

"That is true," Alice replies. She sees my questioning gaze. "Birthdays. Rosalie's is in July, actually a day before dad's. Emmett's is in April, so I expect him to start talking about that soon. He'll turn nineteen then. Oh and Jasper's is at the end of September. Edward and I are up in late August."

Wow. That's quite the string of birthdays there. Then again, with such a large family it's not really surprising.

"When's yours?" Rosalie asks me as she turns around, looking over her shoulder into the mirror. "Does my ass look fat in this?"

Alice waits for me to type on my phone as she denies Rosalie's assumption. "September 13th? Well then you fall right in between," she says then. "I hate this color," she continues on the same breath.

"I was wondering what got into your head, trying on turquoise," Rosalie murmurs as she turns back around again in front of the mirror. "Thoughts on this dress?"

"You need to wear red," Alice says before she disappears behind the curtain again. "You're too young for yellow."

Rosalie huffs, but immediately goes back into her cubicle to change out of the offending yellow color. I thought it suited her, but I guess it's better to keep my mouth shut.

We decide to go for drinks after they have paid for their things. As we sip on our iced teas, I listen in as they discuss the rest of the plans for the day. Rosalie wants to look for accessories, and Alice sighs dramatically that she _needs_ to get her nails done.

"We can go get manicures?" Rosalie offers.

"A pedicure, too," Alice adds with a solemn nod.

I guess I'll just keep them company then. Edward toying with my fingers is not going to be comparable to some strange person coming close with scissors. I shudder at the thought alone.

"Oh," Alice says quietly, and I can clearly hear the disappointment in her voice. "You don't want that."

Quickly, I grab my phone from my pocket so I can write.

_I'll keep you company. Don't change your plans because of me_

"You sure?" Rosalie says. "Because I think it's nasty of us to take you there and make you wait."

I shrug. I don't really care, actually.

And so as the last thing of the day we go to a salon where they will get their nails done. They arrange a chair for me so I can sit with them and I listen to their chatter.

"You sure you don't want to get your nails done sweetie?" a gentle, middle-aged female employee of the salon asks.

I shake my head quickly, startled by her attention.

She looks at me closely, then moves away again. I exhale in relief.

"So Bella, what's new?" Alice asks pointedly, making me tense up again immediately. She elaborates when she sees the question in my eyes. "You know, you disappearing for hours with a certain other member of the house?"

My blush explodes and I bring my hands to my cheeks in a vain attempt to hide it.

Rosalie laughs good-naturedly. "Really, now?"

I have trouble finding my phone quickly enough to write.

_Please let it go_

When I look at them, both of their faces are burning with curiosity and questions.

"Okay, then just let me ask you this," Alice says quickly, as if she will be stopped any minute. "Are you happy?"

Yes. Yes, I am, actually.

We spend the rest of the time in the salon chatting about various things. I show them some of the signs Edward and I went through in the meadow, making the medium of communication a little less exclusive. I listen to them as they talk about school.

Rosalie scoffs and vents about how the school has decided to cancel the Spring Ball this year due to lack of funds.

"There's always Prom," Alice says in an attempt to soothe her sister.

"Yeah, I guess."

They actually are wearing flip-flops when they leave the salon some time later. I can only imagine how cold their feet must be, but I guess they don't want the fresh nail polish to chip.

I don't think I will ever understand stuff like this.

Rosalie drives us home, opting once more for loud music. This time however, to my own surprise I recognize one of the songs and my head bobs along to the rhythm.

I never cared for music much, then again I never cared for much because it was simply dangerous to like anything. Maybe I should ask Rosalie what CD she is currently playing. Maybe I can learn more music that way.

A frown settles between my brows when I realize I have no idea how to get to know more about the world. I mean, I know Google is my friend, but if you don't know _what_ to Google, there's only so much I can do.

When we arrive home, Esme, Alice and Rosalie won't allow me to sneak away upstairs with my new things. Like they do themselves, they want me to show it all to Esme. Luckily they don't ask me to put it on. I'll do that in my own time.

"Did you find a coat, too? And shoes?"

I shake my head. I'd love to go to Port Angeles on my own some time and just be by myself, choose my own things. I wonder if I could ask Esme to arrange for that in whatever way. I'm sure I would be able to find everything I would need.

"Oh I like that one, babe," Emmett says as he strolls into the living room where Rosalie is currently showing off a silver spaghetti top.

She smiles brilliantly at him and walks over to him to accept his kiss. "Thank you."

Fortunately, I have time before dinner still to bring all the new things to my room and try them on. Making sure the door is locked, I lift my sweater over my head. I'm wearing a simple long sleeved shirt underneath it, as always. The sparkle of the necklace I got for Christmas is bright against the black fabric.

I try on the things that I bought. Everything seems to fit, but some of the tops are too formfitting to my liking. I put them apart to return them when I can go back to town. The two trousers are okay, too. I quickly change back to my old ones again, trying to notice as little of my skin as possible. If I do, I will only want to take a shower again.

After dinner, it seems that that the girls' day isn't over yet. Alice and Rosalie invite me into Rosalie's room for a girls' night in. Slightly curious and much willing to keep basking in the insanely good mood that these girls have put me in today, I follow them up the stairs.

Rosalie smiles brightly as she puts on some music — softer this time — and Alice closes the door. She then immediately walks to Rosalie's bed, plopping down on it.

Now what?

I don't have to wonder for long though, as they simply continue chatting. Alice goes to get her jewelry box and they compare the contents. Rosalie has a bracelet she never wears anymore. Alice doesn't want it, and Rosalie asks me if I would be interested.

It is a beautiful bracelet, and the blue matches the blue of my sapphire pendant. But I can't take this from her. Impossible.

"Take it," Rosalie presses. "I want you to have it. Try it on."

Reluctantly, I accept the bracelet and slide it over my wrist. My friendship bracelet is on my left wrist, so only the sapphire blue contrasts with my skin on my right arm.

It is beautiful. I can't deny it.

"Pretty," Alice says.

Rosalie nods in agreement. "Keep it. It's stunning on you."

My eyes widen and I start to shake my head.

"No, Bella," Rosalie says in a business-like tone. "You haven't gotten anything from me yet accept for that drawing. Let me give this to you. I want to."

Why her words bring a lump to my throat I don't know, and I have to blink a few times to keep my tears from spilling over. When I smile in thanks, she smiles back. I know what she's thinking. She's thinking about that snippet of past that we share.

"Do you know what would be awesome with that bracelet?" Alice says, oblivious to our moment. "Pretty nails."

I look at my hands. My nails have grown a bit since I stopped biting them again. My nervous energy now is used to shower and scrub my skin until it's red and raw.

"Oh, yes," Rosalie agrees. "Would you let us manicure them? I don't think you should use hard colors. Maybe a transparent layer for shine?"

I hesitate. I told them once I don't want to be pretty. I don't want the attention. And then Rosalie says something I can't ever argue with, even though I know she's baiting me. Still, if I could take it from anyone, I realize, it's her.

"Do it for us."

Alice squeals and claps her hands before I've even finished nodding, and she's on her feet immediately, running to her room to get some things, apparently.

I'm nervous already.

"It'll be okay," Rosalie says quietly when we're alone for a moment. "It will be a good exercise, as well, you know?"

She has a point.

With a gentle smile, she gets up and arranges for the things she needs.

It's hard for me to sit through it, but I'm doing it. Alice's touch is feather-light when she files my nails into shape. As long as I can keep my free hand to myself, it's okay. They don't notice the scar in the palm of my hand, which relieves me. It's the one scar I hate the most, and not only because I can't hide it as easily as the others.

Instead of putting paint on it, they decide to polish my nails with some sort of file that will make them shine. However hard I find it to admit it, I really like the result.

"Keep this," Alice says, handing me the polisher. "You can do it yourself then."

I get my phone to write.

_You're giving me too much_

Alice's eyes go wide at my words. "What do you mean? It's not all that special?" Her gaze moves to Rosalie, seeking reassurance.

Rosalie shrugs. "I think it's not that much either. Just accept it," she says with a smile. "We want to give you things, why refuse?"

_I don't know what to give you back_

"That's the point about giving," Rosalie says. "It's not tit for tat, you know."

I've been told that before. Yet in my old life, I had to pay back every favor tenfold. I'm wary if not downright suspicious.

A knock on the door interrupts the suddenly tense silence. When Rosalie calls out to enter, Jasper steps into the room.

"Ali? Can you help me for a minute?"

She frowns. "What for?"

"Just... please?"

"Okay," she says, clearly confused. "I'll be right back," she tells us as she gets up and leaves the room.

I am left with Rosalie, who leans back against her chair, getting more comfortable. "I can do your toenails, you know," she says.

I shake my head.

_I don't care for those things. _

"I know, I know, you don't want to be pretty or draw attention. But here's the great thing about painting your toenails. Nobody sees it but you. It's more a treat for yourself than anything else."

_My feet are ugly. _

Rosalie chuckles. "I think everybody thinks that of their own feet."

_I mean it, though._

Surprising me, Rosalie sits forward and peels off her socks. "See that lump? It's growing a little ever month. In time, I won't be able to wear heels or delicate shoes anymore. It already is starting to hurt when I wear tight shoes."

I frown in compassion at her predicament. Rosalie loves shoes, and she always is wearing heels. It must be hard for her to know that this will change in the future.

_Can't something be done?_

"I can have an operation, but it's known these things come back, sometimes faster than ever. Plus, I'm not even sure if the pain of an operation is worth it."

_I'm sorry_

"It's okay. I just wanted to show you that it's not about the prettiness of feet. It's about taking care of yourself, and by that I don't mean showering multiple times a day." She cocks an eyebrow at me knowingly, and I look away in discomfort.

"It's okay," she says after a moment of silence. "I won't tell anyone. I know how it feels."

My head whips around to look back at her, my eyes wide.

"I do. You feel dirty, don't you? And no matter how often you shower, it doesn't help."

I nod slowly. It's unbelievable that I am not alone in this.

"I wish I could help you with that. I know that for me, that compulsive need to wash myself faded away after some time. It helped me to pamper myself, take a bath, rub lotion into my skin, things like that. It helped me like my body again."

Breaking her gaze, my eyes wander down to my fidgeting hands.

"Tell me what you're thinking?" she asks quietly, invitingly.

_I can't look at my body. I don't like touching it_

Her face fills with genuine compassion. "I guess that will take time. You'll have to start small. Here." She gets up and walks to her vanity, pulling open a drawer and getting a jar of some kind of body butter. When she hands it to me, I open it carefully and smell. It's delightful. I inhale again, making Rosalie chuckle.

"Use it. It helps. I swear to you it helps."

With a shaking sigh, I nod and place the body butter next to the file Alice gave me. I'm still wearing the bracelet I got from Rosalie.

"I'd love to paint your toenails," Rosalie says softly after a moment. "I'd love to help you pamper you. Will you let me?"

The gaze in her eyes holds so much I can't begin to label it. But she convinces me to pull up my feet to start taking off my shoes. My hands are shaking. If Rosalie notices it, she doesn't say anything. She places a towel over her lap and gestures for me to put my feet on her knees.

It takes me quite some effort to take off my socks as the final step. Rosalie shakes the tiny bottle of nailpolish and unscrews it. Only then does she look at my feet.

Her gaze hardens for only a second, then she frowns. "That must have hurt like a bitch."

She looks up at me to see my slow nod in affirmation. Then she looks back at my feet and starts polishing the first nail with slow, precise swipes.

It's hard for me to look at the scars that adorn the top of my feet. That memory when Stefan was drunk off his ass and beat me with the metal clasp of his belt is one of the hardest I have to bear. My body is littered with scars from that one night.

I sigh involuntarily and fold my arms in between my body and my pulled up legs. Rosalie looks up briefly to meet my gaze and smiles reassuringly, before she focuses back on my feet again. It's a nice color.

Then, the bedroom door opens and Alice steps back in, a gentle smile plastered on her face. I want to pull back my feet, hide them, but Rosalie immediately stops me with a gentle word.

"You have nothing to hide, Bella."

I'm not so sure about that, and Alice's gasp when she walks further into my room and sees my feet, makes me want to disappear. Instead, I close my eyes with a deep frown as I recoil, unhappier than ever.

"Oh my God," Alice whispers, coming closer slowly. "Oh shit. Oh God. What happened?"

"She got hurt," Rosalie says quietly, in a way that not only seems to soothe me for some strange reason, it also has an air of finality that makes sure Alice knows she shouldn't ask further.

"I'm so sorry," Alice whispers.

In utter surprise I see how her eyes glaze over with tears.

A silence falls, and I look from Rosalie to Alice, to my bare feet on Rosalie's lap.

I've always gone to great extends to hide my body, hide my scars as proof of my failures. But here I am, showing them to my foster sisters, and neither of them says anything to blame me for them. Instead, their gazes are filled with compassion for the pain I have been in.

Just like with Edward. He didn't recoil. He didn't make me think he assumed I must have done something terribly wrong to deserve a punishment that leaves a scar like that. There was only sympathy.

With effort, I swallow the sudden lump in my throat away.

I have been so blind.

* * *

_Sooo... what do you think?_


	55. Chapter 55

**A/N I don't own Twilight**

_Thanks as ever for the wonderful reviews you have left me. And to everyone else who is reading my story. Thank you. _

_Thanks to Sherryola for beta duties and for being my rock, always. Thanks to Bob for being my soul sister. Thanks to Deb for being in my life. Nine days, my love, nine! Aleea, your comments make me more confident and help my story be better. I love you just for that. _

_So, yes, I am late with my update. Life happened. I can't promise I will always be on time. Follow me on Twitter or Facebook (DoobaWrites) for updates on my (boring) life._

_Next update hopefully in ten days. Oh and it shall be Edward's point of view._

_Just a tiny disclaimer: the continuity in this chapter is correct. Bella doesn't know what happened in the Emmett-pov in the Shreds-outtake ;)  
_

_Music: _John Mayer - Daughters (Carlisle scene - thank you Bob!); Home soundtrack - Cum Dederit (beach scene); Kelly Clarkson - Because of you. _Thanks to the twitterati for last minute suggestions!  
_

* * *

The days of Spring Break are filled with leisurely activities. Easter comes and goes without much notice, as the Cullens don't really care for the marketing hype around it. Carlisle goes to church on Sunday, but that's about it.

All the siblings are in a good mood and the atmosphere in the house is easy and relaxed. I am relaxed. A sense of peace has settled over me when I realized last week that my scars are not going to be judged in this house. It's not like I am suddenly pushing up the sleeves of my sweater, but something changed in my mind when Edward saw the scar on my hand and Alice and Rosalie saw my feet.

Carlisle approaches me on Tuesday morning, when I'm up early and eating breakfast in the kitchen.

"There is a 'take your kid to work day' coming up," he says as he pulls out a chair to sit across from me at the kitchen table. "It's actually this Friday. Normally I disregard these days, since the others don't care for it at all. I was wondering though, if you would want to join me?"

His question takes me aback. I never expected him to ask me something like this. Wouldn't it be a huge bother for him to show me around, to pay attention to me all day long? I wouldn't want to use so much of his time and energy. Besides, I'm not sure if I want to be alone with him for an entire day.

"Think about it," he says gently. "I would absolutely love to show you around, and you could get a nice view behind the scenes of a hospital."

Finding my phone in my pocket, I type on it. It's still very difficult for me to actually give Carlisle my words. In a way it makes me feel more vulnerable than I would like to admit. I guess it's because communicating with him means I have to open up, and it makes me feel exposed. The better he gets to know me, the more weapons he might have to use against me.

I struggle to focus back on the current.

_You really wouldn't mind?_

"Let me put it this way," he says with a grin. "If I didn't really want you to come, I wouldn't have told you this day was coming up."

There is logic to his point.

"So, what do you say? I'd love to show you around. And you get to meet the people I work with, if you want to."

Nerves explode in my stomach at what I'm about to do, but I force myself to remember all the good encounters I have had with this man. I can only hope he doesn't have a double agenda.

I nod.

He beams victoriously, smiling even wider when Esme walks around the corner and into the kitchen.

"Morning, love," she says, walking up to him and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "What has you smiling like that?"

He hugs her waist. "Bella just agreed to come to the take your kid to work day with me."

Esme's smile is as radiant as Carlisle's. "That is wonderful, dear. I'm sure you are going to have a fabulous day."

Uncomfortable as ever, I slip off my chair to fix Esme a cup of coffee.

"Do you have any plans for the day, Bella?" Esme asks as she takes the mug from me with a smile in thanks.

I do, actually. Emmett wants to take me to the practice field today, so I can watch as he plays a game for fun with some mates. Rosalie is joining us, to keep us company and to watch Emmett play. And to make sure I don't have to be alone in a car with Emmett.

As Carlisle gets up to leave for work, I think back to how Emmett invited me to come to the field with him.

"Will you come?" he asked. "It will be good for you to see the actual action of the game. And it's going to be a friendly game, which maybe is less aggressive for you to watch." His hand came up to his neck to rub it and he looked a bit sheepish after his words.

Behind him I saw Rosalie look up in pleasant surprise at his considerate words. She got up and wrapped her arm around his waist. "I'll join you," she said. "I can keep Bella company and explain the game a bit to her."

"I'd like that, babe," he said, leaning in to kiss her.

Rosalie stood up on her tiptoes to receive this token of his love, and I found I couldn't look away from this display of affection. When they broke apart, Rosalie looked at me and winked.

Blinking the memory away, I rinse out my bowl before I settle down in the library to read until it's time to go.

Rosalie turns out to be easy company. Even though she comes across as hard and cold at first, once you get to know her, she's simply incredible. Still, I never disliked her for being blunt an honest. I'd rather have a painful truth than a rose-colored lie. Lies hurt more once they are discovered.

She has changed around me, though. The tension that was always between us, seems to have gone. I'm not sure when it happened, but it started when she told me a bit of her own story, that she was touched without permission. Maybe she knows by now I'm not going to tell anyone.

I wonder if Emmett knows. Looking at the backs of their heads from my position in the back seat of the car as they talk quietly, I hope that she has told him. She said that it could be good, with the right man. Emmett is her right man. Would he know?

The thought doesn't leave my head and Rosalie asks me what is bothering me when I keep being distracted at the edge of the field.

_I don't want to bother you_

"You're not," she says. "You can tell me anything, you know that, right?"

Her eyes are clear, her gaze is open. I straighten my shoulders and take the leap.

_Does Emmett know? What happened to you?_

Her face falls and I feel horrible immediately, having brought this up and forcing her to remember a horrible event. I type quickly, removing the stupidest question in history from the screen of my phone.

_I'm sorry_

"No, don't be," she says with a slight frown. "It's natural that you would want to know more about it. I just try to think of it as little as possible."

_I understand_

Silence falls, and we both focus on the game in front of us without seeing anything. Then she speaks again. "He knows. We were already a couple then. It was very selfish of me to tell him and then to beg him to not tell mom and dad."

Her gaze is far away and I'm pretty sure she's reliving whatever happened to her. I wish I could comfort her in some way, but it goes against everything I know to place a hand on her arm to let her know I am there.

I completely understand why she wouldn't want Esme and Carlisle to know. She must be as scared to be blamed as I have been, as I still am. I can't fault her for that. I can hardly tell her I think that Carlisle and Esme will be angry with her for what happened, even though I am quite sure they would never blame Rosalie.

She can't have been very young when it happened, considering she just said she was already with Emmett then. That must mean it happened not so long ago. I realize that part of me wants to know what happened and how she coped, while another part of me simply doesn't want to hear it. Lost in my own thoughts, I focus back on the field again.

Finally, Rosalie turns her head to look at me, smiling gently. "I guess these are questions you're struggling with now, too?"

She must be referring to who knows the story. After a moment of hesitation, I nod.

_Nobody knows what really happened. I'm afraid people will hate me when they find out_

"I don't think anyone could ever hate you," she says quietly. She looks forward again, following the players on the field with her eyes. "I battled for a long time with the idea that my body was soiled, that I wasn't desirable anymore. Emmett convinced me otherwise. He showed me how much he loved me, even after that ordeal. But, then again, I already had him when it happened."

Since I don't know what exactly happened, I'm not sure how to reply to it. This is how the others must feel when they talk to me. Always reaching out in the dark, not knowing exactly what they are referring to. The realization is sobering.

I want to ask her how it feels for her, to be intimate, to have someone touch her now in ways that were forced on her before. This is not something I would easily ask Siobhan about, for some reason. But the words don't come and my courage evaporates like a deflating balloon. Now is not the time. Maybe later, then.

"Bella, can I ask you something?"

Rosalie's words pull me from my thoughts just as Emmett's team scores on the field. The guys cheer loudly and jump on top of each other in their joy. I tear my eyes away from a scene that looks more violent to me than the actual tackles, and meet her gaze.

"Were you raped?"

Her question hits me so hard I literally stumble under the weight. All my breath seems to leave my body as I simply look at her, completely stunned. Rosalie's face changes when she sees me, and a look of sadness colors her expression.

"Is that a yes?"

I don't move. I can't. To admit it, makes it real. I don't even have the headspace to formulate the fear of what Rosalie will think of me when she knows.

"I'm so sorry," she says quietly. "I wish I had something else to say."

I know all too well how she feels.

Sometimes, there just aren't words.

**~O~**

Rosalie's questions and confessions make me think. I wander around the house, seemingly without any objective, but in my head the wheels are turning full speed.

"Hey," Edward says when I almost walk into him in the foyer. "Why don't we go to the beach? It might help clear your head a little."

The prospect of being alone with him is still as exciting as it is frightening. There are so many questions I would want to ask him, but I know I will probably never have the courage to ask even one.

"Come on," he says when he sees me hesitate. "Enough with the heavy. Let's go to the beach and let the wind blow all your worries out of your mind."

When I look at him funny, he chuckles. "It's what my grandpa used to say. Let's go."

He lets me choose the music when he drives us to the Reservation. I decide to just turn on the radio, to start getting a gist of what music is out there right now.

"Emmett used to want to become a radio DJ," Edward reminisces as he turns onto the main road. "He thought that would be the most fun job in the world. He pouted for three days when dad told him he'd have to play _all_ music, not only the songs he liked."

Edward's little story makes me smile, and I can vividly imagine Emmett looking all disappointed as a little boy.

After the shirt drive to the Reservation, Edward pulls up to park between the trees. The wind on the beach is chilly, and I am glad I chose to wear my winter coat. Edward zips up his coat as well, pulling up his shoulders a little to prevent the wind from going into his collar.

We walk along the sand for a long time in silence. Edward was right about the wind. My head feels lighter already, and I focus on the feel of the breeze against my face, the sound of the waves in my ears, the salty smell in the air. It's so beautiful out here I can even forgive the lack of sunlight. Somewhat.

"Do you ever think time goes by too fast?" Edward's voice is calm, and his question is probably a result of his train of thought.

I can only shrug in answer. I've been living in the now for so long, I have lost all sense of time. I never had any use for thinking about the future, so there never was any sense of time moving too fast. In fact, I've often thought it was going too slow, especially when I was waiting for pain to fade.

"Do you ever feel that you'll never live long enough to do everything you want?" he asks, meeting my gaze now.

What is going on in his mind that he is worrying about this all?

Reluctant to break the silence I so enjoy, I get out my phone to give a proper reply.

_Is there so much you want to do?_

"Yes, I think. I'm not even sure. Maybe I'm just afraid to miss things while I'm busy with the 'should-do's,' you know?"

No, I don't know. I used to flee to the things that had to be done in order to run from life in general. I've learned not to want things. The notion of wanting so much you're afraid you can't ever achieve it all is completely foreign to me.

_Maybe take it one at a time? What do you want?_

He exhales. "I don't know. Travel, see places. Read the classics. Eat dishes from all over the world. Achieve something." When he meets my gaze, he smiles. "I'm talking nonsense, aren't I?"

I shake my head quickly.

_Not at all. I just don't experience it the same as you do._

"How do you experience it?" he asks, his voice softer now.

Again, I shrug.

_I focus on the now. I never thought about the future much_

He's silent, thinking. "Maybe that will change now that you have this new life."

He has a point. Still, it's easier to stay in the now. Thinking of the future and of future responsibilities brings with it the clear realization that I won't ever be able to function normally in society without my voice.

I push the thought away. There is time. There is always time.

Edward chuckles quietly, pulling me out of my reverie. "Here I was telling you it wouldn't be heavy today. Excuse me for bringing up such a serious subject."

I disagree with him.

_You should always be able to say what's on your mind_

His bright gaze meets mine after he has read the words, and he smiles. "Thank you."

We walk on in silence, creating footprints in the sand that will be erased when the tide comes back up again. Yet, even though the proof of our being here will disappear, the sand will never again be put in the exact same position as before we walked through it. It's a somewhat comforting thought that moving through life, you always leave a trail somehow, setting off certain changes that will linger, even though the cause of those changes will be forgotten.

I focus back on my senses before my thoughts turn too melancholic. I type on my phone again, confusing the hell out of Edward with my careful request.

_Will you tell me about music?_

"What do you mean?" he asks, genuinely concerned.

_I know so little of the world. You know a lot about music. Will you tell me?_

"What do you want to know?"

_Everything that you want to share_

He smiles shyly, and then starts talking. He's hesitant at first, obviously unsure whether I would be interested in information about composers he likes and why. But gradually, when he realizes I am soaking up every word he says, he becomes more confident, going off in tangents before turning back to the main subject.

By the time we reach the small bay with the driftwood bench, he is talking animatedly about pop music in the eighties.

"Why do you want to know all this?" he asks as he sits down on the fallen trunk.

_I know so little of the world. I have to start somewhere_

"True," he murmurs. "It's so weird, sometimes it's really like you come from a different world, or a different time. You're so smart, and yet things we take for granted seem so new to you."

His tone of voice tells me he's truly curious, not judgmental at all.

_I never had the chance is all_

"But you're having it now," Edward says, choosing to focus on the present instead of dwelling on my past. "And I'll be glad to help you with it."

I smile at him, and he smiles back. We watch the surf for a long, quiet moment. I think back to when I saw Jacob and Sam on the beach here. I hope we won't run into them today. I would not like that.

The silence is easy. I think that's one of the things I like so much about being with Edward. He doesn't feel the need to fill the quiet with senseless babbling. Right now, with the wind in my hair, inhaling the salty scent of the sea, it all feels... tranquil.

A happy sigh escapes me, and in my peripheral vision I can see the edge of Edward's mouth turn up in a crooked smile. He says nothing though, preserving the silence I think we are both enjoying.

Sadly, my thoughts wander again to my past, and what Edward will think if he finds out about it all. Rosalie knows the truth of my shame now, but she didn't push me away. Neither she, Alice nor Edward judged me for the scars they've seen on me.

Still. It's hard.

I should talk to Siobhan about this. I need to process it all, but I have no idea where to begin.

A sigh escapes me again, a pained one this time. Edward seems to feel the change in my mood, because he looks at me in concern. I don't acknowledge him, and after a while he looks at the sea again.

A long moment later he leans into me, nudging me gently with his shoulder. "You can always tell me what's on your mind," he says quietly, copying my words from before back to me.

I smile without humor at his attempted joke, which isn't a joke I know. Looking down at my fidgeting hands, I swallow thickly, suddenly tense. How do I start a conversation I really don't want to have in the first place? Then, suddenly, I remember something he said. I might as well start there.

_You said you don't want to know about my past_

He exhales, his hand coming up to rub his neck. "I did. And I didn't mean it like that. It's more that if you want to talk, I'm here. But it's not important to me to form my opinion about you. Does that make sense?"

My chest flutters in relief at his words, and I nod.

_Would you blame me for my past?_

"I can't think how I ever could," he says honestly. "What brings this on?" he asks when he sees that I'm unable to type my next question on my phone. He leans forward, trying to catch my gaze. "What are you really worried about?"

_I'm scared you'll find me disgusting when you know my story_

A deep V appears between his brows as he frowns. "No," he says, lost for words. "Never."

Looking at the phone in my lap, a third sigh escapes me. I'm not sure how to continue from here.

Edward gets up and kneels in front of me, leaning in to catch my down-turned gaze. "Hey," he says, carefully taking my hands in his. "I'm not going to push you away. Nothing that can possibly have happened in your past is going to change that. Believe me."

I can't write since he's holding my hands, and I don't want to pull away to use the phone. Instead, I sit with him kneeling in front of me, looking into his searching eyes.

If only I could be sure that he means what he says. But it's a promise he cannot keep. It's a sad thought to know that he will eventually stray, especially when he learns that I can' give him what he might want. What any normal guy would want when he likes a girl. More than he should.

Carefully, Edward brings up his hand to cup my cheek. I flinch at the contact, and then cringe at the pain that flashes in his eyes when he sees my fear. But I hold my ground and so does he, and his hand feels warm on my wind-cooled cheek.

After a while I can relax into his touch, and before I have made a conscious decision my body moves and I lean my face into his hand. Warmth seems to explode in my stomach and chest when I feel the pressure of his palm intensify against my skin. A faint smile appears on his face at my action, and he keeps his hand up, stroking my cheekbone softly with his thumb.

A thousand things could be said in this moment. Questions or statements, promises and reassurances. Instead, he squeezes my hand softly, and I return the gesture. All the communication we need is apparent in our eyes.

I can see Edward thinking, and at last he takes a breath to speak. His gaze is serious, but warm. "I know that you have a horrible past. Maybe some day, you'll be ready to tell me about it. But I want you to know that nothing that can have happened in your past can change what I think of you now."

I take in his words and try to believe them. I _want_ to believe them. He has told me this before. Several times, even. But I still worry that when he learns the truth, the real truth, he will turn away. Who would want damaged, spoiled goods? I look down at my lap again, breaking eye contact. Edward's hand remains and moves from my cheek to my neck, touching the nape ever so softly.

The touch is surprisingly gentle and at complete odds with my memories. I force myself to stay still instead of pulling away, and when Edward's fingertips move slightly, goose flesh races over my body at the feeling of his caress.

It feels weird... but good. I think.

I take a shuddering breath and Edward smiles faintly again, moving his fingertips with more purpose now. With every tiny circle he rubs, I relax a little bit more. My chin sinks deeper to my chest as I enjoy his ministrations. For once, I am not afraid that his loving touch will turn into a painful one at any moment. For once, I just want to sit here and enjoy his affection.

I'm not sure how long we are sitting like that. When Edward pulls back, I have to blink a few times to get the world into focus again. He gets up, his knees popping after having been locked in a bent position for so long.

"Maybe we should start thinking about going back," he says, stretching his stiff muscles. "Or did you want to stay?"

It's up to him. If he wants to go back, then I will follow.

To my surprise, Edward kneels in front of me again. "Bella, there's no easy way to say this, and maybe I've said it before. I know what happened to you. I _know_ it wasn't just beatings. I know you have been touched without permission. I want you to know I will never do that."

His words catch me off guard completely. What I always thought was a well-hidden secret has now been laid in the open twice in a very short time. Did Rosalie tell him this? I blink at him, my entire body suddenly tense. And yet, every cell seems to protest against that tension at the same time. Let the shoe fall. I'm so tired of this waiting game.

"What I am trying to say is," he says after he has swallowed with difficulty, "it doesn't matter. No, it _does_ matter. But I don't think any less of you."

My breathing has picked up speed during his speech and even my thoughts seem to be lost for words. He knows more than I thought, and yet his behavior towards me never indicated even a hint of disgust. Is he really so sincere, or am I just not seeing him clearly?

"Your past is part of you. But you are more than your past. Does that make sense?"

My nod is stiff, as if someone else is governing my movements, not me. I have to ask though.

_Who told you?_

"Nobody. I guessed it."

I will have to believe the sincerity in his eyes.

"Come on, let's start walking back," he says, breaking the silence. He gets up and reaches out his hand to help me up as well. I let him pull me to my feet and we start to walk again, both lost in thoughts or so it seems.

When we round the corner of the bay and reach the main beach again, I suddenly feel Edward's hand enclosing around mine. Looking at him in surprise, he simply smirks without looking back at me.

And just like that, we're walking hand in hand along the beach.

It feels completely alien.

It feels... normal.

**~O~**

Friday arrives quickly, and at nine in the morning, Carlisle asks me if I am ready to go to the hospital with him. I'm as ready as I will ever be, and I find I'm chagrined at the nerves I feel when I think I have to be alone with him in the car. Purposefully defying my own fear, I sit in the front with him, to his pleasant surprise.

He makes easy small talk on the way to the hospital, sharing tidbits of knowledge I will probably never forget again. When he parks the car in the underground garage for employees, he turns in his seat to look at me.

"If at any point today you feel like it's becoming too much, don't hesitate to give me a sign, okay?"

I nod dutifully, and exit the car when he does.

There are some other people at the hospital that brought their kids. I see a guy about my age and recognize him from one of my classes. The others seem younger, but since I'm horrible with guessing ages, I can't be sure.

Carlisle opens the day with a short speech, thanking me personally at the end of his monologue for coming today. Some people eye me curiously, and not for the first time I wish a hole in the ground would appear to swallow me whole. Thankfully, I'm only approached when Carlisle has found his way back to me, so I am not left alone with these strangers.

"Carlisle, how lovely that you brought Bella to work with you," a woman says as she walks up to us. "You talk about her so often, it's high time we finally see who you have been talking about."

Carlisle smiles brightly at her. "Amanda, please meet Bella. Bella, this is Amanda. She's an anesthesiologist and she assists me often during operations."

"How do you do," the woman named Amanda says. She makes no move to shake my hand, and I wonder how much Carlisle has told about me. "Have you come to see where your new father is spending so much of his time?"

Carlisle chuckles under his breath at her words. My thoughts stutter by her mentioning 'my new father.' How horrible is it that I never even thought of him like that? He was just a man, the leader of the family. The one to avoid.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. I am giving a presentation in O.R.1 in twenty minutes. Will you attend?" Amanda's pleasant voice pulls me out of my thoughts again.

I look up at Carlisle just as he looks at me. "What do you think?" he asks. "Something you would fancy learning more about?"

I nod with genuine interest, and Carlisle smiles. "That's settled then. We will see you in a bit."

The day is filled with more of these short presentations. A lot of doctors who can spare some time approach us and make small talk with Carlisle. Not one doesn't mention something along the likes of how glad they are to see me finally.

It baffles me to no end. I would have thought that if they knew about me, they would have known that Carlisle and Esme took in a traumatized child, incapable of any normal social interaction. Yet they all regard with the utmost kindness, not at all like they think I'm unworthy or not right in my head.

"What has you so confused?" Carlisle asks me after lunch.

I haven't been able to eat anything, and I know I have disappointed Carlisle with that. He made me promise him I would make up for it when we got home, and in my relief that he was not going to force me, I did.

Right now, he wants an answer to his question, though. I write on my phone. Oh shit, the battery is low.

_Don't be angry_

"Of course not," he says gently. "What's on your mind?"

_You told people about me _

"I did," he says. I can see the questions in his eyes. "You don't agree with that?"

_No, that's not it. More that you said nice things?_

My words form into a question automatically, and I wait for Carlisle's answer with baited breath.

"Why wouldn't I?" he counters.

Exhaling, I strip away my protection and lay my insecurities bare. If my words make him angry, at least he won't be able to act on it in this public place.

_Do you see me like that? Or were you being polite?_

He meets my eyes after he has read the words on the screen of my phone. "It's how I see you. I see no reason to lie about that."

A short pause follows, and I can see he's thinking.

"Bella, what are you worried about? That I wouldn't want you in my house?"

I shrug, tracing invisible lines in the Formica tabletop to hide my unease.

"Have I ever given you that impression?"

No, he hasn't.

"Because if I ever did, I will never forgive myself," he continues. "I can't tell you how happy I am that we decided to take you in last year. I'm so proud of you when I see how far you have come already. I started to see you as my own daughter a long time ago."

I look up at him in surprise at his words. Carlisle smiles gently when he takes in my expression and meets my gaze. He looks around him to see if we can be overheard, and then leans forward a little.

"The father figures you have had so far in your life have disappointed and hurt you beyond forgiveness. I hope you will allow me the chance to show you that not all father figures are bad. Let me be a father to you. A real one, who acts like he's supposed to."

My heart has started hammering at the end of his little speech, and I vaguely register that my mouth has popped open somewhere along the line.

"I hope that you are starting to believe that your past is not exemplary for how a regular family should function. I hope that, now you have been with us for a while, you are starting to see what it can be like, and that it can be yours, too."

I'm completely lost for words. His voice is so sincere, and there really is no denying that there is truth in what he says. It fits in with all the rest. Yet, I know I will probably be wary around him for a long time still.

When I pick up my phone again to tell him thank you, it dies. I frown in disappointment, and Carlisle smiles again.

"No worries. Let's go get you some pen and paper to keep with you for the time being, and then we can move on to the second part of the day. Sound good?"

I agree with him, and we make a pit stop at his office, where he gives me a small notepad and a pencil so I can write should it be necessary.

For some reason, the notion of not talking and always writing down what I mean, seems suddenly completely and utterly ridiculous to me. I push the thought away to contemplate later. Right now, I need my focus to get through this day.

Around four in the afternoon, we arrive at the ER. This of course is Carlisle's domain, and I can see how his eyes light up with everything he points out or says. We are interrupted by an emergency being brought in. Carlisle is distracted immediately, wanting to know what's going on with the man that's wheeled in through the double doors.

The ambulance people inform him quickly, and Carlisle disappears from my sight in the seeming chaos.

"Even on his day off, he can't help doing his job," a woman says beside me.

I recognize her from earlier in the day. She's Amanda, Carlisle's co-worker. She seems to see my sudden worry, because she hastens to reassure me.

"I know you prefer not to talk," she says in a kind voice. Her tone holds no judgment at all, which is a relief to me. "He's so proud of you," she continues. "I swear he loves you just as much as his own kids. I don't think he sees any difference anymore."

I'm not sure what she expects from me, so I indicate that I heard her while I keep observing the scene before me. I'm thinking that maybe I should ask her something, like how she likes her job, but I don't trust my own conversational skills. Besides, it would make me wildly uncomfortable to write down words for her.

After several minutes, the man on the stretcher is wheeled out of the room. Carlisle looks around, spots us, and walks into our direction.

"That man needs an operation. It should be no more than an hour. Bella, would you mind waiting?"

I shake my head immediately. I wouldn't want to stop him from doing his job, ever.

"An hour, tops," he promises. "Amanda, would you-"

"Yes, of course," she interrupts him. "Go. Page me when you're out again."

Carlisle bows his head in thanks and rushes out of the room. The sudden silence is a sharp contrast to the hustle of before.

"Have you seen the children's ward yet?" Amanda asks me. When I shake my head, she asks me if I would want to go there. I nod, and so we set course to a different part of the hospital.

It's harder than I thought. There are not only children with some small ailment who get to go home soon again. When we walk over the wing where children with cancer are, my heart breaks to see them there. Amanda persuades me to play with a little girl when she comes up to me. I spent a few minutes rolling a ball between us, distracted by the obvious fact that the girl has no hair at all. A pink hat covers most of it from the eye.

When we are done, the girl thanks me with a bright gap-toothed smile.

"You just made her week," Amanda says when it's time to move on again. "They miss so much in here."

I swallow away a lump in my throat when we walk out again. It makes me grateful that, apart from being dreadfully underweight still, I have no lasting health problems, and I get to go home to sleep in what I have come to think of as my own bed later.

On our way back, we walk past another part of the children's ward. A little boy is wandering about, a nurse following him patiently. When the boy sees us, he walks up to me. I gasp audibly in shock when I see he has a black eye.

The boy reaches out both arms to me, clearly wanting to be picked up. I look at the nurse who's with him, to see what she thinks of this.

"I think it's okay," she says. "Careful for his ribs though. They are still bruised."

I tear up instantly and kneel before this tiny child. He must be older than he looks. The signs of abuse are clear on his body, but they are even clearer in his eyes.

"His name is Simon," the nurse says. "Maybe you can talk to him a little."

I hardly hear her when Simon steps up to me, a ragged stuffed bunny in one hand. He reaches out again and when I tentatively open my arms, he walks right into my embrace. Carefully supporting his bottom, so as to prevent putting any strain on his sore ribs, I pick him up as I straighten up again.

"Bella doesn't speak," Amanda says quietly.

"Oh," the nurse says neutrally. I wonder what she thinks of me now.

"She's Carlisle Cullen's foster daughter."

The nurse smiles warmly. "Dr. Cullen is such a kind heart. I've heard good stories about him."

There is a moment of silence, but I'm completely focused on Simon, who has by now buried his head in the crook of my neck. His tiny body is warm against mine, and I feel equal parts devastated and delighted to have this broken child in my arms.

"Simon doesn't speak either. He hasn't said a word ever since his mother brought him in."

I walk around with him, rocking him gently in my arms. I can sense how he is relaxing in my embrace.

"Where is his mother now?" Amanda asks. Against my will, I listen in more closely to their conversation.

"She's in a safe house. I'm watching Simon until he can go to his mom again."

"How much longer will he need to stay here?"

"Not long, I hope. Maybe a week."

Amanda and the nurse continue their conversation in hushed tones. When the nurse says its time for Simon to go back to bed, I realize that the boy has fallen asleep in my arms.

"He's never done that before," the nurse says. "Usually we have the most trouble to get him to settle for sleep."

Amanda smiles, but keeps silent.

"Would you place him in bed?" the nurse asks.

I nod, and I follow her to the Simon's room. When I try to lay him down, he clings to my collar.

With the gentlest pressure I can summon, I make him release his grip. I want to cry, but I know I have to stay strong for now.

His eyes open, and he looks at me with shattering fear.

"Don't let him hurt me again," he whimpers quietly.

I shake my head, hoping to tell him that he is safe now.

"It's okay, Simon," the nurse says as she comes up to the other side of the bed. "He won't hurt you anymore." She looks at me with a meaningful gaze, and I nod in understanding.

I press Simon's hand, squeezing it for reassurance, and then I have to step away from the bed.

Amanda seems to notice my need for quiet, because she doesn't break the silence when we go back to the ER. As we walk through the double doors, she tells me quietly that she will go and ask how long Carlisle will be. I nod, and sit down on an uncomfortable plastic chair to wait.

She's back in a moment, telling me that it should be no more than 20 minutes. "Carlisle asked me to bring you to his office if you want to wait there. I have to leave now, but I can give you a ride if you want?"

Cursing my unwillingness to accept her offer, I decline as politely as I can. Amanda leads the way to Carlisle's office, and after asking me again if she can take me home, she leaves from my sight. I settle in to wait.

I wait.

And wait.

After an hour, Carlisle still isn't back.

I wonder what I should do. My phone is dead, so there is no way I can contact any of the family for help. I'm also reluctant to find someone in here who would be willing to help me.

Finally, after almost two hours, Carlisle throws open the door to his office. He exclaims his surprise when he sees me.

"Bella! Are you still here?"

Well, that's obviously a yes.

"How long have you been waiting for me?" he looks at the clock. "Must have been close to two hours. Why didn't you contact anyone?"

I show him my unresponsive phone.

"Oh, right. Oh, I'm so sorry," he says, truly remorseful. "You shouldn't have been left waiting here for so long. Let's go home immediately."

I follow him to the underground garage. When he turns onto the road, he explains how he asked one of the interns to find me and let me know the operation was taking longer due to a complication. "He must have forgotten. He will hear about this."

I'm worried about the consequences for this intern, but in all honesty I'm too tired to really care. Carlisle calls home quickly, relaying the story.

"Esme has dinner waiting for us. You must be starving by now."

The moment he mentions my hunger, I feel my stomach gurgle. But my mind is keeping me occupied. That kid I saw, he was abused as well. His mother was in a safe house, so I have reason to hope they will be safe from now on. His life can change, and maybe he is young enough to not remember everything. Unlike me.

When Carlisle parks the car in the garage, I walk into the house, straight to Esme's warm embrace.

**~O~**

The thoughts won't leave me. The little boy I saw, his pleading to not let his abuser hurt him again. His mother took him away from the pain, hopefully for good. The boy will heal.

Not me. I will be forever haunted by my memories and fear. It took all I had to not flinch away from Edward's touch at the beach. I was tense for most of the time when he held my hand on our way back. And Carlisle, he knows how scared I am of him, even still. Six months have passed and yet I can't relax, I can't sleep peacefully. I keep waiting for that other shoe to drop.

I'm so fed up with being afraid all the time. I'm fed up with my past, I'm done with not being able to be normal. It's all I want. I desperately crave a warm touch, gentle affection. Yet when it's there to pick up and enjoy, I flinch away, always afraid. I can't deal with touch. I don't know how.

But I want it so much. So much.

Why does everything have to be so fucked up? Will I ever get past this ridiculous tension, will I ever be able to relax and enjoy life? I see people around me, laughing, being happy, easy around each other. They're not scared when someone hugs them, gives them a pat on the shoulder. The little boy, even, reached out to me. I would never have picked him up had he not so clearly asked for it.

I would never have rejected him either. However sad his situation was, I enjoyed feeling his body in my arms. I tear up again when I remember the joy I felt at being able to provide some safety.

It's Saturday, and I am alone in the house. I'm not even sure where everybody has gone, but when Emmett and Carlisle left, I knew I was the only one here. A deep sigh leaves me, tension falling away at the knowledge of being alone.

But there I go again. I can only fully relax when I am alone. My muscles are stiff, sore after the tension I have been holding in the hospital yesterday.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I'm overwhelmed with memories. Laurent's face as he watched me closely while he was hurting me. Stefan's blind, unpredictable rage. People say you can't remember physical pain. Well, I can. Vividly.

The memories won't stop, and what I hoped would be a period of calm while I was alone, becomes a moment of agony. It could have been different. My mother could have taken me with her when she left.

The thought to me like a ton of bricks.

_My mother could have taken me with her when she left. But she left me with Laurent._

Unlike the little boy Simon, whose life will change completely. He has a chance in life.

I will be fucked up forever, unable to function normally, unable to engage in normal interaction or affection, even. I can't bear to be touch. Hell, I can't even talk.

My desperation grows stronger with every second. It could have been different. I never wanted this life, but what could I have done? Is there anything I should have done? I asked for **hello** and was punished for it. I learned it was better to be quiet. Should I have tried harder? Should I have fought?

At the corner of my mind, a question echoes.

_Why, why, why..._

Why did this happen to me, why me? Why can't I be normal? I know rationally how life works, I do. I'm not stupid. Then why can't I? I just want to be happy, yet the thought alone riddles me with fear and guilt. I can't fight it anymore.

I can't fight the fear, or the hope, or the guilt, or the want. I just want to be held, still the thought makes me shudder.

What kind of being am I? I can't even make sense of myself. What a burden I must be for everyone else. No matter how hard I try, I don't think I will ever change. I will always be locked in this deficient mind, in this damaged body.

A normal life will never be mine to have. That which I want most, will never be mine.

It's a sad conclusion to a chaotic train of thought. Instead of tears, anger wells up. Anger, at everything. At my mother, for leaving. At Laurent, for hurting me like he did. At Stefan, for repeating history. At the world, for having closed its eyes to what was going on.

At life, for being such a disappointment.

The pencil I am anxiously toying with, hits the wall when a burst of energy leaves me. The satisfaction is tiny, but instant. Another pen follows. A notebook. Another one. My book on the nightstand.

My anger grows as my energy grows. I throw everything I can reach. A book. a CD case. My phone, which shatters apart when it hits the wall. My desk chair is pushed away. The pillows on my bed, which are heavier but don't make a satisfying sound when they land at the other side of the room. My heavy comforter. Another pillow. But then my hands grasp nothing but air. The mattress is pulled askew, and I'm getting out of breath.

It's not enough.

My tears blur my vision, and I stumble over my comforter when I sink down against the wall. It's all so hopeless. What am I trying for, anyway? I will only disappoint. I only ever disappoint. I'm not good enough. Not for this life, not for Esme, and certainly not for Edward.

My fist hits the wall and the pain draws up to my elbow. It feels so bad, and so good. A release of energy, of anger. In sudden blind rage, I hit the wall again, with a lot more force this time. I hear and feel the bone inside snap.

Utterly defeated, my last bit of energy leaves my body through my vocal chords.

I scream.


	56. Chapter 56

**A/N Twilight is not mine. I just play with the characters.**

_The response to the last chapter was overwhelming. Thank you so very, very much. Thanks too to Sherry, Deb and Bob, for everything and the rest. Thanks for holding my hand. You guys are amazing! Thanks to Deb as well for actually being here, next to me, while I post this.  
_

_This is Edward's chapter. Let me know what you think?  
_

_Playlist:_ Nickelback - Lullaby; Leona Lewis - Run; Shoshanna Bean - Home.

* * *

**Edward**

The house is quiet. Everyone has gone someplace or the other. Only Bella is home. She's in her room, I think, but she's always so quiet it feels like I am home alone. It happens so rarely, and I cherish the moments of true peace.

In a family of seven, now eight, you rarely have the chance to be alone.

I'm in my room, enjoying the silence. I'm listening to some classical music. My friends at school still laugh at me for listening to 'that stuff' as they call it, but I love it, and I won't change my musical preferences for them. There is a lot of contemporary music I like as well. But now, in the quiet house, I like to close my eyes and get lost in the soft tones of the piano, accompanied by a sole violin. The notes bring goosebumps to my arms.

It feels so good to be able to listen to this, uninterrupted. This is music you have to listen to at a low volume. It's music that doesn't need loudness to be heard. Stretching out my legs, I listen and wait for the slight crescendo I know is about to come.

A bump somewhere below me distracts me from the music. A frown ghosts over my face, but smoothes out when it stays quiet after that. Ah, yes, this is where the violin starts to become more dramatic.

A sharper sound, now. It sounds like something being thrown against a wall. No, that's hardly possible, is it?

When another bump sounds, I sit up. What is she doing? More rumor filters into my ears. It almost sounds like she's moving furniture. Maybe she's trying to rearrange her room? That's unlikely though. I distinctly heard things being thrown against a wall just now.

And then I hear her scream.

My heart misses a beat and for a moment I am completely frozen, unable to move or do anything. In the next moment, I'm on my feet so quickly my chair falls backwards. I don't care. In three strides, I'm at my door, wrenching it open.

I take the stairs two at a time, nearly breaking my neck when I miss the last step. Something is wrong with Bella. She screamed just now.

_Screamed_.

My heart is beating wildly and I'm panting when I knock on her door.

"Bella?" I ask, breathless. "Bella, what's going on? Are you all right?"

No reaction, but what I hear instead makes my chest crack. A whimper, a distinct, keening whimper comes from her room. Something is badly wrong.

Frantic, I knock again, but again, there is no indication that she will open the door. I try the knob, finding it – of course – locked.

Without thinking twice, I turn and run to dad's office. There must be a spare key. I know this because they opened the door once when Bella screamed in her fever. I have to find the key or I will break open the door. And I don't want to do that, because that won't help Bella. But I have to go to her. I have to.

I pull open drawers blindly and rummage through my dad's stuff. I don't care I am making a mess. I can explain it later. I need to go to Bella. Everything in me aches with the need to be there for her.

I know she's not letting me in, but maybe she didn't hear me knock, or maybe she isn't able to get up right now. If she wants me gone, I'm sure she will let me know. But I have to get inside that room. I have to know if she is okay.

I can't find the fucking key, goddammit. Where is it? I pull open yet another drawer, with such force it falls out of the desk entirely. Papers flit across the ground, but I don't even see what's on them. The key, I need the key.

It's not in the drawers.

Oh fuck. What if it's in the fucking safe? I don't know the combination of that safe! Calling the hospital and waiting until I get dad on the line is out of the question.

Desperate, I move to one of the bookcases. I've been in this room for maybe a minute, but it feels like a lifetime. I move some sort of ancient ornament out of the way to look behind the books, and notice the ornament is hollow. The top half of it shifts when I move it. Looking inside, I can shout my joy.

A key.

It better be the key to her room.

I run back across the hallway, listening again at Bella's door. I knock again. "Bella? Please?"

No reaction, but still her audible sobs.

My heart breaks into a thousand pieces to hear her like that. I have fantasized about hearing her voice for a long time, but never once in those fantasies would it be due to her crying.

What happened to get her so upset?

"I'm coming in," I announce, hoping to at least give her some form of forewarning, of control.

It takes me for-fucking-ever to get the key in that god forsaken lock, my hands are trembling so badly. But finally I can push it in, nearly breaking it in the process, and I can unlock her door.

I stop in my tracks when I see her, and her room.

Everything, and I mean _everything_ is out of place. Even the mattress is askew on the bed.

In the far corner is Bella, huddled in a hopeless heap on top of her comforter and other debris, gripping her hair and keening, whimpering. She's crying so heartbreakingly.

Swallowing my own emotion away, I approach her cautiously.

"Bella?"

No reaction, of course not. She's rocking back and forth, gripping her hair with such strength I fear she's going to pull it out.

I move forward until I can kneel down close to her. It takes everything I have to not touch her, but that tiny frizzle of rationality inside me tells me it's not a wise thing to do right now. How can I help her?

"It's okay," I say quietly, knowing full well that it isn't. Not even by far.

She keeps crying, refusing to acknowledge me, although I want to believe that she knows I am here. This doesn't look like a panic attack to me. This is a form of desperation I have never seen in her before.

When a renewed cry escapes her, my rationality is squashed and my shattered heart takes over control. Moving closer to her, I stretch out my arms, touching her as carefully as possible. She stiffens for a moment, then keeps on rocking back and forth.

With the utmost gentleness, and the biggest lump in my throat, I move farther forward still, until I can wrap my arms around her fully.

"Ssh, it's just me," I whisper, pulling her against me.

I _know_ I shouldn't do this. But I _can't_ stop myself. I _have_ to hold her, to comfort her in the only way my instinct screams at me how to.

She resists a little, her crying momentarily softening in her fear, probably, of what is going to happen.

"Ssh," I soothe again, completely lost for words.

With a deep sigh, she finally gives in and rests her weight against me, a helpless cry escaping her lungs.

"Just let it all out," I whisper, lost for anything better to say. "Let it go."

Her cries become louder, her entire body shaking with her sobs. I let her cry as I hold her, trying to provide some form of comfort while at the same time feeling extremely guilty about how good it feels to have her weight against me like this. After a while, I gently tug on her wrist to make her let go of the death grip she has on her hair.

A strangled, pained groan interrupts her crying, and I release her with a frown, wondering if she doesn't like her wrists to be held for some reason. Her other hand leaves her hair of its own accord though, and I wrap my arms around her better, holding her close, hoping against hope I can make her feel a bit safe.

She cries and cries. It's like there's no end to it. Something must have happened to set this into motion, to break the iron grip she has always had on her emotions. I wonder, however hard it is to see her this broken, if her letting go of it all might be something good, as well.

And she's crying with sound, which is so baffling I can't even really comprehend it. Her voice, which has been so unknown, so unreachable, seems to have broken through her — her what? Her control?

Her voice is hoarse, lower than I would have expected. My out of control mind still seems to have space to compare her real voice to my expectations.

After a while reality kicks back in though, and I can't ignore that my legs are starting to burn more and more. I'm still on my knees, and the blocked blood flow is beginning to bother me.

"I have to move," I say quietly, not wanting to interrupt her cathartic release, but also wanting her to know of my plans.

Tightening my grip around her slightly, I pick her up from the floor entirely. Honestly, she weighs nothing, and it worries me. It takes me no effort at all to hold her up as I move my tingling legs from their uncomfortable position, sitting down against the wall and holding her in my lap.

She's so tiny, it's unbelievable.

She sags against me immediately once I am settled, her head coming to rest in the crook of my neck. Warmth erupts in my stomach at the way she is nestling against me. My thumbs rub soothing circles on her arm and leg where I am holding her, and without thinking, I press a kiss to the top of her head. I rock her gently, cursing my conflicted emotions. In the end I settle for being grateful she feels safe enough to be held by me, in an effort to compromise between being torn over her desperation, and elated for having her in my arms like this.

I don't know how long she cries. For a long time, it seems as if there is simply no end to her misery. After what must be at least an hour, if not longer, her sobs diminish a tiny bit, and a heavy sigh escapes her.

She doesn't move, however, and I won't move until she gives me a sign that she's uncomfortable. Her breathing becomes a bit calmer, and her body is molded against mine, even though I can feel that there is some tension remaining in her.

I'm not completely relaxed, either. I've often daydreamed about having Bella in my arms like this, her head on my shoulder, my arms around her in a comfortable embrace. I never expected that it would happen like this, or so soon, even. It's pretty monumental what is happening here, even though the events that set this into motion are far from perfect.

Still, I can't deny how good it feels to hold her like this. Finally. I wonder if this is what it's -

"I'm so tired."

... Wha-?

Did she just…

She did, didn't she?

Did she really?

She spoke.

Oh, my god.

Oh my god!

I try to remain calm on the outside, but on the inside my thoughts are going a mile a minute, and my heart feels like it's going to explode in my chest. She must notice that. I know I can't make a big deal out of this, however much I want to laugh and hug her for what she just did. But she'll pull back again, shut me out, when I pay too much attention to the fact that she just _spoke._

She spoke!

Instead, I know it's wisest to focus on _what_ she said. She's tired. She must be, after all the crying she did. Yet, I feel and know she's not referring to just now. She's referring everything else, too.

My arms tighten around her the tiniest bit, hoping to bring her a bit of comfort before I speak.

"I know." I do.

She sighs again, her body relaxing a bit more against me. Her crying has stopped completely now, but her torso is still wracked by the shuttering breaths she can't seem to get under control.

I'm not sure which is the best way to go now. I want to stay here with her for as long as possible, but I don't know what she wants. And I don't know if she even knows she can leave if she wants to. The last thing I want is overstepping her boundaries. She's so fragile right now, although her showing her emotions like she did shows how extremely strong she is. At least, to me.

I stay silent, rocking her ever so slightly back and forth in my arms. She's not resisting me, and for a fleeting moment I dare to hope that in the future I might be able to hold her like this again. I can't describe how wonderful it feels to have her weight against me like this. She's so tiny, she fits on my lap easily, perfectly.

Time passes, but for me it feels like it has come to a standstill. We are still the only ones in the house, and no sounds other than our breathing are heard in her room. I don't want to break the bubble we have created around us. I know that once I get up and break this connection, it's going to take time before I get to hold her again. It will take time before she will come to me out of her own volition.

Right now, I am perfectly happy to be the one giving her the comfort she so desperately needs. I can't even half imagine what a battle she must be fighting in her mind every single day. To be afraid of touch, yet wanting it so badly. It's the oddest contradiction and she has to deal with it, somehow, every waking minute.

The moment is broken when Bella moves, bringing up her left hand to hide her yawn. As painful as I find the notion of letting her go, I know she has to rest.

"You should sleep," I tell her quietly, not able to resist resting my cheek against the top of her head.

She shakes her head slightly, pressing herself tighter against me in an effort to keep things as they are right now.

My chest expands with pride and happiness to feel this unmistakable proof that she wants to be here, in my arms.

I contemplate telling her she can sleep in my arms if she wants to, but I know she wouldn't ever do that, however tired she is. Her ability to stay awake when anybody else would long have collapsed is uncanny. The amount of control she has over her basic needs is stunning. I guess they're all survival mechanisms in one way or the other, adapted to navigate through a life that's too horrible to even catch in words.

Moving my hand, I cup the back of her head, caressing her skull gently with the tips of my fingers. I have wanted for so long to show her affection, to give her the tenderness she deserves. Now it seems the moment is finally there, and my hands are trembling with emotion, nerves, and the newness of it all.

Bella sighs again, and I can tell she lets go of some tension with the heavy exhale.

"Feel good?" I ask quietly. I can't see her face and I want to be sure I'm not overstepping her boundaries.

After a moment of hesitation, she nods into my chest.

"Good," I whisper, relaxing a bit more myself, as well.

When I hear the distinct sound of my mom's car on the driveway, I know it must be around three in the afternoon.

"Mom will be home soon," I say, in case Bella didn't hear the car. I'll leave it up to her what she wants.

She doesn't move, though. Like a doll she lies in my arms, her breathing the only signal she's alive.

I know mom will call out for either of us, and for some reason I don't want her to find us here, like this. I'm just not ready yet for questions I don't know the answers to myself. Besides, I have to clean up dad's office before he gets home.

So, with an effort that almost causes me physical pain, I decide to break our bubble. I get up with Bella in my arms, holding her slight weight easily, and walk over to the bed where I try to push the mattress back into place with my knee. I only half succeed, but it will have to do for now.

Carefully, I place her on her bed. As soon as my arms are gone from underneath her, she curls up into a fetal position, her eyes following my every movement as I walk back to the corner of the room to get her comforter and pillow.

She doesn't acknowledge the pillow I place by her head, but something flashes in her eyes when I place the thick blanket over her.

"Try to sleep," I say, lost for better words. "I'll make sure no one will disturb you. And I won't tell anyone what happened, if you want," I add.

Her nod is barely visible, but it's there.

"Okay. I'll lock the door again. I'll come knock when it's time for dinner."

Again, she nods. I look around her room one last time, and still it seems impossible to me that a girl like Bella, so quiet and docile, would cause such a mess. She must have been extremely upset.

Should I address that? Maybe not. Not yet, at least. She must be too tired to think right now.

Between the various items that have been thrown across the room, I notice her phone. I pick it up from the floor, my eyes searching for the missing battery and back part of the case. When I find them, I put it all back together, turning it on to see if it still works.

It does, and I place the cell on Bella's night stand.

"Text me if you need anything, okay?"

She doesn't reply this time, she just follows my every movement with her eyes. I wish there was more I could do for her. Leaving her alone like this tears me apart and feels like the worst thing I could do. Yet, I do realize it might be the best thing for her right now to be alone.

Still, I can't prevent my eyes from glazing over with tears when I have closed the door behind me and turn the key in the lock, leaving her in her own, desolate world.

The sadness morphs into anger quickly, though. The men in her past life have treated her so horribly, that this is the girl she has become. However much I'd like to deny it, she _is_ damaged, and it is not at all sure if she will ever heal completely. I can't understand how people can treat children like that. I want to hurt them.

I close my eyes and count to ten, trying desperately to not punch my fist into the drywall. I need to get moving before dad gets home.

"Edward, are you upstairs?" mom calls out.

Freezing, I wonder for one split second if I can just stay quiet in the hope that she won't have heard me. But the risk of her coming upstairs is too big.

"Yeah," I answer her, praying she won't come up.

"I forgot something in the supermarket. I'm going back out, okay?"

"Okay." I have to work to keep the excitement and relief from my voice. I listen to her footsteps retreating down the hall and into the garage, and exhale my nerves away when I hear her car start again.

**~O~**

My dad finds me in his office when I'm cleaning up the last bit of the mess I've made.

"Edward?" he asks in utter surprise when he steps into the room. "What are you doing?"

Honesty is going to be the best way to go, so I don't hesitate when I answer him. "I needed the key to Bella's room."

Dad looks at me, then closes the door and sits down on the couch as I put random papers together into a neat pile. "Talk to me."

I exhale, needing a moment to collect my thoughts. I'm not sure how much to tell him. For some reason, I want to keep the news that Bella spoke to myself. If others find out, they might get expectations and for now I'm not even sure if Bella is ever going to speak again.

Finally, I settle on telling him half the story. "She screamed. I had to know if she was okay."

His eyes pop slightly. "Screamed?"

I tell my dad the story. How I heard her throwing things, and how she screamed after that. How I had to find the key and then found Bella in her room, huddled on the floor. I stop talking quite abruptly after that, feeling protective of the hours Bella has spent in my arms.

My dad seems to sense this, for his next question doesn't force me to give more details. "Were you able to comfort her?"

"Yes," I reply, meeting his eyes, grateful that he allows me to keep the event to myself. "She's sleeping now, I think."

"And how do you feel?"

His question takes me aback, and I sit back in my dad's chair. It's almost as if the roles are reversed, and we're both sitting at the wrong side of his desk.

"I don't know," I answer his question. "I guess I'm tired now, too."

My dad sits forward, looking at his intertwined fingers as he speaks. "You know, Edward, it's absolutely wonderful that you have this close bond with Bella. We've all noticed it and we're all happy for her and for you. But she's severely traumatized."

I open my mouth to retort, to not let him finish speaking, because I have the sinking feeling he's going to warn me against spending time with Bella.

"Let me finish," he says before I can speak, not even looking up. "I meant that it's going to be really hard for her, but for you as well. As strong as you are, her past is going to weigh down on you. I just want you to know that I'm here for you, if you ever need to talk. You can be assured of confidentiality and I will never tell others what we discuss. Just know that you don't have to do it alone."

I'm baffled, and frankly I don't even know what to say.

"If and when Bella is going to open up about her past, you will see that it's good to be able to talk about it yourself sometimes. If you want to, I can arrange for you to go see a counselor. Maybe that's easier for you. But for now, know that I am here."

I have to swallow before I trust my voice to speak. "Thanks, dad."

"You're welcome, son." He gets up to help me clean up the utter mess I made of his room, and as we're both focusing on the activity, the words are suddenly starting to flow.

"I feel so conflicted. I want to help her, but I don't know how."

My dad just listens, making affirmative noises every now and again.

"And what if I mess up? I don't want to make a mistake and hurt her unintentionally. She's been hurt so much before, I just want to see her happy, you know?"

"I know."

"Then what do I do?"

Dad stops his movements and sits back on his knees, thinking for a moment. "Keep doing what you're doing. You've done a great job so far, you know."

"Doesn't feel like it," I mutter, placing books back on a shelf.

"Edward," my dad says, making me look at him. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You're doing an amazing job, not only because you are genuinely caring by nature, but also because you see Bella for who she is, instead of a traumatized shell of herself. Bella feels this. That's why she is so different with you than with the others."

"I'm just so scared to mess up," I say quietly, the fear of failure making my heart constrict in my chest. "What if she puts her faith in me, and I hurt her without even realizing it?"

"Edward," my dad says again, standing up so he can place his hand on my shoulder. "You'll be fine. Have a little faith in yourself, son."

His words are such a comfort, and in a sudden rush of need I wrap my arms around him, hugging him for the first time in two years. He pats my back as he returns the embrace, and I'm relieved it's not at all awkward.

When did I forget that I could be myself completely around my father?

A knock on the door interrupts us, and we step apart as my dad calls out for the visitor to enter.

It's Jasper.

"Hey bro," he says as he looks at me. "Apparently I'm going out for a haircut. Care to come along? Mom says you need one, too." His eyes dart around the room as he finishes his message, taking in the last remnants of the mess I made. He asks no questions though, instead meets my gaze again and waits for an answer.

"Sure, why not," I say with a shrug. It will be good to be out for a bit. I need some fresh air, and I need time to think.

Before I go, I listen at Bella's door. No sound at all reaches my ears, so I guess she must still be sleeping. I slip a note underneath her door, telling her I'm off for a bit, but that I will be back before dinner.

I don't know why I feel the need to tell her that. I think it's partly because I promised I would keep watch over her while she slept. But I spoke to mom quickly and she agreed that Bella needed her sleep, so I know nobody will disturb her.

Jasper is quiet on our way to Port Angeles. He's messing with the radio, but I'm so distracted I don't even notice. I just want to go home, go back in time, and have Bella in my lap again. But I don't want her to be so desperate again as I saw her today.

I can't win.

"Dude, what's going on?" Jasper asks when we're halfway down to Port Angeles.

"What?" I ask, distracted.

"Your thoughts are a mile away."

"So?" I counter, irritated.

"Jesus, relax, man. I was just observing it."

I keep my focus on the road, refusing to look at my brother.

"What happened to dad's study?" he asks after a minute of silence.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Did _you_ mess it up like that?"

Oh, for the love of all that is holy. "No, the leprechauns did."

"Ah. Nasty little creatures," he says seriously.

I don't reply. The memory of Bella's voice is beginning to come more and more to the forefront of my thoughts. Before I have parked the car in front of the barbershop, I know one thing for sure: I want to hear her voice again.

We always go to this specific barbershop to get our hair cut. You rarely have to make an appointment, although we do call beforehand if they have time for us. Jasper is ushered away immediately, whereas I have to wait for a few minutes until the assistant is ready to wash my hair.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, telling me I have a text. My heart skips a beat when I see it's from Bella.

_Thank you_

I won't play dumb and ask her for what. I know very well what she is thanking me for, and my heart swells with the warmth I feel for her. I have only time to type 'you're welcome' before I'm called to get my own hair cut.

Once we're outside again, Jasper asks me if I want to stop for a drink somewhere before we go home again.

"We told mom we'd be home for dinner," I remind him. He knows as well as I do that it's a shit excuse, but he doesn't say anything and follows me back to the car.

"Do you know what subjects you'll want to take next year?" he asks on the way home.

"Yeah, you?"

From my peripheral vision I can see how he shakes his head. "I have no idea what I want to study after school, so I have no idea what subjects to choose."

"I thought you wanted to be a pilot?" I ask him, genuinely confused. I'm not even messing with him. For a very long time, Jasper has been wanting to become a pilot. It wasn't some boys' dream he cherished.

"I don't think I will be able to bear being away from Alice so much," he says quietly.

His comment makes me think of Bella again, and I wonder how she's doing. Without realizing it, I push my foot down on the accelerator a tiny bit.

"Dude, slow down," Jasper says, alarm at the edge of his voice. "What's going on with you?"

"I just want to be home," I mutter. Having left suddenly feels like the stupidest decision ever.

Jasper is quiet for a moment, before he speaks again. "What happened today?"

I can't tell him. I don't want to, but more importantly I can't betray Bella's trust. I can however let him know that I don't want to discuss it.

"I promised Bella not to talk about it."

"Okay," Jasper says understandingly. "That's okay. You okay?"

"Once I'm home."

"If you ever need to talk, I'm here," he says quietly.

"I know, thanks."

When we drive through the wet streets of Forks, I hear Bella's voice in my mind over and over again. I wonder if she would speak again, or if she will be back to her regular quiet. I can't even try to deny I really hope to hear her voice again.

I wonder what it would sound like should she say my name.

I don't even take the effort to park the car in the garage, opting instead to leave it out. Ahead, I can see my mom working in the winter garden. Emmett and Rosalie are in the garage, working under the hood of Emmett's Jeep.

"I'm going to find my girl," Jasper announces just before he opens the door to leave the car. "Good luck, with whatever you're planning."

"Thanks," I mutter distractedly in reply, trying to suppress the jealous tinge I feel at Jasper mentioning 'his girl.' I need to find a reason to go to Bella's room.

In the kitchen, a roast is in the oven. My stomach growls when I smell the heavenly scent. Ignoring my hunger, I heat up some milk in the microwave quickly, darting up the stairs just as mom makes her way over to the house.

I count to three before I knock on Bella's door, trying to calm down my suddenly hammering heart. The time she spent in my lap earlier seems days ago instead of hours. I'm nervous.

I shouldn't have left. I should not have left.

My first knock is so soft I doubt she heard it at all. Just as I'm about to knock for a second time, the door opens.

There she is. Tiny as ever, looking up at me with wide, tired eyes. She looks pale, her eyes still swollen from crying. Without a word, she steps back, inviting me in. Her room is cleaned up again, all signs of her earlier struggle removed.

I sit down in her rocking chair as she crawls back onto her bed, pulling her knees up and wrapping an arm around it. Nearly forgetting the excuse I brought to knock at her door, I hold up the milk for her.

She accepts it with her left hand with a nod. I wonder if she is going to stay silent now. Maybe she was as shocked after speaking as I was to hear her voice. I'm not even sure if I should bring it up at all.

Yet, it's clear something has changed in our dynamic. She seems defeated for some reason. The fear that always hangs around her like an aura is not much less, but exhaustion is now clear in every move she makes, it's clear in the lines of her figure, of her face.

I wish I could hug her.

For a while we just sit in silence, and we look at each other as she slowly sips her milk.

"You okay?" I finally ask quietly.

She nods slowly, thoughtfully, and we both know that it's not okay. But it will have to do, for now.

Finally, my own insecurity kicks in. "I hope you don't mind me coming into your room earlier. I just had to see if you were okay."

Again she nods slowly, and with more disappointment than I want to admit I realize that she's probably not going to speak again.

Maybe it's better that way. I'm pretty sure that once she starts speaking, there will be questions she needs to answer, and she's going to get a lot of attention once others find out she has found her voice back.

If I were here, I wouldn't want that, either.

We're interrupted by mom calling us for dinner. Bella spends the rest of the evening downstairs, watching TV with the rest of us. She is sticking close to mom, obviously relieved that mom made it clear she is not angry with Bella about what happened, even though I know mom isnt even sure what exactly took place.

At one point Bella casts me a meaningful look, and I understand that she needs time.

I can give her that.

I can wait. I will wait for her. As long as it takes.

**~O~**

Saturday night is a long one. I'm trying to make sense of the conflicting things I feel. It's no secret anymore that I feel a strong attraction to Bella. Yet at the same time I feel so terribly guilty for wanting things I know have been forced on her in the past. What does that make me? When I told Bella in the meadow that I liked her, she vomited. It's not the reaction I wished to have seen, but in the end she didn't run. She made a genuine effort to let me in, and over the last few weeks we have made some progress, I dare to think.

Hell, she spent hours on my lap today, lying against my chest. I'm pretty sure there was no fear in her when I held her, even though it took her some time to relax. If only she would let herself relax.

I would ask her to come sit back on my lap again anytime. I know though that that is not the way to go. Not with Bella. Nothing ever is standard with her and even though I'm shit scared to mess up, I wouldn't want it any other way.

It's me she's letting in. It's me she's talked to. I don't know if she spoke before, to others, and asked them too not to tell anyone. But I heard her words, her admittance that she was tired. That much was clear. She must be exhausted after it all.

I wonder why she was so angry. Maybe she was simply angry at the world. It's likely she was angry with the people that have abused her in her past. It's all just so very unfair. The sense of injustice she must feel, must be debilitating.

It hurts me so much when I think of all the pain she must have known in her past life. The scar in the palm of her hand must be a burn mark, and I shudder when I think how much that must have hurt. I never noticed before she can't stretch out her hand completely. I'm not even sure she notices herself, anymore.

Sometimes, when I look at her, the hurt I know she's been through overwhelms me until I can't breathe. And so I'm back to wondering if she will ever be able to have a normal relationship. I can keep telling myself it wouldn't matter, but even I know I would be lying. Of course I'd like to hold her, hug her, and progress from there. And I'm willing to wait. I am. Deep down however, I have to ask myself if I can remain as patient when we will never be more than just friends.

Turning to my other side, I push the thought away. For now, things are going wonderfully. Bella not only accepted my comfort, she also accepted my affection today. I'm just going to have to take it moment by moment.

Hell, she might have enough of me before I ever should tire of her. No, there's no need to worry about that.

Satisfied, I close my eyes and fall asleep, the memory of Bella's quiet voice lingering in my ears.

**~O~**

The last day of Spring Break, sadly, is spent on homework. We all have to catch up, and I join Jasper in Emmett's room to work on some things that need to be finished soon.

Bella hasn't been out of her room all day, and I'm starting to worry about her.

Foregoing the pretense of bringing her something to drink, I simply knock on her door again.

When she opens to let me in, I see that she's keeping her right hand in the pocket of her hoodie. I don't pay much attention to it, I just notice it because usually she has her hands out at all times. It looks oddly comfortable and laid back to see her with a hand in her pocket like this.

"Hi," I say, lost for other words.

She nods back at me, and sits against the headboard of her bed as I sit down in her rocking chair again. The silence feels tense for some reason, even though I already decided for myself that she is probably not going to talk again anytime soon.

"I was just wondering how you were doing," I say quietly. "After yesterday."

She nods with a shrug. I wish I could know what's going on in her mind. I can almost see her thoughts working behind her eyes. Her red, swollen eyes.

Wait.

"Bella? Have you been crying?"

She frowns as she looks away, obviously annoyed.

"It's okay," I say inadequately. "You don't have to hide your tears. I understand that you're sad."

Her eyes flit to mine and for a moment they flash with livid anger, before the mask comes down again and the matted look of exhaustion is back.

This won't do.

Without really thinking, I move from the chair to the bed, sitting down at her feet. She stiffens clearly and frowns when I gently cup her calf with my hand, but I also get the distinct idea she's annoyed with her own reaction, not with mine.

"Hey," I whisper, hoping she will at least look at me. "You're right. I have no idea how you must be feeling. But if you need comfort, I'm here."

God, what a lame thing to say. I'm always lost for words when it comes to her. In my head it sounds okay but then when my mouth starts to move, the cheesiest things start to come out. Maybe Bella is smarter than we all think, keeping her mouth shut.

"You don't have to talk again," my rant continues. "I won't lie, I absolutely loved hearing your voice. But if you're not ready to talk again, don't. I won't tell anyone, I promise."

Her eyes look into mine for a long time, searching for something it seems. A frown ghosts over her face, and her breathing increases slightly before she sits back, her frustration clear.

She opens her mouth, closes it again and shakes her head, and then she looks away from me.

"It's hard."

Her voice. Oh, her voice. I heard her voice again. She spoke to me, gave me her words. Her voice is still rough, and the words are almost stilted, as if she has trouble forming the syllables fluently. I have to bite the inside of my cheek hard in order to prevent a face-splitting smile to appear. She spoke to me again.

"I can imagine," I say as soon as I trust my face to do as I wish. I know better than to say 'I understand.' I'm a quick learner, and fake sympathy is not something to placate Bella with.

Her breathing is labored now, the tell tale sign of her trying to keep her tears at bay. But her sadness wins over, and tears spill down her cheek.

Reaching carefully, I catch one of her tears with my thumb. She flinches only slightly this time, letting me touch her face. Underneath though, I can feel her entire body is rigid.

I'm not telling her she doesn't have to be afraid. She knows, else she wouldn't allow me in her room, and she certainly wouldn't allow me to touch her like this. Her cheek is soft underneath the pad of my thumb, and I'm not even really trying to stop myself when my hand moves to cup the side of her face.

Her eyes never leave mine as she leans into my touch, and so many emotions swirl in her gaze I can't possibly begin to name them. She sighs quietly, sadness lingering in her expression.

"I wish I could help you more," I say so quietly I'm not even sure she hears it. "But I can only be there for you if you need me. And I'll be there. I promise."

Her nod is almost imperceptible, the tiniest bit of motion rather felt against my hand than seen with my eyes. But she's letting me in, not just by talking to me, but even more so by accepting my touch. She can't know what it means to me to finally be able to touch her.

For lack of better words, I think that right now I am the happiest man in the world.

**~O~**

The first day back at school is mostly easy. Teachers are picking up the lessons again and homework for the rest of the week is given. I find I have all the time in the world to dream about the last two days.

Tyler makes a crude joke about which activities I must have been enjoying during the holidays, considering the spark in my eyes he claims to see, but I brush him off, shutting him up by telling him he'd wish he had a reason to look like I do now.

Word of mouth spreads fast though, and during Biology, Mike fucking Newton has the nerve to yell at me through the class, asking me if I lost my v-card over the holidays. From the corner of my eye, I can see a muscle working in Bella's jaw as she looks down at the tabletop.

I'm not honoring Mike's annoying presence with an answer, and when he can't get anyone along in teasing me, he shots up quickly, thankfully. This doesn't mean I'm not having Tyler's balls on a platter though.

The teacher isn't giving us much to write down during class, so at first I don't even notice when Bella isn't taking any notes. It becomes suspicious when she doesn't write down her homework, either. When I ask her about it, she shrugs me off, throwing her bag over her shoulder as she leaves the classroom.

Someone's wrong here, and I can't determine yet what.

During gym I confront Tyler immediately with his not-so-cool spreading of news that isn't even true. He protests, telling me he'd never do such a thing. Looking over his shoulder I see Eric look at us obnoxiously nonchalantly, and I know he must have overheard us earlier.

"Thanks man, you're a real hoot," I say loud enough for him to hear. He simply shrugs. I wonder what his deal is, why he would tell such a lie about me. What's in it for him?

Bella is unusually quiet on our trip home. During dinner, I suddenly notice, more clearly now, that she is eating with her left hand. Her right hand is somewhere under the table. When I meet her gaze, questioning her with my eyes, she shakes her head slowly, warning me against asking.

I want to support her in every possible way, but why on earth is she not using her right hand?

My dad is more observant than any of us the next morning at breakfast. When Bella gets up from the table, picking up her bowl with her left hand, my dad sits up, looking at her closely.

As soon as he says her name, she freezes up completely, rigid fear taking over her stance.

"Turn around, please," dad says.

With baited breath, I wait to see what's going to happen. I've never heard my dad speaking like this. His voice is gentle, but the authority in it can't be denied.

Bella does as she's told, her eyes wide and scared as she looks at my dad, who is sitting at the head of the table.

"What's wrong with your arm?" he asks.

From the corner of my eye, I see how Jasper and Rosalie leave the kitchen, probably to give us some privacy. Emmett and Alice are upstairs somewhere, getting ready for school.

Bella shakes her head quickly, as if to deny something is wrong. She's so scared, I've not seen her like this for a very long time.

"Bella," dad says in a voice that makes it clear he's not going to let it go. "Please."

With a quiet sigh, Bella first turns to the counter to place her bowl in the sink before she turns back to my father, coming to stand before him, but clearly just out of arms' reach.

"What's wrong with your hand?" he asks again. "Why are you keeping it in your pocket?"

Bella actually shrugs, a sign of defiance I've never seen her exhibit before, especially not in front of my dad. From her own place at the table, mom looks on, completely frozen as well.

"It's okay," she says. "Carlisle is just worried about you."

Bella's eyes flit to where mom is sitting before she looks back at dad again. Her right hand is still in her pocket.

"Show me your hand," dad says gently, reaching out as if to reach for her arm.

Alarmed, Bella takes a step back, and another one, as if she's about to run.

"Bella," dad repeats, authority clearer in his voice now. "You will let me know what is wrong."

It seems to work. Pressing her lips together, she steps back up to my father, removing her hand oh so carefully from her pocket.

Dad was right. Something must be wrong. Kudos for him for being so observant, even though I'm pretty sure Bella would gladly kill him right now.

My dad reaches out, and, warning her once when she pulls back from his touch, softly closes his fingers around her wrist. He examines her with gentle care; even from where I'm sitting I can tell he's being extremely careful with her.

Which doesn't prevent her knees from buckling when he obviously touches a painful spot.

It's eerie. She doesn't make the tiniest sound, but it's clear the pain must be agonizing. After that, Bella doesn't give any indication anymore of dad's touches hurting her. And suddenly I realize in a most raw way how much pain he must have withstood, being able to deal with something like this in this way.

Oh, my god.

I swallow thickly and focus on the tabletop for a moment, unable to look up for fear of her seeing the pain in my eyes.

"Get Bella's coat," dad tells mom. "We're going to the hospital."

Bella is unable to hide the utter panic that takes over. She shakes her head, looking at dad pleadingly, fear clear in her eyes.

While mom gets up to go get the coats, dad focuses back on Bella. "Your wrist is broken," he says quietly. "You need care for it to heal properly."

Broken? She broke her wrist?

Oh, god. No wonder she whimpered when I held her wrist last Saturday, to release her grip on her hair. I'm suddenly nauseous, physically ill at the thought of having caused her pain.

"I'm so sorry," I blurt out. Dad looks at me questioningly, but doesn't say anything. Bella is so lost in her own frantic state of mind that she probably doesn't even hear me.

When mom comes back with the coats, dad gets up as well. "You go to school," he says as he turns to me. Then he focuses back on Bella. "I know you don't want this, but I can't let you walk around without proper care. Let's go."

Bella looks absolutely desolated when she follows him to the garage. Mom closes their little train, making sure she won't bolt.

I wish I could ask her if she needed me to come with her. I would, if she wanted to.

Yet I know that she'd rather break her wrist than admit what she really wants.

After all, she's proven that she can.

Oh, Bella. How long before you can break free of the cage that is your past?


	57. Chapter 57

**A/N I don't own Twilight  
**

_Your response, as ever, blows me away. I knew I wouldn't be able to please everyone with the last chapter - but this is how it was supposed to happen. I have been working toward Bella speaking ever since I started the story.  
_

_As ever, thanks to Sherry for beta duties, to Deb, Bob and Aleea for being my extra eyes. I edit these chapters after Sherry sends them back, so any mistakes are all mine.  
_

_No music this time. Fits my personal mood (and headache). Let's see what Bella thinks...  
_

* * *

**Bella**

Fuck.

Fucking fuck fuck.

It's all falling to pieces. Everything I worked so hard to achieve, has all been for nothing. I don't even know where to start thinking, and my mind is such a chaos I wish I could just shut it off.

Sleep, however, has become even more impossible to grasp due to the throbbing pain in my wrist.

So. I spoke.

Twice.

I'm still not sure what I think about that myself. It's good to know I still can talk, perhaps. Yet the resolve to keep silent is stronger than ever. I told Edward it's hard, and I think he understood. He also didn't make a big deal out of it, which was a bigger relief even than knowing I could, in fact, talk.

And I sat on his lap. I was in his arms, for I think three hours straight. I couldn't even stop crying, but he never indicated he was out of patience. He just let me cry.

And it felt so good. It felt _so _good to cry, to let it all out. All my anger and the hopelessness I have had to carry for years. It all came out during that cathartic release.

I don't know why Edward pulled me against him, and I still don't understand how I could have allowed it to happen. All I know is that, convoluted as it may sound, I was grateful my defenses were so much lowered that I could _let_ it happen.

Because there's no denying that it felt good to be in his arms like that. To be held by strong arms like his, protecting instead of restricting. I didn't even mind when he tightened his grip. No, instead it felt... safe? Like when Esme holds me, but better, maybe. Different, too.

I can't make any sense of it. Why do I want to be back in his arms, be held again, when all things male are evil to me by default? I can't reconcile the past with the present.

I am so confused.

The throbbing wrist isn't helping.

I've broken my wrist before, and it healed just fine, then. Only now, I live in a house with a doctor who happens to work at the ER. Who happens to be annoyingly observant, too.

Carlisle saw I wasn't using my hand. God, I nearly soiled myself in fear when he told me I had to go over to him in a voice that made clear that resistance was useless. It was so much like the old days, and I was so scared he was going to hurt me.

But he was being so careful, that even my thoughts seemed to come to a halt. His examination was painful, but I could tell he wasn't prodding my wrist to hurt me. He was just assessing it.

My heart dropped when he told Esme that we were going to the hospital. I didn't want to. I still don't, but they gave me no opportunity to run and now I'm in the waiting room, waiting for x-rays to be taken. Carlisle is at the coffee machine a few feet away, trying to get the thing to work.

Esme has tried to ask carefully how I got my wrist broken, but I refused to even acknowledge her. I don't want them to know it's my own stupid fault that my wrist is damaged. They shouldn't even bother with me. It would be good retribution to let me heal without any aids.

Maybe I should tell her that.

Typing with my left hand on my phone takes an eternity, but finally I manage to convey what I did, that it was my fault and that I don't deserve care for it.

Esme reads my words and then meets my eyes. "We all do reckless things sometimes. That doesn't mean we are going to withhold care."

When I try to protest, Esme moves to kneel before me, looking up in my eyes as she places her hands on my knees. "Bella, you slammed your fist into a wall. That's not a smart thing to do, but you must have had a reason for it. Now, you deal with the consequences, and in this family it means that you get medical care. If we don't help you, what does that make us?"

Defeated, I sit back, chewing on my lip. I want to say I'm sorry, but I don't know how. Writing the words down doesn't seem enough, and no way I'm going to talk.

The radiologist comes for us after a few more minutes, and I follow the woman into the x-ray room. When she asks me to take off my sweater I shake my head in alarm, and she interprets it as resistance because it will hurt my wrist when I have to undress. Compromising, she asks me to push up my sleeve.

I flinch every time she touches me, and again she interprets it wrongly, apologizing for causing me pain. I pull back into my mind, waiting for this ordeal to be over. I know I can't run and I feel helpless and frustrated.

Not long after, I am back at the ER itself, where Carlisle is examining the x-rays that have just been taken. He points out with a pen where the fracture is.

"You've broken your wrist before," he says. "That didn't heal very neatly. Did someone set the bone back then?"

Ehm, no. I never even went to the hospital that time. It always heals, sometimes it just takes a bit longer than others.

"The current fracture is right here," Carlisle thankfully continues. "It's more a crack than a break, fortunately. It will heal without additional correction."

That's good news, right? That means I can go home now. I'm already getting up when Carlisle resumes speaking.

"You'll need a cast though."

No. No, no, no, no, no. No way.

"Isn't there any other option?" Esme asks quietly. "A cast is so inconvenient."

Carlisle thinks for a moment. "Maybe a brace. But you have to keep it on at all times, all right?"

I nod almost eagerly, happy beyond belief that I won't need a cast.

"Right. Well, I want to do a quick assessment of your wrist, and then I'll arrange for someone to make one for you," Carlisle says. He sits down on a stool in front of the bed I am sitting on, and he asks me to make a fist, then to stretch my hand.

I can't stretch it out fully, and when he thinks that it is because of the pain, I don't contradict him. The scar in my hand remains unnoticed.

When he's done, he walks out of the cubicle where we are currently sitting, promising us he'll be right back

"A brace is good," Esme says, trying to sound hopeful. "Then you won't need any help with showering and the like."

I nod, looking at my hands in my lap.

"If there's anything you want to talk about..." Esme trails off.

This time I shake my head. I'm just terribly sorry I am causing them all inconvenience, is all.

"Will you talk to your therapist about this?" she asks carefully. "Can you talk to her about these things?"

Yes, I can. And I'm afraid I will have to, although I have no idea how her insight can possibly help me with my current state of mind.

It's just all _really_ fucked up.

It disturbs me that deep down, I really want to feel Edward's arms around me again. In need of affection, I lean against Esme, her support comforting in the turbulent bubble I am caught in right now.

Having the brace fitted has a lot more to it than I thought, I find out as I go through the process. In the end though, I have a plastic case that fits around my arm, but which I can take off by releasing the straps. Nobody noticed the scar on the inside of my hand.

I also have a sling to support my arm, which I don't like, and painkillers, which I do like. They are the same kind I used to take for my throat. It's the fact that I know these pills, or else I wouldn't have taken them. But I'm weak, as ever, so I mix the powder with water and gulp it down before Esme drops me off at school. I'm just in time for lunch.

I wait for her to leave the parking lot, then remove the sling and stuff it in my backpack. I rest my arm easily in the front pocket of my hoodie, as I have done before, and walk into the school.

The others are at their usual place. Rosalie and Emmett aren't there, and Alice tells me they went for a walk. Jasper tries to hide his guffaw in a cough, but it's a poor disguise.

"How did it go?" Edward asks, his gaze searching, flitting to where my hand is in my pocket and back.

I shrug, but when they all keep pressing, I pull out my arm and show them the brace. Alice sympathizes, but recognizes too the advantage of a brace over a cast.

"What happened?" Jasper asks carefully.

I look away, uncomfortable. Of course questions would be asked.

"An accident of sorts, obviously," Alice says. "Bella, didn't you get a sling to support your hand?"

I nod once, unable to lie, and try to warn her with my gaze that I'm very much done with this subject now. Thankfully they switch the topic of their conversation to something I don't really care about, and I spend the rest of lunch break at the table, trying to ignore but at the same time completely focusing on the now faint throbbing in my wrist.

"You okay?" Edward asks quietly when Alice and Jasper are completely engrossed in their own private conversation.

I nod, truthfully this time.

"Is it broken?"

I pluck my phone out of my pocket awkwardly with my left hand, and type.

_It's a small fracture, more a crack. That's why no cast_

"Does it hurt?"

My shrug is half-hearted. Of course it hurts.

"I'm so sorry I held your wrist last Saturday. I had no idea."

I try to think back to that event, my memories hazy and mainly focused on emotions, not actions. Then I remember how he pulled on my wrist, trying to make me release the grip on my hair.

With my eyes, I try to forgive him. He couldn't know, and I can't blame him for it. The swelling hadn't even started then. My wrist now is purple and swollen, mainly because there was never any ice put on it. Carlisle said the swelling should go down in a few days.

"I wanted to take you to the meadow after school if you were up to it, but it's raining," Edward continues carefully.

I type again.

_Therapy_

He looks contrite. "Oh, right. I forgot."

_It's okay,_ I think, but I don't feel like writing it on my phone. I'm not telling him, either. I think he knows as well as I do that I'm not more willing to talk than I was before this weekend.

Edward takes notes for me during Biology, and he helps me pack my bag when the lesson is done. I don't need his help, I managed just fine yesterday as well, but he looks at me with his brow raised, telling me without words that he's going to help me, whether I want to or not.

I like it.

The weird fluttery feeling in my stomach his look gave me is still there when I hand the note Carlisle gave me to the gym teacher. Since I can't use my right hand, I won't be able to do much for my thesis.

Coach Clapp offers for me to sit in his office overlooking the gymnasium, so I can observe the other students playing basketball. He wants me to take notes on the quality of the team play on his computer, which I do. At the end of the class he compliments me for my sharp view on things, and I'm dismissed.

I practically run to Edward's car to avoid getting wet, but my effort seems in vain when I realize he isn't there yet. Then the car unlocks itself, and I scramble into the front seat, looking over at Edward, who opened the car for me with his remote as he comes jogging over as well.

It's these tiny things he does which make him even more special in my eyes. Like what he did with the water bottle in the zoo. Or when he brought me the milk on Sunday, even though I'm pretty sure that was just a lame excuse to come and see me.

Yet, I'm not entirely against him seeking me out like that. If it stays like this, and it won't, but if it does, I might learn to like it. No, that's not right. I might allow myself to like it.

It's exactly what I ask Siobhan when Edward has dropped me off at her office. How can I allow myself to like things? Her eyes light up when I broach the subject, and before she answers my question, she tells me what a change she sees in me since she saw me last before Spring Break.

"Will you tell me what happened to your arm, though?"

In awkward letters, my motions limited by the restrictive brace, I write.

_Accident_

"Please tell me the whole story, Bella," she says urgently. "Was anybody else involved in that accident?"

I shake my head quickly, and finally decide it's better to just demonstrate what I did. I write down the word 'angry' and walk to the wall, mimicking how I slammed the side of my wrist against it.

"I wouldn't call that an accident. Do you want to talk about your anger?"

This time I shrug. I am not really wanting to talk about what happened this weekend at all. Besides, my anger frightened me. What use is it to be angry at what happened? It won't change anything, anyway.

_Maybe later. Not yet. _

"Okay. Thank you for letting me know that, and for telling me what happened. That was very strong of you. How was the rest of your Spring Break? What did you do?"

I tell her about Renée, about quilting, about the girls' night and how it felt to be accepted unconditionally. How Rosalie reacted to my scars. I leave Edward out of the entire story. What we share is sacred to me, and I don't want to taint it by analyzing it.

I don't tell her I spoke. I'm not ready for that. I'm still processing it myself, and right now I'm not even sure if I want to try it again. Until then, I'm keeping this new fact a secret if you will, and I hope that Edward will understand and do the same. For now it seems he has, since nobody else has alluded to it.

I like that, too. He's keeping my secret, and he's not suddenly making himself important or pushing me to do anything. I wonder what it would be like to say his name. Maybe I can practice in secret.

No. The thought of speaking again makes me shudder. I'm not ready, and I'm not sure if I will ever be. But the knowledge that I can is good to have. I remember having tried to speak some years ago, and realized it was physically impossible to make my mouth and tongue move in the right ways, or to even produce a sound or a whisper. I remember how frightened I was, even though I didn't really admit that to myself.

At the end of the session, Siobhan advises me to let it all wash over me, like I am learning to do with all my emotions, even anger, she adds with a pointed glance to my wrist.

When I tell her I am afraid of my emotions, she tries to comfort me.

"If it turns out that anger is becoming an emotion you need an outlet for, talk to me about it and we can find something. Don't go hurting yourself. I understand that it releases some of the energy that has built up in your body, but it's not the way to go."

I nod, acknowledging that she speaks the truth. I promise her to keep better track of the things I feel, and what triggers it.

When I confess I have a hard time enjoying things, because I am afraid of losing them, she looks me squarely in the eye.

"If it's taken away from you, it's double the shame for not appreciating it while it was yours to enjoy."

I hate it when she's right.

Edward is playing some instrumental music in the car on the way home. I like the upbeat guitar music, and I see how Edward taps the steering wheel to the beat of the music. He tells me it's from the movie _Chocolat_.

"Have you seen it?"

I shake my head when he looks at me for a moment. He's quick to hide it, but I can see the disappointment in his eyes. Before I even realize it, the words slip out of my mouth.

"I'm sorry."

The words are awkward and stilted, and don't sound at all like my mental voice. With a shock I realize that I speak like a seven year old.

Edward, unaware of my realization, frowns in genuine confusion. "For what?"

I can't talk anymore. My entire body seems to block, shocked as I am by having spoken just now. What happened to my control? I have been silent for ten years without much effort. How come that now I have said three things in almost as many days? I want to go back to my silent world again. Although not ideal, it's certainly safer there.

"For what, Bella?" Edward asks again, looking at me for short periods of time before he focuses back on the road again.

_For not speaking, _I think sadly. _I'm sorry Edward. I can't. _

"Hey," he says when he sees my sadness. "Don't do that. There's nothing wrong."

There is, at least I think so. I just can't tell him, because that is exactly what's wrong. The irony leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

"It's okay," he says, and his right hand leaves the steering wheel, coming to rest palm up on the center console. It's a clear invitation, and carefully, mindful of the fact that he might want to pull back, I place my left hand in his.

Without looking away from the road, his fingers weave through mine, and he holds my hand until we arrive in Forks and he has to pull back so he can shift gears.

He smiles contentedly at me when he has parked the car in the garage and turned of the engine. "We should do homework together, at least for Biology."

I accept his offer and we go inside, both going straight for the kitchen to get a drink and maybe a snack.

Esme's eyes go wide in alarm when she sees me taking off the brace to help her cook.

"Absolutely not. Leave that on."

What? Why? Then how can I help with dinner? She gives me another warning look, and with a silent huff, I put my hand back in my pocket.

"Where is your sling?" she asks.

I point over my shoulder to where I left my bag in the hallway.

"You are supposed to use it, you know," she says, her tone a curious mixture between amused and reprimanding.

I don't have the energy to explain to her why I don't want to wear that sling. Instead, I indicate that my wrist is just fine, hanging in my sweater pocket like it is now. Esme repeats she won't have me help her cooking. With a frown, I sit at the breakfast bar, getting up anyway to stir some sauce with my left hand when she is busy with something else.

I don't get it. Even with the brace still on, I can do loads of things with that hand. Only writing or other delicate movements are a bit harder right now. And what if it is in the way – I can easily remove the brace? Honestly, what is all the fuss about?

Carlisle notices immediately that I am not wearing the sling when he gets home, and he asks me where I have left it. My fear makes my limbs feel like lead when, with a shaking hand, I point into the direction of the hallway once more.

"Go get it," he tells me, and I can't do anything but do as I'm told. When I come back to him with the white triangle in my arms, my heart is beating wildly in my chest. I shouldn't have taken it off. How could I have been so careless as to not put it back on before he came home?

Carlisle holds out his hand, and with great trepidation, I give him the sling. He checks if it's still knotted correctly before he hands it back to me. "Now wear it."

His voice is not angry, just directive. And his expression shows me that there is no room for discussion.

Still, my lower lip actually juts out a little in a pout when I try to get the sling back in place. Carlisle reaches out to help me, but his sudden movement startles me enormously and I fling away violently, stepping back in my shock.

Out of his reach, I stare at him with wide eyes, caught off guard. With baited breath, I wait to see what he is going to do.

The moment is awkward, but Carlisle recovers quickly. "Forgive me," he says. "I just wanted to help. Is it okay if I help you?"

With my heart still hammering in my throat, I nod once, because I am too scared to deny him. His hands come back up, more carefully this time, and he helps me to get the thing in place.

"I know you don't like it, but it's best for your wrist."

"Something about the blood flow, right?" Edward asks as he appears from the living room, oblivious as to what happened just a moment ago.

"Keeping the wound above the heart tends to lessen the pain," Carlisle explains his son. Then he turns back to me. "Your wrist must be throbbing."

He doesn't understand that I don't really care for physical pain. I mean, I'm always afraid to receive it, but once it's there, it's there, and I cope. Easy.

Carlisle sighs quietly, tells me again to please wear the sling, and then disappears to his office to take care of some business quickly before dinner. I stay where I am for a few moments longer, going back over the evens in my head. What is wrong with me to have defied him like this? I didn't think I was the kind of girl to willfully provoke my superiors. I shake my head to myself. I'm really out of sorts, lately.

**~O~**

The days go by slowly. It's like I can do less with the brace now, then I could when my wrist was really broken all these years ago. Needless to say this frustrates me to no end, even when after a few days I can write reasonably legibly with my immobilized wrist.

I don't wear the sling in school. I just can't get myself to do it. The others know by now that I'm supposed to be wearing it, but so far, nobody has told Carlisle. When I ask Alice and Rosalie one night in their room, they both shrug.

"It's your responsibility. We're not going to tell on you," Rosalie says. "Why would we?"

She's so easy about it, it actually brings a lump to my throat. I type on my phone with my left hand.

_Thank you _

"You're welcome," Alice says. "And don't worry so much."

It's easier said than done.

Everyone helps me, and they do it so subtly I don't even get a chance to protest. Edward carries my bag from time to time, and he and Alice do homework with me, helping me where they can. In return, I help Alice with Trig, and do some extra research for the Biology project, which is now in its final week.

When I can, I try to work on my Gym assignment, which is really starting to get shape. I really love doing research, and it kills a lot of time, since I can't work on any quilting now I can't use my arm.

Every time I shower, which still is at least twice a day, I take off the brace. Every time I shower, I am grateful I didn't get a cast. Every time I shower, I try to notice as little of my body as possible. My desire to be clean is at odds with my desire to be completely covered at all times.

I can't win.

**~O~**

"Bella," Edward says quietly on Friday night.

I'm in the kitchen, contemplating baking cookies but seeing the impossibility of it with my stupid wrist. I look up in his direction, noticing immediately that he has a shy smile on his face.

Instead of saying anything, he holds up a DVD for me to see. _Chocolat_, the movie I heard the soundtrack from earlier.

"Fancy a movie night?" he asks hopefully.

I'm thinking he doesn't mean watching a movie down here, even though the living room is, I think, deserted. My heartbeat picks up automatically when the full meaning of his request sinks in. Gingerly I point to the ceiling, a questioning look in my eyes.

He nods slowly, never breaking eye contact with me. "If you want?"

I nod as well, even though I know the uncertainty is clearly showing on my face. Edward tries to hide his victorious smile and walks past me to the fridge, filling two glasses with ginger ale. I take the movie from him as he picks up the drinks, and he precedes me up to his room.

I'm nervous. I'm nervous as hell, and I don't know why. It's like ants are crawling in my insides, and even taking some deep breaths isn't helping.

Edward looks at me, and it's almost as if he is nervous too. I look into his eyes searchingly, wanting to decipher why the atmosphere seems to be different, all of a sudden.

"It's just a movie," he says, breaking the tension. "I'd like to close the door though, if that's all right with you. For the sound, you know?"

I nod once, still lost in the situation. I follow Edward with my eyes as he closes the door and then pops the disc into the DVD player, turning on his TV. I'm still standing in the middle of his room when he lowers the lights and walks over to his couch.

When he sits down, he looks at me. "Come here," he says with a gentle smile.

Glad to be sure I am welcome to sit with him, I do exactly that. Not too close, because I don't want to smother him or anything. It's like the better we get to know each other, the more I worry about upsetting him, or offending him for some reason.

"I don't bite, you know," he says quietly, but in a light tone. Then he kicks off his shoes and pulls his legs up, placing his feet on the couch, getting comfortable. His pointed look invites me to do the same, and when I have pulled my feet under me, I realize it's easier for me to relax a little.

Edward shakes his head, chuckling softly, and then starts the movie.

It's a very nice movie, with a lot of covert themes I would happily spend some hours thinking about. When a woman runs away from her abusive husband, seeking refuge at the chocolaterie, my breath catches. When the husband comes to get her, drunk, angry and very dangerous, I wince more than once. Edward looks at me from the corner of his eye, but doesn't say anything.

When the movie is over and the end credits roll across the screen, he turns to face me on the couch. He leans his head on his left arm, and he looks comfortable. More comfortable than me, I'm sure. Without really wanting to, I check the door of his room.

The disappointment that flashes in his eyes, stings. With my left hand, I make the 'sorry' sign on my chest.

He frowns. "What for?"

I gesture vaguely around me. Everything. This life, my shortcomings. Everything.

His face smoothes out in a gentle smile and he scoots a bit closer to me. "Hey," he says quietly, reaching out with his right hand, searching for contact.

In order to oblige him, I have to turn on the couch as well, so I can give him my left hand to hold. I don't know why I'm so much okay with this all of a sudden, but it just feels good to be in contact with him.

His hands are warm.

I'm distracted by his touch when his thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of my hand. My gaze drifts to where our hands connect, and for a moment it's as if I'm not looking at my own hand. Yet, the effects of his touch nestle in my brain, making me feel nice, special. _Normal._ It feels good to be touched.

"You're not going to talk again?" he says softly. There is no resentment or reproach in his voice.

I shake my head slowly, lost in the tumbling thoughts that always crowd my mind when the notion of speaking is brought forward.

"That's okay," he reassures me. "Just take your time."

My answering smile is more a grimace and I look away from his eyes, sadness seeping into my mood.

"Hey," Edward says again, making me look back up at him. He doesn't say anything more, and for a while we just sit on his couch, holding hands, and looking in each other's eyes.

And it's okay.

**~O~ **

"Bella," Carlisle says Saturday morning when he comes down for breakfast. "You were not here yesterday when I got home. A certain someone wanted you to have this."

From behind his back he produces a folded paper, and he hands it to me.

It's a drawing. In awkward letters, the name 'Simon' is written in the bottom right corner. My mouth pops open as I take in the colors on the paper. A house is drawn to the left, and on the right are stick figures of a woman and a little kid. I assume Simon has drawn his mother and himself. The father, thankfully, is absent in the picture.

"He asked about you," Carlisle says quietly after a moment. "Do you want to visit him? He will be discharged tomorrow."

I nod immediately. I want to see this boy again.

"Very well. Visiting hour starts at eleven."

It's nine, now. I go to the library to try and kill a little time by reading. I'm surprised when the door opens and Edward slips into the room, his eyes still puffy with sleep.

He smiles dreamily at me, walking over to where I'm sitting in the window seat. Instead of sitting down in the rocking chair however, he asks me with his gaze if he can sit with me.

I pull in my legs to make room for him as he sits down. He catches me off guard by softly grasping my ankles, tucking my socked feet into his lap. My gaze moves from my feet to his face, and he smiles again, still notably sleepy, but happy as well.

"I really enjoyed last night," he says quietly, rubbing my ankles with his warm hands. "You, too?"

I nod, distracted by his touch. How long have I dreamed of sitting like this with someone? I can't relax though, my body is stiff in anticipation and nerves crawl through my insides. It's not just knowing he is so close to the scars on my feet. Not at all. I'm not even sure if it's a negative feeling. I don't understand it.

Edward, oblivious to my inner chaos, keeps rubbing and leans his head back against the window sill.

"It just feels good to spend time with you like that," he continues quietly. "Like this," he adds, squeezing my calf a little for emphasis.

My breathing hitches at his touch, and he lifts his head to better look at me.

"You okay?"

My lip disappears between my teeth as I nod, my gaze wandering to where his fingers are encircling my legs.

"Not good?" he asks carefully, stopping his movements and waiting for me to meet his gaze. When I do, he smiles. "Good?"

My lips, still partly trapped between my teeth, curl up into a shy smile as I nod once, a hot blush creeping down from my forehead into my sweater. Edward chuckles good-naturedly and squeezes me gently before he returns to his rubbing caress.

He doesn't speak anymore, and little by little I am starting to relax. Just as Edward meets my gaze again and we both smile, Carlisle's voice sounds from somewhere outside the library.

"Bella, are you ready to go?"

"Where are you going?" Edward asks, releasing my feet so I can get up.

I have no phone, and no signs to communicate. Taking a deep breath, I force out the word. "Hospital."

His brows rise in confusion. "Why?"

He must see the pain I feel inside on my face, because he hastens to reassure me. "It's okay. You don't have to tell me now. I'll see you later?"

The sudden raw vulnerability in his voice betrays his insecurity, and for a split second I'm completely overwhelmed by this new epiphany. Carlisle calls out again however, and I can only nod at Edward before I hurry away to go to the hospital.

On our way there, Carlisle talks about holidays, and where he and Esme consider going this year. The children used to come along, but this will be the first year they are given the choice to come with or stay home. He reassures me that I am very welcome to join them, should I wish to.

The notion of a holiday away from home is so completely new and strange to me. I don't even know how to visualize such a thing. The only emotion that comes up with the possibility is fear. I push it away, focusing on the boy I am going to see.

"I must confess I only know half the story," Carlisle says as we navigate the hallways of the hospital to the children's ward.

He helped me buy crayons and a drawing book earlier in the hospital gift shop, to give to Simon. The safe house he is going to will have very few luxuries such as toys for a young boy.

I have no chance to try and explain to Carlisle what happened though, as the little boy himself has spotted us coming down the hallway, and runs towards me with outstretched arms.

"You came back!" he exclaims as he reaches for me to pick him up.

I nod, his enthusiasm bringing a smile to my face. Perhaps for this boy, all is not lost. There's still a veil of hurt in his eyes, but he looks brighter than he did last week, for sure.

Risking Carlisle's disapproval, I pull my right arm out of the sling and pick up the boy, ignoring the flaring pain, wanting to give him the attention he asks for.

"Simon, where did you go?" a woman's voice asks. As she walks out of the room into the hallway, I figure she must be his mother.

The woman looks at me, holding her son, and smiles a little nervously. I want to put Simon down so he can go back to his mother, but he clings to me like a baby monkey, refusing to let me go.

"You must be Bella," the woman says as she walks up to us. "I'm Saskia Callahan, and you've met Simon."

I nod in confirmation.

"He hasn't stopped talking about you since he first saw you last week," she says with a smile. Her face is drawn, hard lines showing the evidence of a lifetime of worry.

"It was a beautiful picture he drew for Bella," Carlisle says gently.

His words prompt me to work harder to put Simon down again, before I reach in the plastic bag for his present. His eyes go wide as he takes it from me and rips off the colorful wrapping paper.

"Mommy, look!" Simon says excitedly, holding up the crayons and the sketchbook for his mother to see.

"What do you say, Simon?" she prompts him.

"Thank you," Simon says automatically, turning his gaze back to me. "Will you draw with me, Bella?"

I look to Carlisle for permission, and when he nods, Simon has already gripped my hand and is pulling with all his might to get him along with him.

We stay for the entire hour. I watch as Simon draws, until he begs me to join him. Carlisle and Simon's mother are sitting at the other end of the room, talking quietly. I've heard my name several times. Carlisle is not trying to hide he is talking about me. When I look up at him, he simply smiles sincerely and continues his conversation.

He's telling her I come from an abusive home, too, and that I stopped talking out of my own volition sometime in my youth. He urges Mrs. Callahan to not go back to her husband, to give her child a better life, the life he deserves.

Simon doesn't seem to be bothered by my silence, even when I can't answer him when he asks me what happened to my arm. He's completely lost in his drawing. When he declares it to be done, he simply crawls onto my lap and falls asleep. I can't help but be overwhelmed by his trust, by the ease with which he seeks out the affection he needs.

With a pang I wish I could be like him, too.

"He's normally never so easy with others," Mrs. Callahan observes with pride in her voice.

"Perhaps they feel a bond?" Carlisle offers. "It's not uncommon."

"It's good to see him so relaxed," the woman says. "It's been such a stress for us all."

"You've done the right thing," Carlisle says as he places a comforting hand on her arm. "Here, let me give you my card. If ever you want to call, you'll have my number."

"Thank you, Dr. Cullen," she answers, slightly flustered.

"We should go now. Visiting hours are over. He will be released tomorrow, yes?"

"Yes, that's right."

"I wish you strength and the best of luck."

The woman nods, her eyes misty with unshed tears. I get up and place Simon on his bed, careful not to wake him.

"Take the drawing," his mother says. "He drew you, look."

Only now do I realize that indeed, he did. His mother is blond, and he drew a girl figure with long brown hair, playing on a playground with the figure that depicts Simon himself.

This time my own eyes get misty and I blink rapidly to prevent the tears from falling. Mrs. Callahan smiles gently. "You're strong, too, you know," she whispers. "Maybe stronger than all of us together."

Her words confuse me, and I push them away to think about later. For now, I focus on our goodbyes and I look at Simon one last time, sure I won't ever see him again.

I hope he will forget how his life started and heal from it all, living the happy life he certainly deserves.

* * *

_Torn has been nominated for the Eclipse Awards - Best Angst! Go vote for me or your favorites at http:/ twilighteclipseawards . . au /p/ nominees . html (remove the spaces). Thank you! _


	58. Chapter 58

**A/N I don't own Twilight  
**

_Hi everyone! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. You get me through my days! Thanks, as ever, to my beta Sherryola, to Deb and Bob for everything and then some, and to Aleea for not being afraid to point out the tiniest thing to me. _**  
**

_I have been writing for causes. One is the Fandoms for Autism. I have donated a soldierward story. You can donate at fandoms4autism . blogspot . com and receive the compilation!  
_

_You can also still vote for Torn as Best Angst at twilighteclipseawards . blogspot . com  
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_No time to add music. Happy Mother's day!  
_

* * *

"I have a quick errand to run," Carlisle says as we are back in his car. "Would you mind joining me for a trip to Port Angeles?"

I look at him searchingly, wondering what his motive is with this sudden change of plans. There is something in Port Angeles that he wants me to see, I'm sure. Or he wants me in the car with him. Alone.

Oh, shit.

Mentally I fold in on myself as Carlisle sets course for the highway. I didn't say 'no.' If something happens, it will all be my fault again.

Nothing happens, though. Carlisle drives in a relaxed manner, keeping both hands at the wheel at all times. The radio is playing some classical music. The only thing he says, is to remind him to make a certain phone call next Monday.

I'm not paying attention to where we are going, so I'm a bit surprised when he parks the car. He announces that we've arrived and gets out of the vehicle. I remain where I am, assuming I have to wait in the car as he runs his errand.

His knock on the passenger window startles me. When he opens the door, my heart seems to skip a beat.

"Aren't you coming along?" His gaze is kind, and he is smiling at me.

Still nervous, I do as he says, and I follow him into some shop. I halt in my tracks when I finally register where we are. Carlisle chuckles when he sees my reaction.

It's a huge bookstore.

"I need some new books for my study," he says. "How about you choose some books for the downstairs library?"

I blink at him, my mouth popping open in disbelief.

"I think you know better what's in there than I do. Go and find some titles. When you're done, you can wear your sling again." He winks at me to take the sting out of his words. He doesn't miss anything.

I took off the sling to play with Simon in the hospital, and I haven't put it back on. Of course he would notice. There is no reprimand though, while I had expected him to start losing his patience. It's not the first time he has reminded me to wear my sling. And now apparently I can pick out new books for the library. Looking at him once more for reassurance, he gestures for me to go. I hurry towards the literature section of the store, before he changes his mind.

He finds me after about twenty minutes. I have three titles in my hand already and am contemplating a fourth one, reading the back cover as I chew on my lip.

"Did you find anything?" he asks conversationally.

I nod, handing him the books I found already, hoping he will agree with them. He smiles brightly when he recognizes one of the titles.

"Excellent choices. Shall we go to the checkout?"

He guides the way, carrying the books for me and paying for them. In exchange, like I promised, I put my sling back on again. Carlisle smiles in approval and drives us home, humming along with the music on the radio.

This hasn't been a notable outing. I'm sure Carlisle will forget about this the moment he is home and announces loudly that he's hungry as a bear.

I won't forget this. Because it was all so _normal._ An outing of a foster father with his foster child. No threats. No anger. No danger. No pain or insults. He let me buy _books._

Books!

I place them in the library reverently before I go back to the kitchen, in search of some lunch.

I feel like laughing out loud, I'm so happy.

**~O~**

Sunday afternoon, Esme knocks on my door.

"I thought I might help you clean your room and bathroom a little, since your wrist is hurt," she says quietly, a motherly smile on her face.

"Please," she says before I can decline her offer. "Let me help you. I want to."

Even though it makes me feel like I'm abusing her kindness, I step aside to let her in. She's carrying a bucket with some cleaning things inside it in one hand, and the vacuum cleaner in the other.

It feels wrong to have her help me, especially since I brought my injury on to myself. I thought it would be no more than right to deal with the consequences, too.

Esme ignores my protests when she starts cleaning my bathroom. When I ignore her protests in turn when I start vacuuming, the amusement is clear in her eyes and voice. The moment of silent understanding that passes between us settles pleasantly in my mind.

Just as I am about done with the floor, Esme comes walking out of my bathroom. I look up at her, seeing what she wants. My face turns ashen when I see what she's holding.

"What's this?" she asks. She meets my gaze and I know she knows what it is.

My contraceptive pill.

I seem to have trouble breathing in with the sudden tension that has taken over my body. When my lungs start to burn I take a gasping breath, waiting to see what is going to happen.

Too late I realize that it's my panicked reaction that gives me away. Esme looks at me questioningly and then moves to the bed purposefully, reaching out her hand for me to join her.

"Come sit with me."

Swallowing thickly, I do as I'm told. My legs feel like there's lead in them when I make myself move towards her. I feel as tense as on my first days here, and I'm not liking it at all.

"Is there anything you would like to tell me?"

Chewing my lip, I accept the notepad she's pressing into my hands. I don't know what to write though. Memories flash behind my eyes like a movie, the images impossible to ignore or forget.

They're going to be so angry. I just know it. After all that has happened, this is going to be the final straw.

After a moment of silence, Esme gives me an opening. "In your medical record it doesn't state you're on the pill."

Instinct kicks in, even though I wouldn't have done this in my old homes. I write in shaky letters.

_Don't be angry_

"I won't," she says seriously. "But I need you to be honest with me."

A defeated sigh escapes me.

_I ordered them on the Internet_

Silence stretches. From the corner of my eye I can see how Esme is trying to catch my gaze, but I refuse to look at her until she says my name in demand.

Her eyes are kind, sad, and worried at the same time. At last she speaks.

"I understand why you got them." Her voice is soft.

My shoulders sag and I bow my head, letting my hair fall around my face like a shield. She says she understands why I needed them. She knows what happened, and although I know she knows, it's completely different to have it laid out in the open like this.

She's acknowledging what happened. I hide my face in my hands as tears, hot and wet, roll down my cheeks. It was so hard, Esme, so hard. Does she know?

I vividly remember how we were taught about human procreation in school, although I no longer know how old I was exactly. Something clicked in my mind that day, and as soon as I had gotten the chance I had started looking on the Internet for birth control. I didn't want to see a doctor, because how would I be able to explain I needed contraception?

But there was something in me, something I felt was dark and frightening, a part of me that would do anything to survive. It came out that day, and I emailed the website to ask them if I could pay in cash. After sending them several hundred dollars I'd saved up by stealing small change from Stefan when I could, for emergencies like this, I got a box filled with birth control pills.

I hid them from the man that was my foster father, knowing that the consequences would be dire if he found out that I was protecting myself against him in that way.

Esme's voice pulls me from my memories. "Ordering on the Internet is not the way to go. These don't look like official meds. Who knows what is in these things?"

Her disappointment stings, perhaps even more than a physical blow would have done. She's right, of course, but what could I have done? It was worth the risk. Anything to prevent pregnancy.

"Do you want to keep taking them?"

I am still not looking at her. I'm not sure I can ever face her again. Suddenly she's too close to me, and it takes a lot of effort to not get up from the bed to create some distance.

After a moment of hesitation, I nod to answer her question. I do want to keep taking them. It's one of the few things I have that I can control my life with.

"Maybe Carlisle can help. I don't want you to take these anymore." She holds up the strip of pills. It was my last one. How ironic that this should happen just as I was starting to worry how I was going to get a new stash.

But, wait. Carlisle?

My head whips up to look at Esme in complete panic. Not Carlisle. Don't tell him! He will be angry, for sure. And there's a reason why I never went to a doctor to get that pill. Well, more than one, actually. But the threat of a physical examination was not an unimportant one, for sure. And I don't want him to know about this. I don't!

"Stop worrying," Esme says sternly, but gently. "This is a trace of your past. Let us deal with it now."

She gets up and waits patiently for me at the door. She wants to go to Carlisle's office. I'm not sure what prevents me from refusing to come along; fear of his reaction or the fear to lose my only weapon against the life I have been forced to lead.

My heart is nearly crashing out of my chest when I follow Esme across the hall. She knocks on the door and opens it without waiting for an answer. I hesitate, my body refusing to take that final step.

"What can I do for you?" he asks as if I am not standing in the doorway, poised to run and hide if needs be.

"Well," Esme starts, suddenly unsure.

Wait, why is she stalling? Is she afraid that Carlisle will be angry? I look at the floor, unable to meet their gazes.

"Maybe this is not the best way to go with this, but I found this in Bella's bathroom," Esme says, handing the contraceptive to Carlisle. "She ordered them on the Internet." Her voice grows soft at the last few words, and when their gazes meet a moment passes between them I can't define.

Carlisle looks at the pills, something hard flashing in his eyes. My breath stutters as I take in the details of his expression, trying to anticipate his reaction. My muscles remember the coiled state they are in now; fight or flight, and preferably the latter. I am poised to run if I have to.

"We will have to arrange something for this," he says after a moment. His gaze shifts to me. "Do you want to keep using them?"

My head moves involuntarily to nod. It's no use lying about it now.

Carlisle frowns and sits back. "You need to relax, Bella. Why don't you come in and sit down? I'm getting tense just looking at you."

"Yes, good idea," Esme says.

She takes my hand and leads me to the couch. I let myself be pulled with her, suddenly drained of all energy. When she wraps an arm around me, I lean into her support. My need to be close is a sharp contrast with how I wanted to be away from her just moments ago. Yet, in this new situation, it's almost as if she is my ally.

Would she support me?

"We are not your enemy," Carlisle says quietly. "And I want to help you with this. Usually a physical would be in order..."

My heart seems to come to a halt when he says this.

"... But regarding the fact that you were examined back in September I don't think that's necessary. I'll arrange the forms for you. And I'll have these tested in the lab," he concludes, holding up the pills Esme gave him. "I want to know what you've been taking all this time."

I nod stiffly, realizing that I will lose my protection now. It makes me feel more vulnerable than I ever expected.

"You know," Carlisle says, "I can't help but admire that you took these measures to protect yourself. It's amazing, really, that you did."

I blink in surprise at his words.

"There is no need to be ashamed, even though I know you are," he continues, making my blush rise again. "You could have told us right away that you wanted to keep taking them. These pills give you a feeling of safety, don't they?"

I nod slowly, stunned.

"And I understand why you didn't, or felt that you couldn't see a doctor about this. I do. It's just that medication from the black market isn't very trustworthy."

I nod again, knowing that he has a point. But I didn't have a choice, I really didn't.

"You're so strong," he says, quieter now. "I mean, look at what you did. It takes a lot of courage to take things in your own hands like you did. You knew you couldn't get out of the situation you were in, so you tried to compromise."

His words take hold in my brain. _Couldn't get out of the situation I was in_. So he thinks so, too? It was not just me and my failing self? I shake my head a little. I need to work that out when I don't have an audience.

"See?" Esme asks after a moment, hugging me against her side. "That wasn't so bad, was it? We're here to help you with whatever you might need. Really."

A shaky breath escapes me, and they both chuckle quietly at my reaction.

"Patience and time," Carlisle says encouragingly. "You're doing wonderful, Bella. I'm proud of you."

I store his words away to keep and lean into Esme's touch for a moment, acknowledging them both. It's so hard to believe still that this is my life now, that I am actually here.

Although my shame is still consuming me, I also remember other trip to the hospital and the bookstore yesterday, and all the other nice things Carlisle has done for me lately. Even now, he isn't angry. They're just disappointed that I took the risk of ordering pills on the Internet. Still, I do feel that they understand why I had to do it.

In a sudden moment of courage, I get up and walk to Carlisle's desk, reaching out my left hand.

He doesn't understand me. "I'm not comfortable giving you back these pills."

I shake my head, and it takes every ounce of will power I have to reach out my hand again, hoping he will understand this time.

He does, and my knees nearly buckle when he takes my hand in both of his, squeezing softly. He holds my gaze for a moment, and in his eyes I see the proof of his words. He's proud.

I smile shakily, and he smiles back. Then he releases me, and I walk back to my bedroom as if in a daze.

Wow.

**~O~**

After dinner, Esme asks me to join her and the others in the living room. A new season of some dancing show has started, and tonight a compilation of the auditions is broadcast. Some people make total fools out of themselves, but others are quite amazing.

One girl dances a modern piece that brings a lump to my throat.

"I'd give a dear thing to be able to dance like that," Alice says with a sigh.

"I thought you could dance pretty well?" Emmett replies.

"Not as good as that girl," Alice retorts.

"Why don't you try dancing lessons, if you want it so badly?" Esme asks.

Alice shakes her head. "Nah. I don't think I'd have the patience to start from scratch."

"Then you'll never be as good," Esme says with a chuckle.

"I know. But it's nice to dream."

"Are you sure you don't want lessons?" Jasper asks her, caressing the nape of her neck. "If it's something you really want?"

"We could do a workshop sometime," Rosalie pipes up. "That would be fun and it wouldn't be so serious all of a sudden."

"I like that," Alice says, smiling. "A lot."

Jasper smiles and Alice leans against him, content. I'm reminded of what I told Edward not long ago. I want to have what they have. Instead of feeling discomfort at the display of attention, a pang of envy blooms in my stomach. I frown at the feeling. This is not who I am.

When the show is done, we stay downstairs for a bit, half waiting to go to bed.

I don't miss how Alice nudges Jasper, trying to tell him something with her eyes. He doesn't react at first, but when Alice whispers "do it" in his ear, he gets up and disappears from the room.

He returns not a minute later with something in his hands. A book? My confusion grows when he walks up to me.

"I, erm, I wanted to give you this," he says shyly. "I hope you'll like it."

I take the book from him, a thousand questions tumbling in my mind. When I look at the cover, a lot of them are answered at once. It's a photo album, made online so it's a full color book. On the front is a picture of the house, taken from a distance. When I look more closely, I can see myself standing on the porch, looking out over the garden, a pensive look on my face.

My eyes meet Jasper's in surprise. "Open it," he encourages.

Around us, everyone has become silent. Esme looks along over my shoulder, her gasp drowning mine when I open the book.

Pictures. Of the family, and of me. Of me _with_ the family, to be exact. Pictures taken at the zoo, at home, at places I can't remember having been.

In almost every image, I'm either interacting with one or more members of the family. Some of the pictures are portraits of me, and again I never realized that Jasper took them.

On every single image, I look relaxed, happy. Even when I look pensive, my face is still serene. The fear I always see in my expression when I happen to look in a mirror, I don't see in the photos Jasper took.

"Wow, Jasper, this is wonderful," Esme says with a shaky voice.

I leaf through the book. It _is_ wonderful. I can't even describe it. There are pictures of Edward and me as well. One where we're both sitting at the piano, shoulders touching. One where I'm sitting on the couch, looking up at Edward who is standing behind it. I look... happy.

I trace the image with my fingertips, and only realize I'm crying when a tear falls onto the page. I wipe it away quickly before it can ruin the paper.

This is beyond any coherent thought. The only thing I can think of doing, is press the book against my chest and smile brightly at Jasper in thanks. This is amazing. I don't even mind that he took these pictures without me knowing.

I've never seen myself so happy before.

"Is that why you needed Alice during Spring Break?" Rosalie asks, perceptive as ever. "When we were all in my room."

"Yeah," Jasper says, still a bit shy apparently. "I wanted to be sure I was doing the right thing."

"Seems to me you did," Esme says. "This is absolutely wonderful."

**~O~**

Long after the others have gone to sleep, I'm still up, sitting in my rocking chair and looking at the photos. I'm no longer looking at myself, but at the others in those pictures. I think I can safely assume they didn't know these were being taken, either. In the gazes of the others I can see genuine emotions. There is not a single image in which frustration or annoyance shows.

Jasper's message is clear to me. He took great care in choosing these photos and making a book for me. Feeling like I didn't do enough earlier tonight when I smiled at him, I write 'thank you' on a piece of paper and sneak out of my room to push it under his door. This will have to do.

With a sense of satisfaction I finally go to sleep, dreaming of playing and laughing with my foster siblings. For the first time in a very long time, the nightmares stay away.

The next morning I feel better rested than I would have expected considering the amount of hours I slept. However, a night free of horrid dreams does wonders for my mood and general energy levels, I suppose.

Edward takes me to the meadow after school. He has brought his laptop again, with the sign language DVD. I shake my head at his back when he sets up the device, wondering how much careful planning must go in these 'spontaneous' outings.

I wonder if he thinks too that I couldn't have escaped my old life, like Carlisle said. Somehow, I've always assumed that everybody simply thinks I should have fought harder, or, at least, run for safety.

But it's impossible to bring it up. Not here, in the meadow. I don't want to ruin the atmosphere.

We spend an hour or so looking at new signs, and practice until we have both memorized them well enough. Somehow it is such a relief to me that he is willing to help me with this. He's not pushing me at all to use my voice more often, instead giving me this means of communication that provides a lot more freedom than writing notes does.

My changing attitude towards communication is not unnoticed by me. I wonder what happened that I want to be able to express myself better. Writing notes every single time is starting to make me nervous.

Maybe I'm fed up being locked away — from life, but from myself as well.

I don't know. Maybe I should discuss this with Siobhan.

When we're tired of with the sign language thing, Edward stretches and yawns.

"I feel like taking a nap."

Putting action to his words, Edward shuffles down on the blanket, lying back and closing his eyes. I follow his movements with my gaze, wondering if he really is going to sleep here. Does he expect me to do the same? How long am I supposed to wait for him?

Edward interrupts my inner questions by snoring loudly, mockingly. A giggle escapes me, the sound unbelievably light in my ears.

Edward stretches again, reaching above his head with his arms. When he relaxes, his right hand falls to the side lazily, coming to rest near my crossed legs. I look at his face and see how he has one eye open, looking intently at my reaction before he closes it again.

His hand crawls closer to my leg, his fingertips tickling my kneecap. In a reflex, I grab his hand to make him stop. Edward chuckles, keeping his eyes shut. His hand is relaxed in mine, palm down, his thumb stroking me gently.

I allow myself to take this moment in, reveling in the realization that I am sitting here in the meadow with him, that he's touching me and that I'm completely fine with that.

Feeling overcome with the warmth that is spreading in my stomach, I trace my fingertips over the back of Edward's hand. My movements are apprehensive at first, as I'm unsure if he will like it and because I'm new to all of this.

A low, contented hum rumbles in Edward's chest, and he flips his hand over so I can touch his palm.

Not contorted by scars, the skin of his palm is smooth. He healed really well after his fall in the gravel. I trace the lines like a fortuneteller would do, carefully gauging Edward's reaction as I touch him. It's a weird notion for me, to actually want to touch _him._ But it feels good. I can't deny it.

My fingertips follow the shape of his hand until I reach his wrist, the skin visible since the sleeve of his sweater has ridden up a bit. When I tentatively trace the bluish veins on the inside of his wrist, he shudders and grins.

"That feels good," he says quietly, not opening his eyes.

To my surprise, my voice comes easily. "Yeah?"

He smiles. "Yeah."

I keep caressing his hand, marveling at how soft his skin feels underneath my fingertips.

"I've never done this before," I confess quietly.

This time, Edward's eyes open. "What?" His voice is gentle, as is his gaze.

I swallow before I speak again. "I've never tried to give affection, like this."

Edward moves his other arm, folding it under his head so he can look at me more easily. "And, what do you think?"

I smile shyly. "I think I like it."

"Good," he says softly. "I like it, too."

He holds my gaze for a long moment, and then he smiles and closes his eyes again, a happy sigh escaping him.

Back in September, when Renée told me she had found a new family for me, I was sure that it was going to be at least as bad as with Stefan and his wife. I was fully prepared to bear the burden of what I am for a little while longer, at least until I had found a way to leave everything behind and start a life of my own.

Of all the possible scenarios that my mind had come up with, my current life was never one of them. I would never have imagined myself here, accepted by these people, learning that my past was never my fault to begin with.

If someone had told me that this is what my life would look like in the future, I would never have believed it.

I smile and shake my head to myself, and continue caressing Edward's hand.

Who knew.

We're home only just in time for dinner, and I feel a wave of guilt for not having been here to help Esme, even though she doesn't want me to do much with my wrist in this brace. I try to make up for it by helping her clearing the table after dinner.

Carlisle calls me to his office a little while later, and with a heavily beating hard, I follow him upstairs.

"Here," he says, handing me a box of pills. "This should be enough for six months."

I nod in thanks, taken aback by his simple kindness.

"I brought the ones you had to the lab. The results should be back by the end of the week. If you have any questions, just ask them, all right?"

I nod again, looking down at the box in my hand. It looks a lot more professional than the ones I used to get.

"By the way, Simon is in the safe house now, with his mother. She left me a message, saying that Simon begged her to let you know he was happy there."

A faint smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. He'll get a second chance, and he is going to come out so much better than I ever will.

Carlisle smiles. "It's a lot to take in sometimes, I imagine. Take your time to sort it all out."

I thank him for his advice with a nod, but I'm distracted by what he told me yesterday.

"What is it?" he asks, seeing the question in my eyes. He pushes a piece of paper and a pen forward on his desk, and I sit down to write. The need to know wins out over the fear of angering him in whatever way.

_You said you understand I couldn't leave… Before, I mean? With Stefan?_

He frowns as he reads, probably trying to make sense of my question. "I understand, yes. I think nobody will blame you for staying."

_But I could have done something_

He looks uncomfortable. "You could have called social services, or gone to the police. But seeing as you are not ready for that now, you really weren't ready for it then, either. Besides… You didn't know any better."

I realize his words could sting, but they don't. Because he is right. Only recently have I found out what really happened, and what I was made to believe. I didn't know any better.

I didn't.

Somehow, in a way it still all comes down to it being my fault. But not knowing is in a way always better than doing things wrong on purpose. Not knowing at least implies that I didn't do it on purpose.

In a way, it eases my mind a little.

The next day, I'm at Siobhan's office again for therapy. I try to talk to her about how my mind keeps reeling with everything I discover, but I can't seem to be able to put it into words. Halfway through the session, she steers the conversation into the direction of another topic.

"I want to talk about your anger," she says. "And the other negative emotions you feel."

I decide to bring up what has been bothering me for a while now; my need to shower multiple times a day, to wash away the sense of dirtiness I can't seem to shake.

"That's normal, but it won't help."

Yes. I noticed that.

"How about your anger? Have you been angry a lot lately?"

I write.

_No. Like you said, it won't help_

"Do you feel angry when you can't seem to scrub the feeling of dirtiness away?"

I nod grudgingly.

Siobhan sits back, and for some reason I just know I'm not going to like what she is going to say. "Aren't you angry about what happened to you?"

I almost talk out loud. Almost.

_What good will it do?_

"It might help you come to terms with things. Being angry at what happened may help you accept that what happened was wrong. You have a right to be angry."

I cross my arms, hampered by that stupid brace, and huddle deeper into the couch.

"It's hard to be angry, isn't it," she says quietly after a moment. "Not only because it means acknowledging that what happened was wrong, but also because you were probably taught that anger was the worst emotion to show."

Chewing my lip, I take in her words. I'm not sure if she's completely right. I'm just not a person who is angry easily. Besides, what good will it do? It won't change anything.

"I want you to think back to when you slammed your fist into the wall," Siobhan says. "There must have been a build up to that. What did you feel?"

I frown and shake my head, refusing to let her take me back to that event. I don't want to feel that anger anymore. If I allow myself to feel it, I'm afraid it's going to take me over and pull me under. It's best to feel nothing if it means I can keep going every day

But for what?

Sadness blooms inside me and shows on my face, I know. Suddenly, I want to be away from here, away from this office and this woman who forces me to make me think about all the painful things. I want to go home, to Edward maybe, and just be with him.

But then I think of how hard it is to just be with him. It's nearly impossible, as I'm always worrying, always wondering, always calculating and trying to predict what's going to happen next. Even though I'm pretty sure by now that he won't hurt me, that none of them will hurt me, there's always that underlying worry that something will go wrong, that I will disappoint, that everything will go to hell.

A sob bubbles up and escapes my throat and I close my eyes to be away from the pain that is my life. Why does every second have to be a struggle? Why is this my life, why did all this happen? If there is a god, he must really hate me. Why did my mother leave me with that rat Laurent, and why did social services place me with Stefan's family? Why, why, why?

"Tell me what you're thinking right now." Siobhan's voice is quiet as it breaks into my inner monolog.

Instead of trying to write down what I feel, I opt for one single word.

_No._

"No?" She's asking for clarification, but I don't have the patience for her anymore. Not now.

_NO!_

"Good," she simply says, taking me off guard for a moment. "What else?"

I can't write anymore. I fling the pad across the room, wincing when it clatters against the wall. I want to throw some other things, but I'm all too aware that I am in Siobhan's room.

"Punch the couch pillows," she says so quietly it's like she's not even directing me.

Halfheartedly I stab a fist at the pillow.

"Is that all you got?" my therapist challenges.

I punch harder.

"More."

I punch again, and again, and then with both hands, ignoring the flaring pain of both my injured wrist and the brace pressing into my skin. Ignoring Siobhan's gentle warning to be careful with that arm, too.

My vision is obscured by tears as I push all my energy into my punching fists until my muscles burn and I am out of breath.

"Did that help?" Siobhan asks quietly.

I shrug, not willing to admit that I do feel a bit better now.

"It's a safer way to get rid of your energy than slamming your fist into a wall," she continues. "Try to find something to burn energy like that. Go for a walk or a run even, punch pillows, or, when you are ready for it, you can scream."

For a moment I wonder if she knows that I've been talking, but I don't pay too much attention to the thought. It's not important, even if she did. It doesn't matter anymore.

Right now, I just want to sleep.

Edward must notice how drained I feel, because he hands me the blanket he keeps in his car when I sit down in the passenger seat, and he keeps the music low. I nod off during our ride home, my head lolling on the headrest of the seat.

"We're here," he says quietly after he has turned off the engine.

Opening my eyes slowly, I can see the grayish light in the garage around me. I nod once and push the blanket away, shivering involuntarily when the warmth falls away with the blanket.

I follow Edward out of the car and into the house, trying to ignore the throbbing in my wrist. I really did something wrong during therapy just now.

Alice tells me that she will set the table, and after dinner she and Emmett clear away the dishes. I'm surprised at this sudden change in routine, but I'm too tired to spend much thought on it.

I trudge up to my room after we have had desert. Jasper is listening to loud music, and the beats of the songs come floating into my room. All the siblings in this house listen to loud music from time to time and it's okay, just as long as its not too late and it only lasts an hour or so.

My brace is lying on the desk. My wrist is swollen and looks bruised. Carlisle will have my head when he discovers what I did. And I don't think it will make Siobhan look good, either. She told me to be careful, though. I just didn't listen.

Edward comes to my door around nine. Jasper's music has stopped and I think that's the only reason I heard Edward knock at all.

When I've opened the door for him, I go back to my rocking chair, which is still warm from my body heat. I shiver again. The exhaustion is making me cold.

The rocking chair sways lightly when I pull up my feet to tuck them under my legs. I place my sore arm in my lap carefully, and of course Edward notices.

"What happened?"

I could say something, but I won't. Instead, I shrug and look away. I don't want to talk about it.

Edward steps forward and squats in front of me, his eyes moving from my face to my wrist.

"Was it always like this?" The worry is clear in his voice.

I shake my head slowly in answer.

"This is not good. Dad has to look at this. He really won't mind."

I shake my head again, more clearly now. No, please, no.

But Edward gets up and is already walking to the door. I scramble out of the chair to follow him.

"No." My voice is rough and sounds alien, even to my ears.

Edward stills and turns back to me. His eyes are tight. "You can't deny yourself care, Bella."

"Please," I whisper, pleading him with my eyes as well. I'm on such good terms with Carlisle right now, I don't want to risk disappointing him, or worse, upsetting him. I've broken my wrist due to my own actions, and I've made it worse myself, too. What will he think of that?

Edward takes a deep breath and after a moment, nods once. "Okay. But let me put something cool on it, to reduce the swelling."

I nod numbly and move back to the chair as Edward disappears into my bathroom. He comes back a moment later with a small, wet towel.

He kneels before the chair and, with utmost care, pushes up my sleeve a little further before he places the cool cloth over my bruised wrist. The cold feels good against the burning pain and I close my eyes for a moment, enjoying the relief.

"Better?"

I nod with a small, emotionless smile. "I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "Don't be. What happened, though?"

My jaws clench before I can force myself to speak again. "I punched some pillows."

"We should find you something you can kick," Edward says with a humorless chuckle. "So your poor wrist can have some rest."

Tears come up, unbidden and unstoppable.

Edward looks up at me and I can see the pain in his eyes. He doesn't speak, but brings up his hand slowly to my face, wiping my tears away with his thumb.

"It's all so fucked up," I whisper, my voice breaking on a sob.

"I know," he answers quietly, and it just feels so good to hear him say that, instead of trying to explain it or wave it away.

In that moment I realize how hard this must be for him, too. I apologize again, even though he probably doesn't know what for.

"Don't say that," he says softly. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

I want to explain it to him, tell him I'm sorry for who I am, but the words are stuck in my throat and only a strangled sob comes out as years of carefully suppressed anger, frustration and sadness find their way to the surface, unstoppable now they have tasted what it's like to be let out.

Edward rises up on his knees and pulls me against him gently. After a moment of hesitation, I melt into his embrace and let him guide my head into the crook of his neck. His hand cups the back of my head, and the other is wrapped around me, giving me the safety of an embrace I have hungered for so very long.

A shuddering sigh escapes me, followed by a hiccup of a suppressed sob. Edward shushes me soothingly, rocking me slowly back and forth in the chair.

"It's okay."

No, I think. It's not. But right now, in your arms, I am.


	59. Chapter 59

**A/N Twilight is still not mine**

_Your reviews, as ever, blow me away. Thank you so much. I read and cherish them all. _**  
**

_Thanks to Sherry for beta work and everything else, and thanks to Deb, Bob and Aleea for the rest.  
_

_So, my update is a bit late. I have a life (gasp) and even though it's not a really exciting one, it's one filled with other responsibilities than just writing, sadly. So, if I am late, I can't help it. Try to check my twitter, ffn profile or facebook for news, okay? :) Next update might again take two weeks, so don't get impatient ;)  
_

_On with the show...  
_

* * *

I'm beyond exhausted when we drive home from school the next day. Prom is coming up and it's a big buzz in the school. During lunch, Lauren Mallory came over and turned her back to me, stepping right into my space as she asked Edward to be her date to the prom.

Edward declined politely, but I could see the tension in his face when he spoke to her. When Lauren left again, he met my gaze, confusion clear in his eyes.

"What the fuck?" Emmett asked as soon as Lauren was out of hearing range again. "Wasn't it like some chick code that friends don't try to date the same guy?"

"Jessica and Lauren fell out," Alice said casually.

"Oh God, even I heard about that," Rosalie groaned. "And you'll never guess who they are fighting over."

"Enlighten me, for I will certainly die if I don't know," Jasper said sarcastically.

"Mike," Alice answered before Rosalie could continue her story.

That had my attention, and I looked up in surprise.

"I know, right?" Rosalie said. "Unbelievable."

"Well, if it means he will finally leave Bella alone from now on, I'm fine with it," Jasper muttered.

Huh. So he'd noticed too that Mike is still looking at me when he thinks nobody notices.

"I hope Edward will be left alone as well," Alice said protectively.

Edward shrugged. "If she persists I'll ask her if she really wants to date a cheating bastard. She's the one who helped that rumor into the world, after all."

"Wasn't that Jessica?" Emmett asked, surprised.

"It was both of them. But it was Lauren's idea, for Jessica to have her revenge."

Emmett folded his arms and looked over at Lauren and Jessica, who were both on either side of the lunch room, before he turned to Rosalie. "I'm so glad we aren't complicated." Rosalie smiled and kissed his cheek, making Emmett grin happily.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the display.

The house isn't empty when we step inside. A strange man is sitting in the kitchen with Esme, and out of habit I am immediately on my guard. Edward ignores the visitor completely and pulls a bottle of water from the fridge.

"I'm going up, I have a test tomorrow and I want to study," he tells the room in general.

"That's fine, dear. How was school?"

Edward drinks and swallows before he speaks. "Let's say I'll be happy once prom is over and done with."

Esme chuckles and waves Edward off to his room before she turns to me. "And how was your day?"

I make the sign for 'complicated' with a half smile, and Esme chuckles again, amusement sparkling in her eyes. She notices my looking over her shoulder at the strange man, and introduces him to me.

"This is Mr. Barrymore. He's going to be our new accountant. This is Bella," she tells the man by way of explanation.

He nods at me and smiles. I nod once and debate for a moment if I dare to move past him to fetch a drink from the fridge, or if I will make do with water from the tap upstairs.

"Do you have any plans?" Esme asks me, pulling me from my thoughts.

I make the newly acquired sign we came up with for 'homework.'

"My neighbors have a kid that's deaf, too," the accountant says suddenly.

"Oh, Bella is not deaf," Esme says easily. "She's an elective mute. She can hear perfectly fine." Her voice is completely neutral, as if it's no big deal that I don't speak, and I realize that she must feel that way, else her voice couldn't convey it so sincerely.

"Kids and their whims," the accountant mutters as he looks back at the papers in front of him.

"Excuse me?" Esme asks, incredulous.

The man looks up, taken aback by Esme's fierce reaction.

"Well, it is a whim, isn't it? In my experience you shouldn't indulge in that too much. It will make kids difficult."

"I can tell you it's not a whim," Esme says flatly.

"Are you sure?" the accountant persists. "If you ignore it, you'll see she can suddenly speak when she needs something."

Esme's face turns grim and for one horrible moment I fear she is going to agree with this man. Instead, she straightens her back and points at the door.

"Out."

"What?"

"You heard me. Out. I want nothing to do with people that think like you do. You don't tell me how I raise my children. I don't want to work with conceited, judgmental idiots. You can leave now."

"Mrs. Cullen, I'm sure that—"

Esme interrupts him. "There is nothing that you can have to say anymore that I want to hear. Leave."

The accountant stands up, muttering, and starts to shuffle the papers on the table together.

"Do you not understand me, Mr. Barrymore? I want you to leave. I want no future business with you. You can leave the papers here. I don't want you to have them."

Esme walks him to the door, to make sure he will leave, and slams the door shut behind him with more force than necessary.

"Idiot," she mutters.

For the first time in a very long time, I see her genuinely upset.

"You okay?" she asks me, and I nod, still taken aback by the scene that has just taken place. Esme closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, collecting herself. When she opens them, her gaze is once more clear and she smiles at me.

"How about we make some peanut butter cookies?"

**~O~**

I'm munching on some of the cookies in my room after dinner, thinking about what happened earlier. Esme was really protective, and it made me feel so accepted. I felt that making the cookies gave her a chance to calm down as well, and while I was apprehensive at first, I was glad to share that activity with her and to see her calm down again gradually. She told me how loved I am by the entire family, and how that accountant was an idiot I shouldn't pay any attention to.

A soft knock pulls me from my thoughts.

"Bella? It's me," Edward says quietly.

I unfold myself from the rocking chair to open the door for him, and his somewhat bashful smile makes my heart stutter a little.

"Can I come in?"

I nod and step aside, closing the door behind him without really thinking.

"Are you ready for your test?" I ask quietly, shy with initiating speech.

He nods confidently. "Yes, thank you. Don't you have tests coming up? I never hear you mention them. Then again, I never hear you mention homework at all," he adds as an afterthought, rubbing his neck. "Anyway, um, I came to ask how your wrist was."

I bite my lip and look away, uncomfortable. "It's okay," I finally lie. It isn't.

"Are you sure?"

I nod quickly.

"You are a terrible liar," he says. He walks over to me, his eyes almost pleading. "Can I see it?"

"Why?" I frown, feeling confronted.

"Because I want to know if the swelling has subsided a bit," he says, as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

He reaches out his hand, but stops when I meet his eyes. "Please?"

Noticing my hesitation, he speaks again. "Bella, when I fell on the gravel I let you look at my hands, too."

I open my mouth to say 'that's different,' but I realize that it actually isn't. Had I been the one falling, I would have blamed myself, too, like I do now with my wrist. Although it's different in the way that I willfully slammed it against the pillows, it doesn't negate the fact that Edward let me help him, and wants to help me in return, now.

I want to say something, anything, but I have no idea what I could possibly tell him. So I watch, numb, as he gently takes my right hand in both of his, pushing up the sleeve of my sweater to expose my battered wrist.

"Oh, shit," he murmurs, taking in the purple bruising. His fingertips ghost over the swelling, and my hearts picks up speed automatically, my body tensing at being so exposed, vulnerable.

"You'd make a horrible doctor," I murmur, trying to lighten the suddenly intense atmosphere. My voice sounds awful, though.

"Why?" he asks, his eyes not leaving my arm.

"A patient wouldn't like to hear you say that when he's brought in with an injury."

His eyes snap up to mine, bright and amused. He sobers immediately however, his expression turning serious again. "Bella, please let my dad see this."

I shake my head before I can stop myself. "He'll be angry," I mumble, uncomfortable. Yet, it seems as if with Edward, it's becoming a slight bit easier to talk about my fears, my weaknesses.

"What? No he won't," Edward objects. "Why would he be?"

_Because I did it myself,_ I think, but I don't say the words out loud.

"Please go see him," Edward pleads. "_Please_."

I sigh, defeated. Not because I am giving in, but because I'm quite sure I am going to disappoint him. I have no idea how I am ever going to collect the courage to approach Carlisle with this. I mean, I'm all for fair justice, but I'm not that much of a sucker for punishment.

Finally, Edward lets it go. "Are you feeling better? After yesterday, I mean?"

I look up at him, the genuine concern clear in his eyes.

The sudden desire to be back in his arms again, like I was yesterday, overwhelms me.

"Yes. I'm sorry to have bothered you," I whisper, my throat dry for some reason.

He frowns a little. "You weren't bothering me. I just hate to see you so upset."

I shrug and look away. It's who I am. I won't ever be normal. Realizing that Edward seems to be finally learning this, stings.

"Hey," he says quietly. Slowly, his hand comes up to cup my chin, making me look back up at him again. The gesture reminds me of less pleasant experiences I have with touches similar to this, but I push them to the back of my mind when I see the look in Edward's eyes.

"I'm glad you allowed me to comfort you again," he says, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. I sense that there's more he wants to say, but he decides against it. His thumb strokes my cheek gently before he lowers his hand again. "You can always ask for that."

He hesitates for a moment, but then wishes me a good night and leaves the room. I stand looking at the door for a long time after he has left, trying and failing to make sense of my flailing thoughts.

Thursday in school is not much different from the day before. Alice and Rosalie are making plans to go shopping for a prom dress, inviting me along. I let them know they should tell me when they plan to go. I don't need a dress, anyway. It's not like I will be going to that party.

When we come home, Esme is still at her volunteer job. On the breakfast bar is a letter addressed to me. Opening it, I find a drawing I recognize as Simon's immediately. A short note is folded into the drawing.

_Simon won't stop talking about you. Thank you for all you have done for him. Mrs. Callahan._

"A love letter?" Carlisle says teasingly when he walks into the kitchen.

I'm startled by his voice, I didn't expect him to be home at this time of day.

I show him the note that came with the drawing, and when he reads it, he smiles. "I bet it would make Simon's day if he were to visit you here."

Oh, it would. It might just make my day, too.

"Shall I arrange something?" he asks kindly.

My nod is eager and he smiles amiably, looking at me for a moment longer before his face morphs into a more serious expression.

"I got the lab results today," he announces just as Emmett comes in through the garage. "Let's go upstairs."

Oh, so it's not going to be nice news, I gather.

Once we're seated in his office, Carlisle's expression turns gentle. "I asked the lab to analyze the components of the contraception you've been taking."

I wait for him to continue, wringing my hands in my lap but stopping when it hurts my bruised wrist too much.

"Bella, I don't know how to say this. The pills you have been taking did not have consistent doses. It was probably enough to control your cycle with, but..."

My breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh when I realize what he is saying.

"You've been extremely lucky," he says quietly, voicing my thoughts to the letter.

Jesus. Oh, Jesus. And then to think back to when my period was late and I was in such a fright... The chance I actually was pregnant was bigger than I ever could have anticipated, even if the test in the hospital back when I ran from Stefan was negative.

My heart is hammering in my chest with the fear I feel now for the risk I have been taking all this time. Just because I didn't, couldn't, go see a doctor.

Carlisle asks me if I have any questions, but I only half hear him.

"Deep breaths," he says quietly, looking at me closely. "Try to calm down a little."

With his soft encouraging words, I manage to get my breathing under control again.

"How is your wrist doing?" he asks after a moment of silence.

My head whips around to look at him, wondering how he could possibly know about this. Did Edward tell him?

But, again, it's my reaction that gives me away.

"Bella?"

Oh, no. I glance towards the door. It's still ajar, and I wonder if I can bolt.

"Bella."

I look back at Carlisle. So much for getting my heart to calm down. It's beating a mile a minute again.

"What's going on?" he asks, and I can see the confusion in his eyes.

My lower lip is trapped between my teeth as I battle my conflicting thoughts and emotions. Edward begged me to show Carlisle my wrist, but I really don't want that, and especially not without anybody else present. Yet, my traitorous mind ticks off all the good things that have happened with him in the last few days. In a flash, I remember my second day here, when I had burned the shirt and placed the belt on his desk. _These are made to hold up pants with,_ he had said. _And nothing else_.

He's never been angry with me.

Accepting that this might be the first time, I give in to the throbbing pain that has been taking over most of my conscious thinking ever since I left Siobhan's room.

I'll have to make sure she won't be blamed for anything, though. She did warn me. I just didn't listen.

Again, my fault.

I sigh, frustrated.

"Bella?" Carlisle asks again. How is it that it feels as if he has been waiting for me to finish my inner battle?

Before I do anything else, I write, hating making myself vulnerable.

_Please don't be angry_

"I won't be," he says immediately. "What's going on?"

With a heart that's beating so loudly I'm sure he must hear it, I push up my sleeve and show him my braceless, now purple wrist. Alarm flashes in his eyes, and I pull my arm back immediately, pulling my sleeve back over my hand to hide my wrist from his view.

He gets up from his desk, walking around it and kneeling before me. I stiffen, poised to... to what? I can't really run, and I sure as hell won't try to fight him.

"What happened?" he asks as he meets my eyes. "Did it swell up like that without cause?"

I shake my head, closely observing his reaction.

"Can you tell me what happened? I won't be angry, I promise. Would you feel better if Esme was here, too?"

Why I feel the urge to just man up and do this, without getting Esme or anybody else, will forever be a mystery to me. But I pull the tiny notepad into my lap and write down how I punched pillows with the brace on. I don't tell him it happened in Siobhan's office.

"Okay," he says. "Were you angry again?"

My nod is so minute I half hope he doesn't see it, but the expected reprimand doesn't come.

"Okay," he says again. "I imagine there's a lot of anger inside of you that needs to find a way out sometimes. And I don't have to tell you that using your already damaged wrist to do that wasn't the best idea." He smiles as he speaks, trying to lighten the sting of his words a bit.

My thoughts check when I realize that he really isn't angry. A tiny bit of the fear in my backbone seeps away, making me a little less rigid in the chair.

"I'd like to take a better look at it," he says next. "It's pretty swollen. Did you put something cool on it?"

To this, I can nod. Well, I didn't, but Edward did. But I don't want to write that down.

"Good," he says. "Being hurt is one thing, but you have to take proper care of yourself."

I know what he is implying, even though he's not using a lot of words to say it. I didn't bruise my wrist in an effort to cause actual physical pain. I didn't care that it hurt, but I didn't do it to hurt myself further. There's a distinct difference and I think he understands that, as well.

He reaches out his hands, slowly, so I can see what he is going to do. "Can I look at it?" he asks. "I'll be as careful as I can."

This is the moment I've been dreading. The earlier courage I had to do this on my own, has drained away completely, leaving me feeling cold and bare. I watch with distant eyes as he gently pries away my arm from where it is curled protectively around my body, pushing up the sleeve carefully to expose the skin.

"Nice and easy," he murmurs soothingly, turning my hand around to check the range of motion.

Where Edward's fingertips ghosted, Carlisle's fingers prod. Not harshly, but still, and it's all I can do to not pull my hand away from his grasp. But his touch doesn't feel like pinpricks against my skin. It's just what it is; touch.

When did that happen?

He gauges my reactions carefully as he examines me, asking time and time again if this hurts, or that, or that. It's hard to nod at his questions, but I've come to the realization that it doesn't help me if I lie about it.

When he's done, he sits back, his knee and hip joints popping. The sound is almost comical.

"Thank you," he says sincerely. "And might I say, well done? It must have been hard for you to allow this. I'm glad that you let me look at your wrist."

I can only nod. I don't even know what to feel, or think, anymore.

"The brace must hurt to wear now, doesn't it?" he asks.

Again, a nod. I haven't worn it since I left Siobhan's office, but for the moments where I knew Carlisle might notice.

"I can bandage it instead," he says. "Then you get the support you need, and it will relieve you from some of the pain as well. And I can get you some pain killers. If only to take at bedtime."

He gets up and rummages in a cabinet behind his desk, coming back with a thick bandage. "Will you allow me?"

I know he sees me swallow thickly before I allow him to start wrapping up my wrist. The pressure of the bandage feels weird, but he assures me that it will feel better before I know it.

I see how his eyes notice the faded scar in the palm of my hand, but he doesn't ask anything or give any other indication that he wants to know more. Silence stretches as he wraps up my hand and arm, encasing it in the thick bandage.

"If you want to take it off for a shower, I can reapply it for you," he offers simply. Then he hands me the meds I know too well, and I know he knows these are the only ones I'll take.

When I get up to leave, I look back at him.

"Thanks," he says quietly, and then he smiles.

I walk to my room quickly, needing to be alone to process everything that just happened. When the worst of the stress over having Carlisle allowed to look at my wrist wears off, fear creeps back into my mind and body.

The pills I took for years were not trustworthy. I could have gotten pregnant.

My god.

I sit down in the rocking chair heavily, fighting off the panic I feel at the thought of what might have happened. Pulling the quilt over my head, I hide in the dark from the memories of my past.

Jasper comes to call me for dinner, but I don't respond to him. I'm still huddled up in the rocking chair, wrapped in Renée's old quilt. I'm not hungry. My guts are still churning with the news Carlisle gave me. Everything could have been so much worse...

When I'm sure dinner must be long done, I hear a knock on my door.

"Bella, it's me." Esme's voice is soft and if I didn't know any better I'd think it would be pleading.

When she knocks again, even softer than the first time, I move my stiff body and open the door. She's holding a tray with food. Her eyes are sad when she looks at me.

"Carlisle told me what he heard from the lab," she says quietly. "You must be shocked. He said he treated your wrist as well. Are you okay?"

I can only swallow the sudden lump in my throat away, and reach out to take the tray.

"Can I come in?" she asks instead.

I step aside to let her in, and she places the tray on my desk before she sits down on my desk chair, probably realizing that I was sitting in my rocking chair before she came up. Still, I sit down on the bed instead.

I reach for the salad on the tray and pick at it with my fork, not really hungry but wanting to please Esme, as well.

"I'm worried about you," she says quietly after some moments have passed.

I shrug it away, focusing on the contents of the bowl.

"I know you need time to process things, but I hate to see you pulling back like this."

It's not her words that get my attention, but the obvious pain in her voice. I raise my head to look at her, and I can see the longing in her eyes.

She wants to be a mother for me.

It's not her fault that I don't want to get attached to the people that are supposed to take care of me. I'm all too aware though that that thought has long since become void. I _am_ attached to Esme. I think I've become attached to all the Cullens. It's just that I feel so damn conflicted over accepting their care.

It's as if Esme is seeing what I must be thinking, because she gets up and comes to sit next to me. She looks into my eyes and then wraps an arm around me, pulling her against her side.

"What's going on in that mind of yours?"

Shaking my head, I sigh. How can I tell her about the fear I feel in hindsight, how difficult life still is to me, and how I can feel desperation tugging at me every second? The fear that I will never bounce back from my past, that I will never be normal, takes my breath away. It makes me so angry to realize that what happened, should not have happened.

Yet, I'm here and it happened to me, and I'm supposed to live on, get up every day and fulfill the regular demands of life.

I just want to crawl into my bed and sleep and forget everything.

Esme tightens her arm around me, pulling me back to the present. "I'm here for you."

I nod once, accepting and appreciating her words.

"And I think that Edward is here for you, too," she says with a smile in her voice. "Or am I wrong?"

Even if I could lie, my blush will certainly prevent me from doing so. Esme chuckles and rubs my arm.

"Honestly, he has changed so much ever since you have been in his life. He seems lighter, somehow. Happier."

This surprises me enormously and I look up at Esme with wide, questioning eyes.

"I used to say that Edward's soul is a century old. He tends to think so deeply about things, he really has a tendency to worry too much. But that thoughtfulness has given him a certain quiet as well. He sees the world so differently than we do. And I think that in you, he found a kindred soul."

Even my thoughts are speechless after Esme's words. Never ever would I have dared to hope that someone would consider me something positive in their life.

"You make him happy," she continues. "And I hope that he makes you happy, too. Of course, I understand that your relationship, whatever form it will grow into, won't be the easiest route to take. But you are both not afraid of a challenge. I think you both feel that if it feels right, it's worth fighting for. Am I right?"

She is, I think. And even if she isn't, it's amazing to hear her talk about me like this. Like I'm someone who is actually worth something.

Who knew.

I start a little when Esme moves in to press a kiss to my temple, but as soon as I realize what she is going to do, I relax into her embrace. I even close my eyes for a moment, enjoying the affection.

"Do you think you can eat now?" she asks gently. "Or is there anything you want to talk about?"

I reach for the notepad on my nightstand and write.

_Just a lot to think about. _

Realizing that she probably wants to know more, I add something to the note.

_I guess I've been really lucky with that contraception _

"You have," Esme agrees. "But you know what? I'd like to think that somewhere, somehow it was decided you would not get pregnant. Somehow, you were protected. Who knows, maybe it was written in the stars."

Her eyes are kind when they meet mine, and I smile timidly back at her. I know the Cullens don't really actively believe in god, and I lost my faith before I had a chance to learn what it really was.

It's weird to have Esme refer so casually to my past, and maybe it's even weirder to realize that I'm okay with it.

I don't even have to deliberate whether I really want to do what I'm about to. There's no question anymore. The time has come.

I make sure to meet her eyes before I take a deep breath, trying to calm my suddenly frantic heart. She looks at me expectantly, and I let some air escape before I can get my mouth to move.

"Thank you."

The words sound awkward, unused as I still am to speaking.

Esme doesn't seem to care though. Her eyes go wide and her mouth pops open in a silent 'o.'

Silence stretches and I smile uncomfortably, uneasy with this new situation. After a minute, Esme collects herself though, and she blinks a few times before she swallows. "You're welcome," she whispers.

I nod once and look back at my hands, not knowing where to go from here.

Esme lets out a breathless laugh and shakes her head. "I can't tell you how wonderful it is to hear your voice."

Her arm is still around me and she tightens the embrace for a moment, her eyes bright and sparkling. "I think it's a good sign," she says quietly, meeting my gaze again. "Do you agree?"

I shrug, the motion limited by the weight of Esme's arm around me. "It's weird," I croak out.

She laughs lightly, good-naturedly. "I can imagine. You have been silent for ten years. You will need to get used to it all again."

I guess.

"Do the others know?"

I shake my head and make the sign for Edward. Esme remembers the sign, thankfully, and smiles. "Why am I not surprised he would be the first," she says teasingly.

I blush a little and look down again to let my hair fall around my face like a shield.

"You take your own time to discover this new part of your life, honey," she whispers, thankfully not asking me to look back up. "If you are ready to talk, then talk. If you are not, we still have a lot of notebooks lying around."

Her words put a smile on my face, and I look back up at her again.

"I am so proud of you," she whispers, and even though she blinks, a tear escapes and rolls down her cheek.

**~O~**

When Edward sees the bandage around my wrist the next day, his gratefulness is clear in his smile.

"I take it you went to see dad?"

I nod, biting my lip. This morning, when Esme, Carlisle and I were alone in the kitchen, I had allowed Carlisle to assess my wrist before he reapplied the bandage for me, showing me how I can do it myself from now on.

In school, I am distracted. I wonder if Esme told Carlisle that I spoke to her. She must have. Yet, he didn't show any sign of knowing that when he helped me this morning.

Helped me… Yeah, he did. And I allowed it.

Huh.

Best try to focus on less difficult topics, especially during class.

Still, my mind wanders.

It feels weird to have my voice back again. For such a long time I have felt as if it was gone forever, and now, when I try really hard, I can make myself form meaningful sounds. Sometimes it's easier than others. My voice sounds awful though, and my words are stilted.

I still have the speech of a seven-year-old. The thought is sobering and I chew on my bottom lip until it bleeds. It doesn't help. I guess this is another piece of evidence that my life will never, ever be normal. Finding my voice again only adds to the list of failures.

I can't win.

"You look out of it," Siobhan observes when I trudge into her office, trying to pull my sleeves over my hands. I tut in annoyance when it hurts my wrist.

Maybe it's best to just get it out in the open.

Only when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. So, I write.

_I spoke_

"You did? That's amazing!" she exclaims. "When did you speak? What brought it on?"

I write about my anger, about how I completely crumpled and how Edward found me. How I told him I was so tired.

Siobhan nods understandingly. "You must be dead on your feet."

I shrug her compassion away and look out of the window. The sun is out today, and the harbor provides a pleasant view.

"How do you feel about it all? Have you spoken since?"

I nod to answer her second question as I write about my conflicted emotions. How I have discovered that my speech is stilted, even after I have used my voice multiple times. I write about my realization that I will forever talk like a seven-year-old.

Siobhan seems wholly unconcerned with my worries. "There are specialists that can help you with that," she says easily. "I'm more curious as to what it does to you to have your voice back again."

_It's scary_

She nods. "It is. It makes you feel vulnerable, doesn't it?"

I can only copy her earlier gesture and nod as well.

"Just do what feels right. I'm sure you will come to appreciate your voice once you get used to it again."

Somehow, her words remind me of the reason why I stopped talking at all. My jaws lock again like they did back then, and a desolate feeling washes over me. It's no use. Laurent's voice echoes in my memory, the words he said when I figured out I was going to stay silent slicing through me like a knife.

"_It's not like anybody wants to hear what you have to say, anyway."_

"Tell me what you're thinking," Siobhan says quietly.

_She told me not to talk about it_

"Who?" Her voice is gentle, coaxing.

_My mother. I tried to tell her, and she told me never to speak of it again_

Siobhan's eyes fill with sympathy, but I refuse to meet her gaze. "Is that when you stopped talking entirely?"

I nod slowly, tears blurring my vision. I can't tell her the rest of the story. I made my mother leave. If I hadn't told her, she wouldn't have hit me with the poker, and she would not have left.

"It was not really fair of your mother to forbid you to speak about it. Do you realize that now?"

I wipe my tears off my cheeks and shrug. It's hard to acknowledge that my mother was not playing fair. It's hard to believe that she didn't left because of me. But I can't talk to Siobhan about this. The pain is too deep, the hurt too profound.

"A mother is god in the eyes of a child," my therapist says quietly, and I look up at her, confused. "It's a line from a movie, but I thought it remarkably smart when I heard it. I think in a way, it's harder to blame your mother for what happened, because of the blood ties."

I sigh, lost in my thoughts.

Siobhan smiles and finishes her coffee. "Go home. Get a good night of sleep. How is your wrist after last Tuesday?"

I hold up my bandaged arm for her to see. Nothing changed. It's just purple now.

"I am sorry," she says sincerely. "I tried to warn you, but it was as if you didn't hear me."

I shrug her words away. She must realize that I don't blame her for anything.

Siobhan ends the session and I walk out of the office quickly, suddenly in dire need of fresh air.

After dinner on Friday night, I retreat to my room again. I want to be alone to try and make some sense of my thoughts. I don't want the others to ask me if I'm okay.

Over the soft music I have playing in the background, I can hear voices coming from upstairs. Edward is calling out at Rosalie to leave the bathroom already. Rosalie is shouting something back at Edward, but I can't understand what she's saying. After that it's silent again.

I sigh in relief. The Cullens rarely fight. The calm is overwhelmingly peaceful. I never even knew that families like this existed outside of movies.

I forget what I overheard and listen to the music, trying to distract my thoughts. It doesn't work, and I decide that maybe baking cookies would be a good way to focus on something else.

When I open my bedroom door, I stop in my tracks, startled. Coming out of the bathroom is Edward, a towel wrapped lowly around his hips. His hair is still wet and sticking to his forehead, and stray drops of water are trailing down his chest.

His naked, muscular chest.

My breath halts and I can only stare at him, completely surprised at how toned he actually is. You wouldn't tell when he is wearing clothes.

Not that I ever thought about that.

Not really.

Edward looks at me and seems lost as well. "The upstairs bathroom was taken," he says finally by way of explanation.

I can't do anything to let him know I've heard him. I can only stare. And it feels so wrong, so wrong, because I wouldn't want someone to see me like that, ever. He must hate that I'm seeing him like this. When I don't react to his words, he smiles shyly and ducks away, running swiftly up the stairs that lead to his room.

Huh.

**~O~**

He takes me to the meadow on Saturday. The sun is hiding behind the clouds for most of the time, but when it's out, you can feel how warm it is. I'm glad to be away from the house. Emmett's birthday is coming up, and he can't stop talking about it. I need to find out what I can buy him.

We both brought some homework with us to do. Edward has to read a book for English, and I want to catch up on Government. Stupid boring subject. But if I get this assignment out of the way, I will be done for the rest of the week.

Instead of settling in the middle of the clearing we stay near the edge of the sunny side, so we can lean against a tree as we read. I'm glad for it, because I wouldn't be comfortable lying down, and sitting up without support can be tiresome.

To my pleasant surprise, Edward has brought the cookies I made yesterday night. I haven't tried them yet and I'm half worried that they will taste horribly, I was so distracted after seeing Edward appear in just a towel. The memory makes me blush and I focus on pulling the blanket straight on the damp grass. I have been avoiding eye contact with him since yesterday. I'm not sure if he is offended that I saw him. I mean, I saw so much more than I should have...

Edward is either wholly oblivious or tries to make light of it all by settling down with a pleased groan. "I'm so happy that the weather is picking up, finally. It should stay dry all day. Come sit down," he adds when he sees me fussing with the blanket. "I still won't bite."

When I finally sit down, he ducks his head until I look at him.

He's lying on his side, leaning up on his elbow. "What's wrong?"

Pff. How can I possibly tell him what I feel or think after having seen him in just a towel yesterday? It's too weird for words.

I exhale slowly to try and get rid of some of the new tension in my body, to no avail. My stomach seems completely clenched up with nerves, but it's not from fear. I don't know this new emotion, and I ignore my gut instinct that _exactly_ knows this feeling.

Like I said, it's weird.

"Talk to me," Edward says quietly, and this time, I know he means by using my voice.

I frown with the effort it takes me to make actual words, realizing at the same time that I want to use them. For him.

"I saw you yesterday," I start, cursing myself for my poor choice of words immediately.

Edward smiles, and again I don't miss that there is a definite shyness in his expression. He looks down for a moment before he meets my gaze again. "I hope you liked what you saw."

My blush explodes and I hide my face in my hands. "Oh god."

He laughs lightly, and in the next moment his hand closes gently around my left wrist, pulling it away from my face. He keeps holding my hand when he looks into my eyes.

My heart beat seems to pick up a little and my breathing gets deeper. There is something in his eyes I can't define, but for some strange reason, I want it. My heart starts beating even faster when he lifts my hand and presses a kiss on my knuckles. I gasp quietly when his lips touch my skin. His eyes never leave mine, gauging my reaction and turning soft when he sees I'm okay with what he is doing.

He smiles against my skin before he lowers my hand again, breaking the spell when he moves to lean back against the tree. He picks up his book, looks at me once more, and then settles in to read.

Time passes quietly, peacefully. I try to focus on my own reading, but instead I am vividly aware of the light wind that is blowing, of the birds that whistle in the distance, of the smell of fresh grass and the explosion of wildflowers around us. Of Edward sitting next to me, his long legs crossed at the ankle, his hands holding the book as he reads, relaxed.

After an hour or so, Edward readjusts his position and simply lies down with his head in my lap. He looks up at me for a moment, and then focuses back on his book again.

I don't even hear the birds anymore. Right now, I can only feel the weight of his head in my lap, feel the trust he must have in me to feel safe enough to lie down like that. And I like it.

"Read," Edward says quietly, his eyes not moving away from his book.

I do as he tells me, but it takes me quite some time to actually register the words on the page. When my sore wrist gets tired, I move the book to my left hand and drop my right hand into my lap. It comes to rest near the top of Edward's head, and his hair is soft as silk against my skin. Without really realizing it, my fingers flex a little, so I can touch his hair better.

I feel his eyes on me, but I keep looking at my book, afraid to meet his gaze. My heart is beating so wildly now that I am sure he must hear it. My fingertips weave through his hair a little, hesitantly, exploring. My breathing is ragged with the excitement of what I am doing. When Edward hums his agreement, I derive courage from the sound and caress his hair with more effort, softly massaging his scalp with my fingertips.

We sit like that for a long time. Edward turns the page of his book at regular intervals, but I haven't read a word since he laid his head on my lap. I don't care. What I am learning here, now, in this meadow, is infinitely more important than any knowledge I could ever get in a book.

* * *

_I am donating a Torn outtake to the Fandom for No Kid Hungry. Go here to donate and receive the compilation; you can donate until June first: fandomcause . info. More than 16 million American children don't know if they will eat today. Let's bring some awareness to that sad, sad fact, shall we?_


	60. Chapter 60

**A/N I don't own Twilight  
**

_Thanks for all the reviews and the heart-warming messages and tweets you have sent my way. Should this story disappear from FFN, I will post it elsewhere. Keep an eye on my profile for news.  
_

_Torn won second place in Best Angst in the Eclipse Awards! Thanks so much for voting!  
_

_As ever thanks to Sherry, Deb and Bob. You pull me through the roughest times.  
_

_This chapter is very, very special to me.  
_

_Music: Birdy - Shelter.  
_

* * *

_I think I am dreaming, but I can't be sure. I know this house – I know it well. I am on the couch. I'm snuggled up in an embrace, and somehow I know that it's Edward who is spooning me. He is sleeping, his breathing regular and deep. _

_For a long moment I am just lying here, feeling Edward's body heat against mine. I've never been this relaxed, not even when I was sleeping in my mother's arms. I scoot a little deeper into his embrace, and his arms tighten around me. _

_Yes, I think I like this. _

_But then I look around more carefully, and in the back of my mind, alarm registers. This is not the Cullens' house. This is Stefan's house, and this is Stefan's couch. My body tenses up immediately. The body behind me is no longer comforting, instead making me rigid in fear. _

_The arms that were around me in a comforting way, now turn constricting. And again it seems that I am misled, because it is not Stefan behind me. It is Laurent, and he is humming low in my hair. "Hmmm." _

_My breathing picks up, as does my heartbeat. I want away from here, but I know I can't. I must not fight. My mind repeats it like a mantra. I must not fight, I must not fight. _

_As I wait for what is going to happen, I start to register details around me. The old television is Laurent's. The smell of stale beer has disappeared, and instead I now smell coconut, coming from the oil that Laurent uses for those filthy dreadlocks he has. The scent is sickening, and I have to swallow several times to keep my sudden nausea under control. _

_I notice now I am sore, too. Down there. He came to my bedroom again last night. Already I have sworn to myself that he will never see me cry again. What he did yesterday when he saw my tears was disgusting. _

_My stomach churns uncomfortably again. I have to focus now, else I'll be sick and then I'll be in for it, for sure. I can't risk that. _

_His arms tighten once more, pressing down hard against my upset stomach. This is not good. I squirm without wanting to, trying to release the pressure. Laurent chuckles darkly behind me, and uses his full strength on my abdomen. _

_The pain is blinding, shooting up and down and obscuring my vision. It takes all I have not to move, to scream, to plead. I will never give him my voice. Ever. _

_Breathing is hard with him pressing down, and already I am starting to feel lightheaded. Somehow, this doesn't really frighten me, though. I know he likes to play these little games, and up till now he always let me go in time. I'm only thirteen, but I am smart enough to know that it would be somewhat inconvenient for him to get rid of a dead body. _

_He releases me quite suddenly, and I roll off the couch and to the ground. I scramble to my knees, disoriented. Turning to face him, I see not Laurent, but Edward sitting on the couch. He reaches out his hand to me as if to help me up, a smirk on his face. His eyes are dark, and I don't know him like this. _

"_What are you waiting for, baby girl?" he asks, the voice unmistakably his but the tone he uses unrecognizable. "Don't you trust me?" _

_When I hesitate to accept his hand, he stands up and lashes out. _

I open my eyes right at the moment I expected to feel his hand on my face. I'm hyperventilating, and my body is soaked in sweat. It takes me a minute to get untangled from the covers, hampered by the dampness that has seeped into them.

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I hide my face in my hands. What a horrible dream. I take a few deep breaths in the hopes of getting my breathing under control again. To see Edward so dark and dangerous was a complete mindfuck. Or was it a warning?

I look at my phone for the time. Four am. It's literally still the dead of night. In an hour or two though, it will be light out. Forcing my protesting muscles to move, I drag myself to the shower, as usual keeping the lights out while I'm in there.

The shower does little to calm my mind. Knowing full well I won't be able to sleep anymore anyway, I go down the stairs. I'm not sure what I am thinking to find there. But at least I'll be away from the bedroom, and that's a plus on any count.

The house is dark and quiet, and I relax a little in the peace it exudes. I can't find a fitting explanation for the dream I just had. It was such a stark contrast to the wonderful time Edward and I spent in the meadow yesterday. He had kept his head on my lap for a very long time, and all that time I had been caressing his hair.

He thanked me after, telling how incredibly nice it was to just have shared that time with me. There had been relief in his eyes for some reason, and I didn't know why. I couldn't bring myself to ask, though, so I had kept my mouth shut.

We have a lot of talking to do, I know. Not only about me and my past, but about 'us' as well. I'm not sure what defines 'us' right now, and how it will develop. Somehow though, the pace he is setting seems perfect. I've never felt like he was pushing me or anything. Still I can't help but wonder what is in this for him? How can being around someone like me ever be remotely satisfying? Hoping, of course, that he won't take what he wants when he loses his patience.

Maybe that is what the dream was about. My fear to really trust him played out in a horrible vision. What will happen when he loses his patience? Is it dangerous to let myself be lulled into safety around him? Then why did it feel so good in my dream to be lying with him like that?

I sigh, knowing that I won't get any answers, at least not tonight. Siobhan's words pop up in my memory. _What they did was wrong, Bella. They had no right to treat you like that._

Right or not, they did what they did. Wrong or not, it happened. And there's nothing that can prevent it from happening again. That's what bothers me the most. Nobody can promise me with absolute certainty that it won't happen again.

With this new knowledge in my head, I go back upstairs and type out a long mail to Siobhan, putting all my worries down after profound excuses for bothering her. But I have to get it out, and I feel that she would be someone who could help me with this.

When I'm done, the first grey streaks of dawn have started to appear in the sky. I go back downstairs again, not wanting to stay in my bedroom. I have a banana to quench the worst of my hunger and crawl onto the couch with the afghan and my ereader. Maybe I can focus on some words instead of my thoughts.

Before a few minutes have passed, I hear soft footsteps on the stairs. Lifting my head a little to look over the back of the couch, I see Edward stepping into view. I tense up immediately, the remnants of my dream still very much present in my memory.

"Hey," he says quietly, smiling sweetly. "Your shower woke me up. I tried to go back to sleep, but couldn't."

Oh, no. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

He shrugs it away, walking around the couch to come and sit with me. When he sees how tense I am, he checks, suddenly insecure.

"What's wrong?"

I take a breath to try and speak, but end up shaking my head. I don't think I can't tell him, no matter what medium I would use.

"Hey," he says again, sitting down on the couch next to me. I pull in my legs to make room for him, but don't miss the flash of pain that crosses over his face. He looks into my eyes searchingly, his brows knit together in confusion.

He reaches out his hand and I let him take the ereader from me, following his movements with my eyes as he places it on the coffee table. Then he scoots closer to me still, pulling my legs over his lap. I allow him to do this, but my back is rigid with fear.

"What happened?" he asks, his voice soft and so unlike the way he spoke to me in my dream. "Talk to me?"

I sigh deeply to try and get rid of some of the tension in my body. "I had a dream," finally leaves my mouth.

"Tell me," he coaxes, gently. His hand is on my thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing circles. I want to close my eyes at his touch, yet it's exactly what I felt my dream was trying to warn me for.

"I dreamed about you," I say quietly. My cheeks flush before I can continue speaking. "We... we were lying on the couch, and it was nice."

He smiles, looking a bit shy himself now.

I push on, haltingly. "But then it wasn't you anymore. I was back in my old home. It... it hurt. And then I was on the ground and I turned back and then it was you again."

I meet his gaze and he is looking at me intently, his gaze shifting between my eyes. "And then?"

My hands are fidgeting in my lap. It's so hard to talk about this. It's hard to talk at all.

"You said something like, 'what are you waiting for?' and then when I didn't accept your hand you..." I stop talking quite abruptly. It's too hard to say it out loud.

"I...? What did I do, Bella?"

I look away, swallowing thickly. It takes me a moment to form the words and push them out. "You lashed out."

He freezes. I can feel it, because he's still holding my legs against his body. When I look up at his face to gauge his reaction, he looks crestfallen.

"That must have been horrifying," he says, his voice a bit rough.

Hearing him say that, countering what he did in my dream so vehemently, relieves me a lot. I look at my hands again, unsure where to go from here. Being this close to him is at such odds with how I felt about him during and just after my dream. Finally, I opt to simply voice my thoughts.

"Your voice was so different," I say, the words ending in a whisper. "It was you, but it didn't sound like you at all."

"It wasn't me," he says quietly. "I would never do that, Bella. Ever." His voice is so intense and genuine that I look up to meet his eyes again. "It breaks my heart that you dream about such a thing, that you fear it."

His words could not have held more truth. I fear it. I will likely always fear it. Yet the desire to be closer to him still is blooming too, weaving through the fear, knotting up in my stomach and making me wonder if my brain and body even are aware of each other's wants.

Edward takes over from my conflicting emotions and leans in carefully, but determinedly, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me up and against him. Seemingly without any effort, I am in his lap again, cradled in his arms.

I take a shaky breath, aware that the coil in my stomach is definitely not just from fear this time.

"Nothing to fear," Edward murmurs, making sure I'm comfortable. He wraps the afghan around me better, providing me not only with warmth but also with some sense of protection.

It takes a few long minutes, but gradually, I relax again, realizing that part of the tension I hold is because I'm worried that I'll be too heavy on his lap. When I finally let go and sink into his embrace, he tightens his hold for a moment as a reassurance.

He leans his cheek on the top of my head and sighs slowly, clearly content. The relaxed emotion he exudes settles in my brain and body, relaxing me in turn.

"Do you know what I dreamed about?" he asks quietly. When I shake my head into his chest, he continues. "I dreamed about holding you like this again."

My lips curl into a smile and my eyes squeeze shut in delight at his admission. "I daydreamed about it," I admit quietly, and I can sense his answering smile.

"I hoped you did," he says.

I sigh, too, letting the last bits of tension flow away. "I like this," I whisper so softly I'm not even sure he heard it. But his arms tighten their embrace for a moment, pressing me tighter against him.

"Me, too," he replies, and then he presses a lingering kiss to the top of my head.

It's hard to believe that I am actually allowing this, that I am actually in Edward's arms. I can sense that he's relaxed underneath me. His heart is beating calmly, strongly, right where my ear is pressed against his chest.

What a treat, to be here like this. After a while I can even close my eyes, letting the joy of the moment settle in my bones.

**~O~**

"Can I ask you something? he asks, breaking the silence. It feels as if hours have passed, but I know it can't be more than maybe ten minutes.

I nod into his chest. I am vividly aware of every line of his body that is touching mine, and I remember what he looks like underneath his clothes, which makes this even more intimate for some reason. I can smell his scent clearly. It's soothing me for some reason. I feel safe.

"How does it feel for you to be speaking again?"

It takes me a moment to come up with an answer that contains more than an 'I don't know.' My fingertips trace the fabric of his sweater next to my face as I bite my lip, trying to put my thoughts into words.

"Strange. I've not spoken for so long, I forgot what it was like."

"I can imagine," he says quietly. "What does it feel like now?"

Although I know his question was never meant to bring up my darkest memories, I curl in on myself as they resurface all the same. Edward notices my movement and pulls back a little, trying to meet my gaze. I duck my head, unable to look at him.

"Bella?" he asks carefully, trying to look into my eyes again.

I start to move off his lap, sure that he will be done with me now.

"No, please don't go," he says quickly, even though his arms move away to give me space. "I didn't mean to upset you, I'm sorry."

I move off his lap anyway, sitting back on the couch next to him. The moment is broken, and I am back in the claws of my past.

"Please," Edward says again, his voice anxious. When I don't react, he cups my face in his hands, looking into my eyes even though I can hardly see anything. "Don't withdraw like this. Come back to me."

I blink, his words tugging at something deep inside of me; the part that longs to be held and cherished. The part that has dreamed every day for over ten years for someone to fight for me, to reach out and not give up after I pushed them away once, twice, a third time.

He comes back into focus slowly, and in his eyes I can see when he registers that I am back again. He smiles carefully, but clearly relieved.

"I'm sorry," he says again. "I didn't mean to upset you."

The reason why I pulled back to begin with resurfaces, and I break eye contact, exhaling.

"Talk to me?" he pleads, and I know he means in whichever way I want to.

Still, it takes me a few minutes to collect my thoughts. Edward waits patiently, and after a long moment, pulls me back against him gently, guiding my head to rest on his shoulder.

"It's okay," he says quietly.

It feels good to be close to him like this. There's just no way of denying it. I suppress a shudder, and work hard to stop myself from burying myself deeper into his side.

I have a question to answer.

"There's a reason I stopped talking," I finally whisper. He tenses slightly underneath me, and I can't read his reaction. He composes himself quickly however, rubbing my arm soothingly.

"Can you tell me what it is?"

I sigh. "I don't want to burden you with it."

"You won't burden me," he says immediately. "But I can tell it's weighing you down. Maybe you'll feel better when you talk about it?"

A bitter laugh escapes me, and I am startled by the sound. "It's how everything started," I say, frowning. "I talked."

In the silence that follows, I can almost hear Edward's mind working as things start clicking into place. He swallows thickly before he speaks. "You were told to stay silent?"

My mother's screeching voice is as clear in my memory as it was all those years ago.

I nod into Edward's chest. A strange form of anxiety has started to creep over my skin, as if every nerve is on edge it's the same kind of awareness I'd feel if I knew something bad was going to happen. Belatedly, I realize with painful clarity what exactly we are talking about, and the shame of it explodes in a hot blush on my cheeks.

"So you stopped talking entirely," he concludes, and I nod again, my heartbeat picking up until it's hammering heavily in my chest.

Without really thinking, I lift my right hand. The bandage is in the pocket of my sweater. I meant to put it on after my shower, but I forgot. I trace the scar in my palm with the index finger of my left hand unconsciously, thinking back to that blackest of all days.

Edward lifts his right arm from where it was around me and cups my hand, his thumb stroking the scar softly.

"That's when you got this, isn't it?" His voice is so soft, it's the breath of a whisper.

My answer, if possible, is even more quiet. "Yes."

I feel how Edward presses a kiss to the top of my head, rocking me ever so gently in his arms.

"No wonder you stopped talking," he says after a moment. "It must have been horrible."

The simple compassion he offers is unexpected and it's as if my chest cracks open at this admission of how gruesome my life really has been. I never wanted pity, but his easy acknowledgement of my pain rocks me to my core.

This time, I do give in and press my body deeper into his embrace, wanting the reassurance of affection. He replies in kind, pulling me against him.

Outside, it's almost fully light by now.

"I know that it's really wrong to say this right now, but I can't tell you how wonderful it is to have you in my arms like this."

I smile in spite of myself. "I'm not bothering you?"

He stills, then tilts his head to look at me, even though he can't see my face. "What? No. Why would you be?"

It takes me a moment to form my words. My throat is sore – talking this much apparently has more consequences than just the mental repercussions I feel.

"You don't think I'm needy?" I finally manage to croak out.

He chuckles gently. "Not at all. I want you in my arms just as much as you – hopefully – want to be. This is not a courtesy hug." I can hear the smile in his voice, but his words still reassure me somewhat.

"Bella, can I ask you something else?"

When I nod, he continues. "Why did you stay silent for so long?"

My breath catches when I try to inhale some air to speak. "My fault."

"What?" he asks, and I'm not sure if he's asking for a clarification or if he really didn't hear me. "What was? What happened to you? Because it wasn't. I thought we'd established that?"

"No, not that," I whisper with a frown. My back is beginning to tense up again, and I think Edward must feel it, too, because he starts rubbing it soothingly.

"It's okay, you can tell me if you want," he says quietly.

If I want... Do I want to? The reason my mother left is the one thing that nobody knows. Do I tell Edward this? Will he blame me, too, like Laurent did?

"She left," I say before I have decided if I even wanted to speak or not.

"Who?" he encourages. "Your mother?"

I nod, once.

Edward makes the connection quickly. "After you tried to tell her?"

"Yes." My voice breaks on the one syllable of the word. Tears well up quickly and spill over before I can stop them, rolling down my cheeks and disappearing into the fabric of Edward's sweater.

"Oh no," he moans. "Oh no, no, no. I can't believe that happened to you."

He rocks me gently as I cry, comforting both himself and me, I think.

But he didn't push me away. He doesn't blame me. He's not saying it's my fault that my mother left.

Still, I have to be sure. I hiccup a sob away and force myself to talk.

"You don't think it was my fault?" My voice is disappearing, used up after ten years of disuse.

"Oh god, never," he says fiercely. "Oh god, oh my god," he keeps murmuring, holding me against him so tightly that it would have alarmed me if it hadn't been Edward's arms around me.

A shivering breath escapes as the warmth of his comfort washes over me. His arms are strong around me, and for the first time I think, I feel safe and protected instead of restrained.

He doesn't think it's my fault that she left. His reaction is so fierce and genuine that I want to believe him. And maybe it's easier to do so because deep down I knew that what was happening, was wrong. It just was easier to make sense of it all if I reasoned that it was somehow my doing.

The expected storm of emotions doesn't happen, though. I feel strangely calm, detached. It almost feels as if Edward is bearing this grief for the both of us. My brain knows that it's too much for one person to carry.

"Edward," I can finally whisper after a few minutes.

His hearts stutters, and I can actually hear it because my ear is pressed against his chest.

"Say it again," he breathes, so softly I can barely hear it.

"Edward," I whisper, and again his heart seems to jolt, picking up speed.

He's reacting this strongly to me saying his name.

When I look up at him carefully, he's biting his lip to contain his joy. I can't help but smile back, amazed that one simple word could elicit such a strong reaction in him.

I have to finish what I wanted to say though. I sit up so I can look at him. His arms, I notice, don't leave me; his hands linger on my waist and leg, as if he doesn't want to break contact with me completely.

I realize I don't want him to break contact, either.

When I look into his eyes, they are clouded with sorrow again. He looks at me searchingly, and I straighten my shoulders a little so I can deliver my next line with conviction.

"Don't be sad for me."

He frowns, and his hand comes up slowly to cup my face, his thumb softly stroking my cheek. His palm is warm against my skin, and I want to lean into his touch.

"I can't help but be sad for all the horrors you have been through."

My answer surprises me more than it does him, maybe. "But I've been through them, and they're in the past. I want to focus on the present now, and on the future."

He nods slowly. "Maybe you're right. But you don't have to cover up your past for me, I want you to know that."

I want to tell him that covering up my past might be the only way to be able to live, and it might be the only way I will have others accept me for who I am. I want to tell him that my past is not important, and that I wish I could move on and leave it behind me.

But I know that everything but the last part is a lie. Covering up my past won't help; I know this. If others don't know about my past I won't ever believe they truly accept me, and no matter how much I don't want it to be, my past is important in the sense that it dictates most of my present life still.

Edward ducks his head to make me meet his gaze, and takes my left hand in his right. "I'm not sure if I can help you with your past. I mean, you can always talk to me if you want to, but maybe it's better to have professionals help you with that. But maybe I can help you with the present? Show you what life can be like, too."

I can only nod, and warmth spreads from my stomach throughout my body. Something extraordinary happened here in this early morning, and instead of feeling depressed by having opened up about my past, I feel relieved.

Sounds above us interrupt our bubble, and as soon as I hear footsteps on the stairs, I am up and away from the couch.

Esme steps into view and greets us with a quiet 'good morning' on her way to the kitchen.

I follow her with my eyes, and when she has rounded the corner I make the 'sorry' sign against my chest for Edward, who smiles and nods understandingly. Taking both my hands in his, he places a soft kiss against my forehead. When he pulls back, I find I am the one biting my lip to contain my silly smile. Edward grins boyishly, proudly, and steps back again.

"Let's start making some good memories," he whispers, and then he bounds up the stairs, leaving me to spend some quiet time with Esme.


	61. Chapter 61

**A/N Twilight is still not mine.**

_As ever, thank you so much for all your wonderful reviews and messages. I wish I could reply to more. Thanks also to Sherry for beta duties and for giving me the inspiration to write a child. Deb, Bob, you know what you mean to me. Aleea, stay strong, pretty lady._**  
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"Look who's here," Carlisle announces as he steps into the house.

Tiny footsteps race across the floor, and I kneel down with my arms wide open as Simon crashes into me without slowing down.

"Bella!" he says, hiding his face in my neck.

I hug him, reveling in how I can give him this affection and how easily he can ask for it. When I look up, I see Carlisle and Saskia beaming down at me.

"And here I was worrying that he might not like to go here," Saskia says with a smile.

I smile back at her and look on with the boy in my arms as Esme takes her coat and guides her to the kitchen table. They settle down easily and I move into the kitchen to make some coffee as Emmett and Jasper emerge from the living room to introduce themselves.

Simon lingers close to me, likely uneasy with Emmett's size. I let him help me by directing him to carry the sugar to the table. He does it proudly, carefully holding the porcelain jar in front of him as I follow with a tray with mugs.

"He's changed so much ever since you saw him in the hospital," Saskia tells me as she stirs her drink. "At first I really worried that he was going to have more trouble coming back to himself, but he really bloomed. I can't help but think that your presence helped a lot."

I blush under her unmistakable praise and look away, shy.

"How have you been?" Carlisle asks gently, and I listen as Saskia tells about her life in the safe house, about the women she has met there, and the support she has gotten. As I listen I watch Simon, who has finished his lemonade and is now looking decidedly bored.

I hold up my finger, letting him know that he should wait, that I will be right back, and I go to my room to fetch the crayons Siobhan gave me for Christmas. I hope we have some white paper in the house, too, because I don't want Simon to have to draw on notepad sheets.

Just before I leave my room, I think of something else. I dive into my closet and run back down the stairs, to show Simon what I have for him.

His eyes light up when he sees the crayons, the colors soft yet bright in the box.

Rosalie walks into the kitchen just then, introducing herself to Saskia and Simon. "You need proper paper for that," she tells Simon decidedly when she sees my crayons. "Beautiful drawings should be made on beautiful paper. Let me get some for you."

She disappears up the stairs and comes back a moment later with the thick parchment she uses for her charcoal drawings. I know that stuff is expensive and I shake my head at her. It's too much.

"It's a gift, Bella," she says quietly, with knowing eyes. "I get to decide how much I give away of my own stuff, don't you think?"

Of course she's right, and I thank her by making the Namaste gesture against my chest and forehead.

"You're welcome," she says with a smile, and then she goes into the living room, where Emmett and Jasper are playing a video game.

Turning back to Simon, I hold up the big t-shirt I took from my closet upstairs. These crayons leave stains in your clothing you won't ever get out again, and I don't want his things ruined. He holds out his hands so I can pull the garment over his head. It looks funny on him, but at least his clothes will be protected.

We ignore the grown-ups as we draw. I'm not good at it at all, but Simon didn't want to draw by himself, so I joined in. When he is done, he holds it up for us to see.

"This is you," he says, pointing at one figure on the paper. "You're pretty."

I can only smile at him.

"Will you join us for dinner?" Esme asks Saskia.

"Oh, I don't want to be a bother," she says politely.

"Nonsense. Rosalie and Emmett won't be home for dinner anyway, so we have enough room at the table."

"Well, all right. Thank you, I'd love to. Let me just text the safe house that I'll be back later."

Having them over for dinner gives me an idea. Theirs is more than enough time before we have to start cooking, so I take Simon's hand and walk with him to the kitchen counter. The shirt I gave him is completely clean, surprisingly. He's a tidy little boy.

He looks at me curiously as I take out the things I will need: flour, butter, sugar, eggs. I also get out the fondant I bought in multiple colors, to decorate the cupcakes we are going to make.

Now I wish I could talk to him. Tell him what we are going to do, and what I want him to do. But I can't, and so I have to make do with other means of communication. I reach out my hands, and he immediately understands that I want to pick him up. My wrist protests from the strain when I lift him carefully, mindful of his ribs that still have to be sore, but I sit Simon down on the counter easily.

An added advantage of his position up here is that I can stay in between him and Carlisle. My gut feeling and my gut instinct are at war over this. My instinct tells me to protect the defenseless child, yet my gut feeling has learned over time that Carlisle is harmless, not to be feared.

I focus on the task at hand to distract myself, and take off Simon's shoes so he can crawl on the counter as he wishes. I keep a close eye on him, making sure he won't fall. He's big enough to know how to stay put though, and I am confident in his skills.

His eyes go bright when he sees what we are going to do. I help him break the eggs in a bowl, quickly fishing out the bits of shell that fall into it. Giving him a fork so he can stir the eggs loose, I measure butter, flour and other ingredients, adding them to the bowl as Simon stirs it all, looking proud.

"Mommy never lets me do this," he says as if he is telling a secret.

Again, I can only smile. I take over from him to mix the dough with more power, and then he helps me to fill the cupcake forms. He watches me intently when I place the forms in the oven, and then he looks at me with a question in his eyes.

Oh Simon, I think, the fun is just about to start. I take the fondant, laying out green, red, blue and white. I would have made it myself, but there's no time for that now. Simon looks closely as I start to make tiny flowers we can put on the cupcakes when they are done. A wide smile lighting up his face, he asks me if he can do that, too.

I nod. Of course he can, that's part of the plan. I help him make a butterfly and a flower, which turn out bigger than mine but might still fit on the cupcakes, but then he is clearly lost as to what other decorations he can make. Acting as if I don't notice how he is observing me, I start making letters for the fondant. B, E, L… Simon catches on quickly and makes the letters for his own name, albeit a bit crudely, and then also spells out 'mom' in red.

Since we have to wait for the cupcakes to be ready, I place Simon back onto the ground again. He walks over to Saskia, crawling on her lap and putting his thumb in his mouth.

"Maybe you can ask those boys in the living room to play with you," she says softly as she strokes his hair.

He shakes his head.

"Has he seen the library yet?" Esme asks me. When I shake my head, she smiles. "Maybe he would like to go there. Try out the rocking chair. There are a lot of children's books on the left shelves."

I nod, taking her hint to leave the room for a little while. They're talking about the impending law suit against Simon's father, and although I know that Esme doesn't mean for me to be away, she wants to protect Simon from it all.

I take Simon's hand as he hops off his mother's lap. His eyes are wide as saucers when he sees the piano.

"Can I touch it?" he asks me.

It pains me to have to say no. But this piano is Edward's, and Edward's alone. It was the first solid rule I got in this house.

His face falls. "Oh. Maybe later?"

I nod in promise, and open the library door for him.

"Wow, those are a lot of books!" He walks further into the room, his mouth hanging open.

I smile at his wonder, remembering the first time I set foot in this room. His gaze turns to me, honest and open.

"If you don't speak, can I read a story to you?"

His question delights me and I nod eagerly. He sets out to choose a book and comes back with _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_. When I sit down in the rocking chair, I help him to clamber onto my lap, and again I feel overwhelmed by his trust, his innocence. I think back to this early morning, when I spent a long time in Edward's lap like this. I imagine he felt then like I do with Simon, only different, maybe. Hopefully? I'm not sure.

All I know is that it felt good to be in his arms like that. Safe. _Wanted._

"The very hungry caterpillar," Simon announces, stroking the cover of the book. "Once upon a time…"

I listen to his story, relishing how his body is warm against mine as I rock the chair gently. Simon isn't reading the words — I doubt he can read at all or as fast as he pretends he does, actually, but he must know the story by heart, because he puts up a good rendition of it.

When he is done, he closes the book with a contented sigh and curls up against my chest.

"I like rocking chairs. We used to have one at home. Not at the shelter," he says, his voice growing soft. "Mommy says we are never going home again."

I hug him closer, trying to give him comfort in any way I can.

"Mommy says it wasn't our fault, that it was daddy's. Daddy hurt me really bad. But if it was his fault, then why did we have to move out?"

The hurt is clear in his words and my heart stutters at his clear view on life. Indeed – why do the victims have to move away? I know I have been wondering about that for a long time, and the only conclusion I could come to that it was my fault in some way, so I had to bear the consequences.

I know the cupcakes will be done soon, so after a long moment of silence, I break our bubble and get up with him in my arms. It breaks me that I can't answer his questions, but he seems to be all right with my silence. I set him down on the kitchen counter again and get the cupcakes from the oven. They have to cool for a bit before we can put on the decorations.

"Hmm, that smells amazing," Edward says as he steps into the kitchen. I haven't seen him since this morning, and I gasp softly when I meet his gaze. There's something there, something I felt this morning, too. Something nice and warm tugging at me, making me want to smile but scaring me shitless at the same time.

Edward holds my gaze, smiling at me, telling me with his eyes that he is thinking back to this morning, too.

"Are they cold enough yet?" Simon asks behind me, breaking the moment.

"Are you going to decorate them?" Edward asks him. "I am Edward, by the way. Who are you?"

"I'm Simon," he says proudly, shaking Edward's hand when he offers it to him. "We made cupcakes. I helped."

"Did you, now? Then they must be amazing. Maybe even better than when Bella makes them," he teases, and Simon grins.

"They're not done yet. We have decorations, too."

"Do you think Bella would let me have one without the decorations? I don't think I can wait so long."

Simon looks up at Edward's tall form with wide eyes. "Maybe you should ask her. Mommy says you always have to ask for candy."

Edward chuckles and turns to me, and fuck if he isn't putting on his puppy dog eyes. "Can I have one? Please?"

I shake my head and hold up five fingers: he has to wait five more minutes. He pouts, his lower lip jutting out adorably.

With more curiosity than apprehension, I wonder if he is going to respect my making him wait, or if he will just go ahead and take one. He seems to go for the first as he walks over to the fridge to fetch himself a drink.

"I saw the piano," Simon says with his childish innocence. "But Bella said I wasn't allowed to touch it."

I cringe at how his words can come across, and wince even more when Edward's eyes flash up to mine. He's visibly thinking before he speaks. "Can you play?"

"No, silly," Simon says with a grin. "Can you?"

"I can, actually," Edward says. "The piano is mine."

"Wow, it's all yours?"

"Yes sir, it is."

"Can I play?"

"Hmm," Edward says, thinking for a moment. It's amazing to see him with children. He's so relaxed and he looks way older than his seventeen years. "I think your mommy wants to talk with my mom. And if you'd play, they wouldn't be able to hear each other anymore."

"Oh," Simon says, clearly disappointed.

"On the bright side, I think those cupcakes may have cooled enough now to decorate?" Edward looks at me as he asks this, and I nod with a smile. A wicked gleam comes to his eyes. "Good," he says, and he snatches a cupcake from the plate before I can stop him.

He breaks off a piece and pops it into his mouth, closing his eyes as he moans. "These are really good," he tells me. "Have you tried them yet?"

I shake my head, no. I want to decorate them still and besides, I'm familiar with the taste of my own cupcakes.

"Try," Edward says, holding out a piece of the cupcake for me. I reach out my hand to take it from him, but he pulls back, a gleam in his eyes. "Try," he says again, softer now.

To my right, I can hear the soft conversation between Saskia, Carlisle and Esme. Simon is sitting to my left, admiring the cupcakes.

Edward prompts me by raising his hand again, and it takes me a moment to realize that he is intending to feed me. My gaze meets his, and he smiles. "Do it," he whispers, and with a hammering heart, I lean in so he can feed me the piece of cake.

I don't miss his subtle, but clearly there gasp as his fingertips touch my lips. I'm completely lost for a moment, almost forgetting to chew.

He just _fed_ me.

And I _let_ him.

"Can we decorate the cupcakes now?" Simon asks, pulling me from my trance.

I blink and come back to my senses. When I nod, I glance over to the kitchen table, and see that Carlisle is looking at me, an amused look in his eyes. My blush explodes, the heat crawling all the way down to my chest, and I wrench my gaze away from him to focus on those cupcakes. Edward disappears from the kitchen, but since I refuse to look up, I have no idea where he went.

As we decorate the tiny cakes, my mind wanders though, and an eerie sense of apprehension settles in my stomach. What if Carlisle doesn't like what he saw? I mean, Esme kind of gave me her approval, but Carlisle hasn't yet. It seems likely to me that he wouldn't like Edward spending so much time with me. He's destined for great things, and he can't have something - or someone - hampering his progression in life.

"Done," Simon announces proudly, pulling me from my thoughts once more. I smile brightly at his artwork and produce a cupcake standard from one of the cabinets. Simon helps me place the cupcakes on it, and then impatiently waits for me to put him down on the ground again. Then he runs to his mother.

"No running inside the house," she chides him good-naturedly, even as he exclaims that the cupcakes are done.

I place the standard on the table with a smile, but when Carlisle meets my gaze, my face turns sober. He looks at me searchingly, but I move away from the table, even when Esme invites me to sit with them.

Since Simon is now sitting on his mother's lap again and I am forgotten, I wander into the living room. I need to breathe. So much is happening, and I can't seem to process it all. I push things away to think about later, but I rarely have time or energy to come back to them and actually think them over.

Jasper and Emmett are still playing in the living room. Edward isn't here, so maybe he went upstairs.

"Bellabella, your timing is perfect," Emmett says as he notices me standing near the doorway. "I have to go, so will you play with Jasper?"

Jasper looks up at me and smiles, his dirty blond curls bouncing as he moves his head. I think back to the picture album he gave me and nod with conviction.

It's unbelievable, and unnerving to be honest, to realize that my fear around the men in this house seems to be less.

"Awesome," Emmett says, hopping up from the couch and pressing the controller in my hands. "I'm going out for dinner with my Rosie. Pre-birthday gift," he says with a smirk. "But first, I want one of those cupcakes you made."

He skips into the kitchen and I chuckle soundlessly. He can be really funny, once you get over how big he is.

I play with Jasper until it's high time to start dinner. I lose soundly from him, even when he obviously tries to let me win. But he doesn't seem displeased and no snide comments about my incapability comes.

"We have to play this more often," he simply says. "So you can practice."

The idea that he wants to help me warms my heart and my smile is as bright as my relief, it seems. He beams back at me, but looks disappointed when I place the controller on the table.

I point into the direction of the kitchen, and he nods, though the question is clear in his eyes.

"I'll play by myself then for a while," he says, and exits the multiplayer game to start another one.

I hate to disappoint him, but I have to cook, right?

When I step back into the kitchen, Simon's eyes light up.

"Miss Esme said we could have pancakes," he says happily, beaming.

Well, pancakes it is then.

I hold out my hand in invitation and his smile turns even brighter. "Oh boy, I can help again?"

I nod, and once again he is placed onto the kitchen counter, proudly stirring the pancake mix with the most serious look plastered on his face. When it comes to the cooking part however, I make sure he stays away from the heat of the stove.

He gasps in awe when I flip the pancakes in the air, but I nearly drop the pan to the floor when Carlisle speaks.

"Please mind your wrist, Bella. You're not telling me that it doesn't hurt to use your arm like that."

I swallow thickly, worried even more now that I have displeased him - first with Edward and now with my hand, and I don't look up anymore until I'm done and Simon helps me set the table.

"Does Bella always cook?" Saskia asks as I rummage through the cabinets for toppings.

"Yes, or very often, at least. She likes to cook, but I think it also gives her a sense of duty, of being useful." Esme's voice is soft, filled with something I can't identify but it feels good to hear her talk about me in this tone.

On my way back to the table, Saskia catches my gaze, but she doesn't speak. A silent understanding passes between us and she takes the powder sugar from me, placing it on the table.

Then she looks at her son. "Go wash up before dinner, sweetheart."

Dinner passes with easy conversation, but I can't eat. I try to disguise it by making sure everybody has something to drink, and nothing else is lacking. Alice looks at me with worry in her big eyes, but she doesn't know what to say.

I think almost everybody notices I am not eating. Edward, who is sitting closest to me, tries to encourage me at one point, but I can't. There's too much stress and I'm not even hungry. Because of the stress, likely.

After dinner, Saskia and Simon have to get going, because Simon really should go to bed. She thanks us all for a lovely afternoon, and her eyes light up when Esme tells her she would love to see her again.

At the door, Esme and Carlisle retreat subtly and I am left with Saskia, a very sleepy Simon in her arms.

"Stay strong," she tells me, her eyes fierce. "You've come really far. Carlisle told me a bit of your past. You can overcome this. You have survived so far, but now it's time you start to live."

Her words float into my brain, stirring up some things that have lain dormant for a very long time. I thank her with a nod and she smiles before she steps out the door. I follow her with my eyes as she straps Simon into the car seat and then gets behind the wheel.

She escaped. She escaped and took her child with her to safety. My mother left without me and never looked back.

But I escaped, too. I fought back and I left, and now I am here, and already, thankfully, I am forgetting the pain of the beatings, the insults, the abuse.

I wrap my arms around myself and say outside for a moment, willing my tears back before I face the others again. The realization that has been circling around me all day, comes in so suddenly that I gasp.

Saskia let me be close to Simon all afternoon, and not once did she express concern about the safety of her son. I have thought for so long it was always me, my fault, and that people would stay away from me by default. Yet, she knows a bit about my past, like she said, and still she allows me to play with her son.

Does that mean I am not automatically a bad person? It fits with everything I have learned over the last few months. It's nerve racking and exhilarating at the same time, and I grin to myself.

Maybe I'm not that bad after all.

I stay upstairs until it's time to go to bed, studying. The end of year tests are coming up and I want to do well in school. Edward and I have to finish our project for Biology as well sometime during the upcoming week. Maybe I should go and ask him about that, so we can plan.

Knowing full well how silly my excuse is, I still open the bedroom door, intending to go to Edward's room and ask him about the planning. When I hear voices coming from downstairs, I stop in my tracks. Carlisle and Esme are talking, and they are talking about me.

I can't help myself. I tiptoe a few steps down the stairs, and listen.

"I'm worried about her, though," Esme says forlornly.

"Why?" Carlisle asks, his voice a murmur.

"Do you think she's ready for this?"

For what?

"I don't know. We will have to trust that she can make her boundaries known if she needs to," Carlisle says. "She does with every other aspect in her life, so why not with this?"

With _what_?

Silence stretches, until Carlisle speaks again. "Are you worried that she's going to build her strength on him alone?"

"No, I don't know. I don't think so. She's smarter than that. And he wouldn't allow it. But when I look at them... I don't want either of them to get hurt." Esme's voice is thick with worry.

I think she's talking about Edward.

"I think Edward is smart enough to know what is the best way to go. Did you see how he got her to accept that cupcake earlier?"

A soft chuckle. "I did. But I also saw how she seemed to distance herself from us right after that."

"Ah, yes, I noticed that, too. Why do you think that is?"

Another short silence. "I think she's afraid of your disapproval, mostly. You're the leader of the household."

"Do you think I should tell her how much I approve of her reaching out like this?"

Carlisle's words make my heart skip a beat. He approves?

"Maybe," Esme says. "Maybe it's the only way for her to learn that you don't mean her any harm."

"I think that deep down, she knows this. She was in my office after all, asking me for help with her wrist. That must have been a huge leap for her."

Esme chuckles again. "Somehow I am convinced that Edward was behind that in some way."

"He's good for her," Carlisle agrees.

"She's good for him," Esme adds. "I've not seen him this happy in a very, very long time."

"They have a long way to go though," Carlisle muses. "Edward is so scared of messing up with her."

"It's a learning curve," Esme admits. "For the both of them."

The conversation falls silent then, and I stay on the steps for a minute, thinking over what I just heard. It's clear they don't mind I'm so involved with Edward. There was no hint of them disagreeing, of me hampering their son in whatever way.

In fact, they talked about me with as much warmth in their voice as they talked about Edward. But what had Carlisle said? That Edward is scared of messing up? What would he mess up? Is he playing a game to lure me in, or is he afraid to scare me away?

Suddenly afraid of those questions, I slip back into my room and crawl into bed without taking my second shower of the day. I need to talk to Edward, but how do I do that?

**~O~**

"How about we drive to Port Angeles after school?" Alice says during lunch the next day. "I want to look for dresses before all the good ones will have gone."

"Yes, good idea. I want something new for Emmett's birthday, too," Rosalie answers. "Are you free this afternoon, Bella? You don't have therapy, right?"

Her words catch me off guard and I shake my head to answer her question.

"Good, then will you come with us? We need your opinion."

I think I gulp a bit, but Alice smiles reassuringly at me. "You have a good eye for these things, sweetie. And I think you can use some fresh air, am I right?"

She is right. I can't go out much because I have no means of transportation.

After school we wait until Rosalie is done with her last lesson as well. Edward sticks around and we finalize our plans for the Biology project, and when Rosalie appears, Edward says goodbye.

It's pissing down when we bolt for Rosalie's car, and it's slow going on the road because it's raining so hard. But we make good time after all and we have a few hours left for shopping after Rosalie parks her car in the garage.

Alice surprises the shit out of me by hooking her arm through mine as we start walking. "So we both fit under the umbrella," she says with a gleam in her eyes. I can't reply, but I do notice how I don't mind holding her arm.

It just amazes me to no end that people actually want to be close to me.

We browse through a few shops, or at least Alice and Rosalie go through the dresses and I look out of the window. I'm not bored - I rarely am. I am content to wait for them, happy that they want me along without making me feel a courtesy invitation.

To my horror, I see Lauren and some other girl across the street. Looks like they are dress shopping, too. I consider telling Alice and Rosalie that she's here, but they both would likely ignore it, so I try to do the same.

"This shop has nothing," Alice sighs. "Are you ready to go, Rose?"

"Yeah," Rosalie mutters with a frown. "I thought there would be more."

Alice takes my arm again and we go to the next store. I can tell that they have better choices here, and Alice and Rosalie start browsing the racks immediately.

"Hey," Alice says, pulling me from my thoughts, "if you would wear a dress, what would you like best?"

Me, in a dress? The thought alone is preposterous. I shake my head. I would never wear a dress. I would never expose so much of my skin and besides, I have scars all over my body. Nobody has to see that.

"Just for hypothetical reasons," Alice coaxes. "What would you like?"

I shoot her a look of quiet despair but do as she asks and start browsing the racks. Of course I know what dress I would like to wear. I used to dream about things like that, when I was a little girl.

"Something like this?" Rosalie suddenly says, holding up a moss green, long dress. It looks like satin or silk. I look closely at the dress, trying to envision her in it.

"For you," she clarifies, and my eyes grow wide. Rosalie chuckles and hands me the dress. It _is_ beautiful, there is no way of denying it. A wide front neckline and a back that dips halfway down my spine. It's a floor length dress, the narrow waist flaring out at just above the knee. A shawl in matching color and fabric completes the attire.

"I'd love to see you in that," Alice says quietly behind me. "Can we convince you to try it on?"

My head whips around to look at her, my eyes wide. I couldn't wear such a pretty dress. I am too ugly for such a beautiful piece of work. Besides, I won't change in a public location. Not even with the dressing room curtains closed.

"Keep your longsleeve under it," Rosalie says quietly, stepping closer so she can be heard. "You can even keep your trousers on. But I'd love to see you in this. Will you do that for us?"

Swallowing thickly, unable to battle the fierce desire to wear a dress as beautiful as this, I decide to indulge. I am not going to buy it, anyway.

"Shall I come in to help you change?" Rosalie asks when I move to a cabin.

I shake my head, no, and take off my coat with trembling hands when I have closed the curtain of the dressing room.

"We're right here," Alice says sweetly. "Nobody can come in."

Her simple reassurance puts me at ease enormously, and I pull my sweater over my head. I keep on my long sleeve, even though I am dressed way too warmly for the time of the year. There's safety in layers, so layers I wear.

I drape the dress over my head, the silky feel of the fabric soft against my face. It bulges at the band of my trousers, but no way that I am taking my jeans off. It's a bit too long for me, but I guess that's because you're supposed to wear heels underneath it.

It's beautiful. I swallow the sudden lump in my throat away as I catch sight of myself in the mirror.

"Can I come in?" Alice asks. I hold the curtain aside so she can slip in, followed by Rosalie. The dressing rooms are spacious enough for it not to feel cramped, even with the three of us in here.

Alice gasps as Rosalie beams. "This is stunning, absolutely stunning on you," she says.

Alice plucks her phone from her pocket. "Can I take a picture? Just to remember this color on you. It's beautiful."

She snaps a shot before I can stop her, but when I reach out my hand, silently asking for her phone, she hands it to me. I type quickly.

_Ugly_

"What, the dress?" she asks, lost.

I shake my head, and she's confused before her eyes widen. "You mean you?"

"Absolutely not," Rosalie says with conviction. "You are a very pretty girl, Bella. Anybody who told you otherwise, lied."

I sigh and look at my feet, now hidden underneath the skirt of the dress. I _am _ugly, and not only because of the scars that litter my body. I don't deserve to wear a pretty dress like this.

"We'll leave you, so you can take it off," Rosalie says quietly. "Don't get a panic attack, okay? There's no need for that."

Her words catch me off guard and I need a moment to collect myself after they have slipped out of the dressing room again. Unable to stop myself, I look in the mirror again. The dress _is_ beautiful and the color suits me. But I don't deserve it, and so I take it off again, careful not to make any creases in it.

When I step out of the dressing room, dress over my arm, Rosalie and Alice are waiting for me. "We both have things we want to try on, too. Can you wait for us?"

I nod and sit down in a chair, keeping both their purses with me. The green dress I drape over the chair next to me. I'll have to figure out where Rosalie got it from, so I can put it back.

My spine tenses up when I hear Lauren's voice behind me, chattering away about prom and her date.

"I mean, he hasn't said yes yet, but I'm sure he will. I've seen him looking at me."

The other girl chuckles. "Edward never looks at any girl. He never even really looked at Jessica when they were dating."

"Can't blame him," Lauren says nastily. "I mean, she's not much to look at, is she?"

I grit my teeth at her rude comments. As much as I don't like Jessica, she doesn't deserve to be talked about like this.

"Whatever, Lauren. It's just that I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't go to prom with you at all."

"He's bound to come, and then when he's there, I can snatch him up for a dance. He'll be too polite to refuse."

"If you say so," the girl says, bored. "Do you like this dress?"

"No, I want something with a deep neck. And you might as well start becoming more supportive, if you want to be my friend."

"Sorry, Lauren. I just don't want you to get disappointed, is all."

"I always get what I want," she says. "My, look who's here."

The voices have reached me, and I know that Lauren is talking about me now.

"What are you doing here, Bella?"

She knows full well that I can't answer her, so I try to ignore her as thoroughly as possible. I hope Alice and Rosalie will come out of their dressing rooms soon, so they can help me… or something.

"Are you planning on buying this dress?" Lauren asks, snatching the green dress up.

I shake my head, stunned. She sneers at me, her eyes dark. "That's better, too. You would never be able to pull off wearing a dress like that. You'd look like a monstrosity."

Her words sting, even though I think she's right. I look away from her, focusing on my hands in my lap. Lauren laughs quietly, her tone sickeningly satisfied, and walks away to the other side of the store, where there are dressing rooms too.

"What just happened?" Rosalie asks as she steps out from behind the curtain, taking in my ashen face.

I try to shrug it away, but she kneels in front of me and presses her phone into my hands. "Please talk to us."

I type the name 'Lauren.' Alice comes out at that moment as well, wearing a black and white piece I immediately know she will have to buy. The look of concern on her face tugs at me, and she begs me to tell them more.

Then her gaze falls to the empty chair next to me. "Where's the dress?"

_Lauren took it with her_

"She did what?" Alice is incredulous.

_Said I could never pull off wearing that anyway. She was right_

"I disagree," Rosalie murmurs, her eyes fierce. "If anyone _can't_ wear a dress that beautiful, it's miss Cheapside Mallory over there."

_I didn't want the dress anyway_

I show the words to Rosalie, and she shakes her head sadly. "Maybe someday, hopefully, you will see yourself as you really are."

I doubt it.

**~O~**

After dinner, Edward invites me to come up to his room to finish up the Biology assignment. We're actually a bit ahead of schedule, so with a little luck we can finish it tonight and take it easy for the rest of the week.

We work mostly in silence, doing research and taking notes. I had the idea of adding a chapter to our paper in which we interview the fictive characters that were stranded on the island and had to find ways to survive – the assignment was set up like that at the beginning.

Edward loves the idea and so I am trying to think of questions and their possible answers. It's almost ten when he sits up and stretches, reaching his arms above his head as he stifles a yawn.

"I've had enough for today. How about you?"

I nod. I can go on all night, but I can't expect that from others, I know.

I've been quiet tonight. I would have expected myself being able to speak once we were alone, but it didn't happen, and now I'm a bit worried that I will have lost my voice forever again.

Edward gets up and walks over to his couch, turning on his TV and flipping through the channels. There's not much interesting on, and in the end he settles on a documentary about hurricanes.

From his desk I can feel him looking at me closely, and I feel my face grow hot under his gaze.

"What's wrong?" he asks, a mixture of curiosity and worry in his voice.

I shake my head, unable to speak. I guess it bears testament to how well he knows me, or how obvious I am, because he guesses right immediately.

"Feel like you spoke too much?"

I nod, lost.

He opens his arms in invitation. "Come here."

Seeing the hesitation in my gaze, he smiles. "Come sit with me. I want you to."

"Are you sure?" I ask, shy. The relief of having my voice back battles with the worry that I'm bothering him with my need for contact.

"I am. I wouldn't be asking you if I wasn't."

There's logic in that, so I get up from my chair, only now feeling how stiff my back has become. Going over to the couch slowly, I carefully keep analyzing his face, his eyes, for any sign of annoyance or anger. I can't find any.

I sit down on the couch, not very close to him, but not as far as I would have done, either. I send a tentative smile his way, and he chuckles.

"I still don't bite."

I gasp out a quiet laugh, and he takes it as an invitation to scoot closer to me. I let him take my hand, and my breath hitches when he kisses the backs of my fingers first, before he nips ever so lightly at them with his teeth.

"Oops, I guess I do bite."

There's something in his eyes… Something dark and hungry and soft and clear, and deep down in my brain, my body, something uncurls and reaches out to what I see in his gaze. My breathing picks up speed as I let the feeling wash over me, filling me up from the inside out, until my free hand moves up out of its own volition and cups his face.

His eyes close a little when my skin touches his, and I can feel the soft hair at his temples against my fingertips when he leans into my touch. It's all I can do to just keep breathing, and I let myself get lost in the deep green of his eyes. I don't even look away when he lifts my right hand, still intertwined with his, and presses it against his chest.

His heart is beating as wildly as mine.

His unspoken message is clear and the corners of my mouth lift in a smile, and he smiles back at me, squeezing my hand.

We sit like this for a while, until both my heart and his calm down again. Nothing else happens, and I am grateful for that. It seems as if this is enough for Edward as well, right now, and the thought alone relieves me immensely.

Eventually we have to break up and get ready for bed. Edward actually walks me to the door of his room and when I meet his gaze, shy again, he smiles. Then he leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead, just like he did yesterday. The gesture is so loving yet intimate that goose bumps fly over my body at his touch.

When I step out of Edward's room, Rosalie is just on her way to the bedroom. She catches my gaze and smiles brightly, holding up her thumb with a questioning look in her eyes.

When I nod, as red as a tomato, she beams and mouths, 'go girl!' before she slips out of sight.

I want to giggle, I want to dance. I want to run and shout, there is so much energy bubbling inside me right now.

Biting my lip, I close my eyes and revel in the feeling. I guess this is what falling in love must feel like.

* * *

_*squeals*_


	62. Chapter 62

**A/N I don't own Twilight**

_As ever, thank you so much for your continuing support of this story. I couldn't have done this without you, dear reader. _

_Thanks to Sherry for blitz beta duties, to Deb for being awesome, and to Bob, who simply rules. I'm thinking of you, sweetheart, and I'll hold your hand mentally tomorrow.  
_

_This chapter is slightly shorter and feels a bit meh to me. But like real life, it can't always be fireworks, right?  
_

* * *

When Siobhan brings up the mail I sent her during the weekend, it takes me some effort to go back to how I felt that morning.

I sent her that mail after the nightmare, but before I spent a long time sitting with Edward, talking about things I never thought I would share with anyone.

And he didn't judge, or pull away, or sneer.

Siobhan talks to me about assumptions, fear of rejection, and some other things, but it all feels a bit irrelevant to me. I just want to spend more time with Edward, and from what I overheard Carlisle and Esme saying before, it's likely that he wants to spend time with me, too.

And they seem to be okay with that.

To my surprise, my therapist ends the session with the proposition to start seeing each other once a week instead of twice. My mind flares with the relief I won't have to bother the others for transport as often. Also, it means I will have more free time to do things I like, at least as soon as this stupid wrist heals a bit.

We agree that next Friday I will tell her which day I prefer to have a session from now on.

"You're doing well, Bella," Siobhan says as she walks me to the door of her office. "I am seeing good changes in you. Keep going."

Edward is waiting for me in the deserted waiting room when I step out, and he smiles when I meet his eyes. "I know the weather is horrible, but we can run to the mall quickly for a birthday gift for Emmett?"

I look at my watch. We'll be late for dinner if we do that.

"I was also hoping that you might want to go to a café for a bite to eat with me?"

Even though I don't want to, my blush flares. "You mean like a date?"

He laughs adorably, letting his head fall back. Then he looks back at me and reaches for my left hand to squeeze it.

"That depends. Will you still come along if I say yes?"

I bite my lip, but still I smile. Suddenly shy, I look away from him. Edward caresses the back of my hand with his thumb.

"Say yes," he coaxes.

I look back at him, nerves exploding in my stomach for some reason as I take a breath to speak.

"Yes."

He smiles winningly and tugs me along. "You totally just spoke in public, in case you didn't notice," he says as he looks down at me.

Oh my God! I did, didn't I?

He laughs again and we run across the street to the mall, which thankfully has a roof over it. I try to pull my fingers through my wet hair, but end up getting stuck in the tangles. I must look horrible, but when I look up at Edward, I can see that his hair is flopping down over his forehead too, wet drops dripping down his face.

"Welcome to the most rainy area of the United States," he says with a grin. "Now, what do we buy Emmett?"

I know he mentioned needing new sports gear, but when I try to tell Edward this, everything blocks and I am mute again.

Shit.

"It's okay," he soothes me. "Write it on your phone."

I type what I can't say and he agrees with my idea, so we set out for the nearest sports store we can find. We even find some things we can buy for Emmett, and even though it won't be the most inspirational gift ever, Edward assures me that these are the things that make Emmett happiest.

After he has called home to inform them we'll be late, he leads the way to a tiny café. The atmosphere inside is lovely, and the way the booths are placed gives everyone a lot of privacy. Edward finds us a place in the back and as I slide onto the bench, he takes the chair across from me as he shrugs out of his coat.

"Are you okay? Because I'm expecting you to actually eat something here, too."

I have to laugh at his observation, even though no sound comes out. Damn. Would I have been able to talk still if he hadn't mentioned I was talking in public? I don't know.

I don't understand either why staying silent or talking doesn't seem to be a voluntary choice. I would have thought I could control it myself once I had my voice back.

A waitress brings us the menu and Edward places our order when we've made a decision. When the woman is gone again, he looks at me with humor in his eyes.

"You look like you're about to face the Spanish Inquisition."

He makes me laugh again, and I look away, breaking his intense gaze. Then I shrug.

"It's just all new."

And then my face almost cracks with the width of my grin. I did it, I talked again. Apparently I can do it when I'm distracted enough. Which is as great as it is scary, since I really thought I would have more control over it all.

But, if I could say something just now, maybe I can do it again.

"Thanks for taking me here," I try, and it works, even though the words are softer than I anticipated.

He chuckles. "Are you kidding me? I'm doing this solely for my pleasure."

I look at him more closely and see that he is truly joking. I shake my head with a tiny smile, uncertain.

His lingering smile turns into a laugh and he reaches out over the table, placing his hand over mine and squeezing.

"Okay. First question. What's your favorite color?"

My own smile widens as I realize he's continuing the Spanish Inquisition joke, and wild relief flows through me when I finally, finally realize that he really wants to be here with me.

"Blue or green," I answer him quietly.

"Really? Since you always wear black or darker colors."

I look down. "Black doesn't stand out."

He squeezes my hand again, telling me without words that he heard me. "Favorite book?"

"A lot. Almost all books by Stephen King. Pride and Prejudice. Coraline. Hitchhiker's Guide."

"God, I love that book. What did it say? A liquid that is almost, but not entirely unlike tea?"

I smile in recognition. "But the answer is 42."

"Of course," he replies seriously. "The question, however, remains."

I grin at his adorable nerdiness but pull back when the waitress arrives with our meals. We opted for a simple dinner, just an entrée with no sides.

The meat is so soft it almost melts on my tongue, and I close my eyes for a moment to enjoy the rich taste. I try to define the different flavors, but it's almost no use. It's just delicious.

"Is it good?" Edward asks, and I can only nod, my mouth too full to answer. "Can I have a taste?"

When I nod again, he simply leans forward and waits, and it takes me a second to realize he is waiting for me to feed him. A follow-up to last Sunday, when he fed me the bit of cupcake.

I bring my fork to his mouth and he wraps his lips around it, humming in appreciation as he chews. "Really good."

He returns the gesture and I allow him to feed me off his fork. His pasta tastes amazing too. I want to know the name of his place, because I will want to come back here in the future.

Edward smiles winningly and however much I want to be annoyed at him being all victorious, I can't help but smile. He's breaking down my walls, and bigger chunks seem to be falling down every day.

After dinner, on our way back to the car, it's raining even harder if that was even possible. Edward can't get up to speed on the highway and he asks me to text Esme to tell her we'll be later due to the weather.

The easy way he communicates with his mother makes me realize the importance of telling others what you're up to. Edward isn't afraid for punishment because he will be home late. Instead he makes sure that his mom doesn't worry when he doesn't show up at the expected time.

In the garage, the silence rings in my ears when he turns off the engine.

"Let's leave the presents in the car for now. We can get them out tomorrow after school, so Emmett won't see them. I think it's best you hide them in your room. He wouldn't have the guts to go in there to look."

I blink. "He'd come into your room to find the gifts?"

Edward smiles and shrugs. "I don't think he will ever really grow up."

He gets out of the car and I follow suit, nearly walking into him in the twilit garage when he suddenly stops and turns.

He looks at me intently, his mouth serious but the hint of a smile present in his eyes. Again I have this weird feeling that he is going to kiss me, and again I am not sure if I am ready for that, if I want it. After a long moment, Edward sighs and smiles, and leans forward to press a kiss to my forehead.

My hearts skips a beat when his lips touch my skin, and then it starts hammering in my chest. My hands rise out of their own volition to grasp his upper arms for support, and with startling clarity, I feel how his hands come up to cup my waist.

We stand like this for a minute, faces close but not actually touching, holding each other as his lips linger above my brows. Then he sighs again and he steps back, opening the door and leading the way out of the garage.

I am left with a sense of lightness, but confusion seeps in through the seams. I really thought for a moment that he might want to kiss me. Why didn't he?

Again my heart skips a beat, but it's not a pleasant experience this time.

What if I've been wrong? What if I've been wrong all along and he doesn't like me as I am starting to like him? What if we don't want the same things?

I thought the worst that could happen was when he wanted more than I did, but now, after all that we have shared, I feel that it would hurt me on a whole new level if he didn't want to be more than just friends.

**~O~**

My logic is flawed, I know. Edward has told me repeatedly he likes me more than a friend, and his words and actions never have implied that he is just being nice to me. Hell, he even said that he was taking me out on a date yesterday when he took me to the restaurant.

Still, my nagging mind won't leave me alone, and my fear of rejection is stopping me from asking him.

It's all so complicated.

I drag myself through school on Wednesday, sighing when I look outside and all I can see is a curtain of rain falling down. It hasn't stopped since yesterday, at least. No matter how hard we run to the car at the end of the day, we're all as good as soaked, umbrellas or no.

Back at home, Edward walks to his piano almost immediately, and Jasper convinces me to play video games with him. I'm distracted though, and I make weird mistakes. Jasper notices.

"Is your wrist hurting?" he asks, concern clear in his eyes.

I shake my head, and without wanting to, my gaze shifts so I can look over his shoulder into the direction of where Edward is playing.

Jasper smiles knowingly and turns back to the TV. "If you don't want to play, that's okay."

I don't want to disappoint him – I hate disappointing anyone. But it should be about time right now to start dinner anyway, and cooking usually is a good way for me to distract myself from my thoughts. Besides, I think I should discuss Siobhan's proposal with Esme.

She's already in the kitchen when I walk in there, and as always she has a warm smile for me.

"I was thinking soup and a nice pasta salad for tonight?" she asks me in her warm voice.

I nod in agreement, and then rummage in the drawer for paper and a pen. I write down that Siobhan offered to bring back the number of sessions to once a week. I suddenly realize too that this will mean Carlisle and Esme will have to spend less money on me now.

"That's good news, right?" Esme says, chuckling at the look on my face, even though I have no idea what I must look like right now. "What day would you prefer to go?"

I shrug, indicating I don't know. Distantly I register that the piano music has stopped.

"Can you ask Siobhan maybe if there is another day you could see her? Or did she say it had to be either Tuesday or Friday?"

"What's going on?" Edward asks as he walks into the kitchen. He goes directly to the fridge, looking for a snack.

"Oh Edward, don't snack now, we're having dinner soon," Esme says.

Edward shoots a glance at his mother, shrugs, and pulls an apple out of the fridge. "I'm hungry now."

"Then an apple won't help. They make you more hungry, you told me so yourself."

Edward smirks. "The more I can eat of your lovely dinner then. Now, what's going on with Bella's therapy?"

"Aren't you nosy," Esme chides, but there's humor in her voice. Sometimes it seems as if Edward really can do nothing wrong in his mother's eyes.

"Well, she's going to go once a week from now on, and we're trying to decide what would be the best day."

Edward looks at me, his green eyes so intense he startles me. "What are you thinking?" he asks us in general.

"We're undecided."

"So, go on Tuesday. Friday afternoons should be free."

Esme looks from me to Edward. "I'm not able to take you on Tuesdays."

"But I am," Edward counters easily.

"You wouldn't mind?" Esme asks.

Edward looks at me when he answers. "No, not at all."

From the corner of my eye I can clearly see how Esme fights hard to prevent herself from smiling. "That's settled then."

Edward smiles and takes a big bite out of his apple, winking at me as he passes me to leave the kitchen.

It adds to my confusion about what he wants, what I want. I guess I'll have to talk to him soon.

Suppressing a sigh, I turn back to Esme to help her with dinner.

When we're finished, Emmett of all people lingers to help clearing away the dishes. I'm ill at ease with him so close, even though I know by now that he's a genuinely nice guy.

"Sooo, Bella," he says when I've just started the dishwasher. A light hum caused by the device fills the kitchen. I turn and look up at his giant form, and bite back a laugh when I see his face.

He's up to something, I can tell by the sparkle in his eyes.

"Did you buy my birthday gift yet?"

Oh, Edward warned me for this. Emmett's gifts are hidden in the cabinet under the sink in my bathroom. I hope that _if_ he decides to raid my room for his presents, he won't come into my bathroom.

I nod to answer his question.

He smiles and leans back against the counter. "Excellent. So, what is it?"

With a smile, I shake my head. He'll just have to wait and see.

"You're not going to tell me? Can I get a hint?"

No.

He pouts, his lower lip jutting out adorably. "Just give me one hint? You know, one word, five letters?"

I gasp out a silent laugh at his adorable face, the dimples in his cheeks showing as he's trying to convince me to give information with his puppy dog eyes. Still, I shake my head. He can wait.

He pouts again. "So where are the gifts hidden? In Edward's room?"

Hmm, I don't want to lie, but I don't want him to know where they are, either. To my surprise, Jasper comes to my rescue.

"Emmett, you're turning nineteen. Aren't you a little old for this shit?"

"Never," he states solemnly.

I blink in confusion. Nineteen?

"I doubled a year," Emmett explains. "I wasn't always this focused on getting great results."

Jasper snorts. "As if you are focused now."

"Completely dedicated," Emmett says with mock sincerity. "Just easily distracted."

Jasper throws his head back and laughs. "I'd be surprised if you even passed your finals in one go."

"Faith, my man," Emmett replies. "Faith."

"And Bella's help for Trig," Jasper adds, winking at me.

"That, too, if she's up to it." Emmett's gaze shifts to me, and I nod. I could use the distraction of extra Trig work, actually.

"Awesome," he beams. "So what did you buy me for my birthday?"

"Emmett!" comes simultaneously from Jasper, Rosalie and Esme.

He chuckles and leaves the kitchen. "I'll find out," he promises. "I'll get it out of Edward, just wait and see."

**~O~**

My Trig teacher asks me to stay behind after Thursday's lesson so I linger, attracting questioning looks from Alice and others.

"Bella, your results in Trig are flawless. If you want to, you can follow an advanced course next year. Would you like that? It would give you some challenge, perhaps."

He must see my hesitation. Special treatment means attention, something I do _not_ want.

"Think about it. I can arrange it for you. Here's a letter for your guardians as well."

He hands me the envelope and I put it into my backpack. When he dismisses me, I hurry away from the classroom. Being alone with a teacher creeps me out, no matter what.

Time crawls until lunch. Nobody's there anymore to pick me up at the door of the classroom, and I've long since been walking alone towards the lunchroom. Lost in my thoughts as I am however, I notice Lauren coming my way later than I would normally have done.

She's talking animatedly with her friend, and she's not looking at all where she's going. I step aside to let her pass, but right when she's next to me, the makes a wild gesture with the hand that is holding a cup of soda. Her hand slams into my chest and the soda sloshes over the crumpled cup, drenching me in the sticky fluid.

"What the fuck!" Lauren screeches, swiping the few drops of coke that landed on her top away. "Can't you watch where you're going?"

I can't reply, and look at her, horrified. She walked into me, but people like her have brought blaming others for anything and everything to an art. She either misses or ignores the fact that I'm soaked in her drink.

If she demands I pay it back, I hope I will have the courage to refuse. Because for once, I am absolutely sure that this was not my fault.

Around us, some students have stopped and are now looking at us. I can hear whispers, and the words 'stupid girl' reach my ears. How I manage not to blush I don't know, but I hold my ground. Lauren scoffs, then cackles or does something freakishly akin to that, and walks on.

I dive into a restroom and try desperately to get the sticky stuff out of my sweater, but of course it's no use. When I emerge again, my sweater is a mess, and the liquid has seeped through, so now my long sleeve is moist as well. Yuck.

Alice jumps up when I step into the lunchroom. "What happened?" she asks me, gesturing at the obvious stains.

The one day I don't wear flat black…

I shrug. It's not important, is it? Lauren hates my guts, and I don't like her either. I'm pretty sure she didn't bump into me willingly, and maybe I should have been more careful, but there's nothing I can do about that now.

Edward comes up after Alice, a worried look in his eyes. "What happened?" he asks, copying Alice's question.

"I saw Lauren bump into her," Angela's voice comes quietly from my right. "Her entire cup of soda fell over Bella."

Alice's eyes seem to go black as her anger flares. "That fucking bitch. I'm going to kill her."

"She didn't do it on purpose," Angela says quickly. "It really was an accident, although she could have handled it in a nicer way."

"I'm thinking she didn't apologize?" Edward says lowly.

The others have joined us, and I am surrounded by my foster siblings who all are upset for me that Lauren treated me like this. A funny sense of belonging spreads inside my guts.

"No, she didn't," Angela says. "I'm sorry, Bella. She's really mean."

"Do you need something to eat or drink? Let me get you something," Rosalie says. She tugs Emmett along with her, and I can see how she is gesturing animatedly to Emmett as she is telling him something.

"We need to get you into a dry sweater," Alice says. "But I don't have anything with me except gym clothes."

I shake my head. It's okay, really. I'll live.

Edward frowns and opens his mouth to speak just when Lauren walks up to us.

"Do you know what your sister just did?" she tells him, her eyes wide as if incredulous. "She walked right into me. Now I have stains all over my new top, look." She points at invisible spots on her top, suspiciously close to her breasts.

_Really?_

"You have to tell her to watch out better."

Edward raises a brow and my back stiffens at the anger I can see in his eyes. "Lauren, I think you need to get your eyes checked. From what I know, Bella was not the one walking into you, and she is the one who got soaked by your actions. I'll make sure you'll get the dry cleaner's note."

His words are icy, and Lauren is visibly shaken by his hard rejection. She tenses for a moment, then huffs and walks away.

Jasper slaps Edward's shoulder. "Well done, bro'. Now she'll hopefully stay off your back for prom as well."

Edward smiles shyly. "Let's hope so." Then his gaze shifts to me. "We need to fix this problem." Without hesitation, he reaches behind his back and takes off his own – favorite – sweater. The one I wore on my first night with the Cullens. He hands it to me.

"Go change."

I blink in confusion and gesture at his arms. Won't he be cold?

"I'll live. Now, off you go."

His words brook no argument and I walk back to the nearest restroom where I lock myself into a stall. Taking a deep breath, I rip off my own soaked sweater and pull his over my head. It's still warm from his body heat, and it smells like him.

Oh, God.

I close my eyes and inhale. His scent simply does something to me. It did on my first day here, and it still does, now.

And now I get to spend at least two hours around it.

During Biology, I keep sniffing covertly, until I notice that Edward is totally on to me. I blush fiercely, hiding my face in my sleeve-colored hands.

He just chuckles, and he has this unreadable, soft look in his eyes.

The look reminds me of my worries though, and I sober up immediately. I'm not sure he wants the same as I do. I have to be careful.

I drive home with him, Jasper and Alice. They leave the moment we pull into the garage, taking Esme's car to go to Port Angeles to buy a birthday gift for Emmett.

Edward gets out of the car after they have left, and I follow him. My thoughts are a chaos. This is not going as I want it to.

He stops and turns so abruptly – again – that I nearly walk into him – again.

"What's wrong," he says, and it's not even a real question.

Taken off guard by his keen observation, I fidget, pulling the too long sleeves of Edward's sweater even further over my hands.

"Bella," he says, his voice quieter now. "When will you learn that you can _talk to me_?"

I sigh, and flinch lightly when he cups my face in his hands.

But there it is again. A moment.

He's not annoyed, at least not as far as I can tell. He wants to know why I'm pulling back again, and if I were in his shoes, I would want to know, too. It's pretty damn hard to talk about, though.

"Um," I manage. Brilliant.

He waits, seemingly with the patience of a saint, still holding my face in his hands.

When I stay silent, he encourages me. "Go on. Please."

I frown, lick my lips in an effort to moisten my suddenly very dry mouth. My hands hang uselessly by my sides and when they come up to fidget, I bump against Edward's hard abdomen. As if they have a will on their own, they stay there, enjoying the connection through only a thin layer of t-shirt.

"I, um." Hm.

He smiles slightly and nods for me to continue.

His presence here is at odds with the things my mind came up with. Still.

Gah!

"You–" No, that's not the way to go.

Um.

"Why won't you kiss me?"

I did not… did I really just say that?

Oh, lord, let me disappear in a hole in the ground and die.

Edward's eyes widen before he throws his head back and laughs, a freeing laugh, yet I don't know if he laughs because I'm wrong, or because I'm right. I frown and wait for him to look at me again.

He looks back at me, humor in his eyes, his hands still cupping my face. Then he turns more serious.

"Believe me, I want to," he says honestly. "But I don't think you're ready."

A shaky exhale leaves my lungs at his confession. He wants it. So that means he wants to be more than just friends, right? It feels so good to be past the fear of him wanting more than I can give. I just want to be close to him, and I'm quite certain now that he wants to be close to me, too, for whatever strange reason I will never be able to understand.

He thinks I'm not ready.

He's right.

He understands.

"You're right."

He smiles gently, and for a second I think he's going to do it anyway. Sounds coming from the house break the tension between us, though. He blinks, then speaks. "That's good to hear. I'm glad you can tell me those things. I need your help to discover this all, you know. I can't do it alone."

I blush at his words, my cheeks flaming against his hands.

He chuckles and then pulls me against him in an entirely natural motion, hugging me completely as I hide my face in his chest. After the first shock dies away, I can hug him back, even squeeze him a little to let him know how much I like this.

He sighs into my hair and sways from side to side a little.

It feels beyond amazing to be in his embrace.

* * *

_I know the new shiny review option makes it really easy to leave anon reviews, but I'd love for you to sign them, should you want to leave me your thoughts. Thank you!_


	63. Chapter 63

**A/N I don't own Twilight**

_So, if I say the chapter is meh you give me this response? You made me cry happy tears, thank you so very much._**  
**

_Thanks to Sherry, who couldn't beta this due to my bad management. Thanks to Bob, and to Deb, even though I think she has to learn how to say 'no.' _

_I still aim to update every ten days. Time, I have plenty. Energy, sadly, not. _

* * *

"I fucking hate the rain," Emmett complains.

It's Friday afternoon, and we've just had dinner. Emmett had hoped to be able to go out to celebrate a pre-birthday party, but the shitty weather is ruining his plans.

"Language," Esme chides softly.

Emmett sighs and rolls his eyes. "All right. I fucking dislike the rain."

Even Esme can't hide her smile at that, and she shakes her head.

"Why don't you choose an indoor activity?" Carlisle proposes.

"Like the roller skating alley," Jasper says dryly. "He'd look hot on pink skates."

Emmett glares at his brother. "No."

"Jasper," Carlisle warns as his son opens his mouth to retort. "Stay nice."

"I am nice," Jasper protests with mock sincerity. "I just said he'd look hot."

"Jesus," Rosalie complains quietly.

"We can go bowling," Alice pipes up. "That's something we all can enjoy."

"No parents allowed though," Emmett says, and I look over at Esme to see how she'll take that.

"As long as you're home on Sunday for the family," Esme says.

Emmett rubs his face. "I so don't want that."

"But you like their gifts, so you will be polite," she insists.

He frowns and looks over at her. "Yes, mom."

Esme nods, satisfied, and sits back. "You all going bowling then?"

"Sure," Emmett says, his good mood returning already. "Boys against girls, the losers pay, and the birthday boy can't lose."

Snickers fill the room, and everybody gets up to get their coats. Edward turns before he leaves the room and holds out his hand. "Come on."

His warm invitation makes me smile and I get up to join them. Edward grins and bumps my shoulder as I slip into my coat in the hallway. When he hugged me in the garage the other day, we had stayed like that for several long moments. Just before he let me go, he'd leaned in and whispered in my ear, "just so you know, I'll want to do that more often."

Something inside me had seemed to melt, and he had grinned when I sighed into his chest.

It's a sort of rush I feel, having all these positive thoughts and emotions when it comes to being close with Edward. I'm not thinking about the future yet, and it's as if my mind is protecting me from fear by simply refusing to think of what might happen next. Edward is doing a superb job making me feel I am enough for him just as I am, and he has this way with me that makes me feel wanted, welcome.

It's amazing, I won't lie.

Alice grins at me when she catches me meeting Edward's gaze knowingly, and Edward mutters a 'shut up' to his twin sister before we all go out to the garage. Rosalie and Emmett are taking Emmett's Jeep, and Alice and Jasper will join us in Edward's Volvo.

I fully expect Alice to grill us about what she just saw, but she's just looking out of the window with a relaxed smile on her face. Jasper is holding her hand in his lap, toying with her fingers as he talks to Edward about the upcoming finals, and prom.

"You should come, it'll be fun," he says.

Edward shakes his head, signaling to turn left. "I don't want to go alone."

"I didn't mean for you to go alone," Jasper says in a decidedly 'duh' tone of voice.

"Let it go, Jasper," Edward warns, and Jasper shrugs and focuses back on Alice. I know that if I were to look back over my shoulder, I would see them having a silent conversation with their eyes.

High as I may feel, the wandering conversation in the car makes me feel on the fringe of things yet again. Edward turns his head and smiles at me when I acknowledge him. The look in his eyes reassures me somewhat, but I keep chewing my lip until we're at the parking lot, and Emmett's boisterous enthusiasm draws me from my thoughts effectively.

We take two lanes next to each other at the bowling alley, and Rosalie and Jasper go get us all drinks. It'll be boys against girls, and I already feel sorry, because with my sore wrist I won't be able to do much.

"Use two hands," Alice says simply when she sees my worried look. "There's no shame in that."

I nod hesitantly, but still gesture for her and Rosalie to go first. I look on at first, seeing how Rosalie throws a spare and taps her chest confidently when she turns back to face us.

The boys seem to take it all pretty seriously, and to my utter surprise, Emmett turns out to be quite good at it. His movements are graceful and controlled when he releases the ball and throws a strike. He hoots loudly, attracting the looks of some of the other players in the hall, and turns back with a swagger in his walk, popping his collar.

"That's how it's done."

Rosalie snorts. "That was just lucky."

Emmett crosses his huge arms and looks down at her. "I'll win, just you wait and see."

"Do I get to kiss the winner?" she shoots back. "Because then maybe I'll let you stand a chance at all."

The others laugh at their banter, but then the moment has come and Alice hands me one of the lighter bowling balls.

"Show'em how it's done," she says encouragingly. She even walks up with me, and I try to place the ball in my hands in such a way that my wrist doesn't throb in protest.

The moment I lean forward in an attempt to get the ball down the lane in a straight line, some guy calls out.

"Nice ass!"

I fly back up straight, my eyes darting around to look at the guy that just said that. I feel suddenly incredibly vulnerable, out here, away from everyone else. Alice reaches out to place her hand on my shoulder in comfort, but I flinch away automatically. The bowling ball is a stone in my hands, and it begins to slip from my sweaty fingers.

Alice's quick observations prevent the ball from sliding from my hands to the ground, and she takes it from me quickly.

"It's okay, you're okay," Alice says, but I hear the slight panic in her voice, and it does nothing to calm me down.

"Bella," Edward says quietly. I didn't even notice he came walking up to me. "Look at me."

Tears spill over as I lift my face to him, but I can't quite meet his eyes. The guy that called out is still here, and he _looked_ at me and shouted something. My heartbeat rises further, my breath getting stuck in my throat.

Edward steps up closer and points to his left. "Look."

I look into the direction he pointed at and see how Rosalie has stepped up to the guy I realize must have called out. Her stance his threatening and she looks livid, even though the guy doesn't seem to be very impressed.

They're close enough for me to hear their words.

"You're _not_ shouting obscenities at my sister, do you hear me? Else I'll rip you a new one, you can be sure of that."

The guy looks down at her, his arms crossed, an amused look in his eyes. "Are you, now. I'd love to see how."

"Trust me, you really don't."

"Listen, lady, I-"

Emmett walks up then, and as much as Rosalie didn't impress him, Emmett's size and girth obviously does. "You bothering my woman here?" Emmett says, crossing his arms again. His huge muscles flex, and the guy seems to shrink under Emmett's display of strength.

"No, I..."

"Or talking 'bout my sister, there?" Emmett asks darkly, jerking his head into my direction.

"Jesus, I was just joking," the guy says, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

"Harassing women is not a joke in our books," Jasper says as he steps up as well. "Especially not where our sister is concerned."

I can tell the guy is confused with the references, but he doesn't say anything.

"We clear you gonna leave her alone? 'Cause I sure don't want a scene here, but if you continue this bullshit, we'll bullshit you." Emmett's biceps bulge, and the man swallows, then steps back and simply walks out of the hall.

Edward grins, then leans in quickly to kiss the top of my head. I'm so distracted by what I just saw I forget to pull back in this public space. "They're as protective of you as I am," he whispers. Then he hands me back the bowling ball. "Emmett's a lot of fun when he looses. Your turn now."

Right.

Releasing a shaky breath, I watch from the corner of my eye as Jasper and Emmett share a fist bump and then both raise their thumbs at me. I smile at them in thanks. They just totally stood up for me, and Rosalie too. She winks at me when I meet her gaze, and then she nods for me to take my turn.

This time when I bend forward, no stupid comment comes. It doesn't make me feel any less vulnerable, though. I roll the ball and two cones fall. The second attempt is even worse and nothing goes down.

I turn back to the others and shake my head. I'm rubbish at this, and thanks to me the girls will lose.

"Lose the sads," Emmett tells me from the table adjacent to ours. "I'm very, _very_ pleased that you're being so gracious as to let me win."

"I'm pretty sure you will lose, even without Bella's generous support," Alice bites back, mirth in her eyes.

Their banter lifts my heart, and gradually, as the evening progresses, I feel more and more relaxed. After being with the Cullens for seven months, I now truly feel I am part of their group, and they are as easy around me as they are around each other. I no longer feel how they seem to hold back around me, except for Jasper every now and then, but even our relationship is progressing even though we never interact much.

The photo album he gave me is a prime example of the way he sees me and my position in this family.

Even with my horrible aim, the scores are about even when the final round of turns has arrived. The banter has continued and a few times I even had trouble staying silent when I wanted to laugh out loud. They're so relaxed with each other, I think it's safe to say they're great friends as well as siblings. They're protective of their own; I've noticed before that when Rosalie and Emmett fight, or Jasper and Alice, the others will wait, not intervening, but always protective, always looking out and stepping in when needed.

It's rarely needed, though. The Cullen's household is a very relaxed one, indeed.

My last turn, I made a spare, and pride surged through me when everybody cheered for me. Nobody even commented on my not being able to roll the ball with one hand, and when it's my turn for the last time, I know I have to make a damn good score if the girls want to win.

I feel a lot more confident when I walk up in those ridiculous shoes, shifting the ball in my hands for the best grip. I lean forward and release the ball, and every cone goes down.

Happiness bubbles up and I turn to the others, who are beaming and cheering - guys and girls alike.

Checking the score, I notice that if I throw another strike, the girl's team will win.

I wait for my ball to pop back up and when I take it, my hands are slick with perspiration. It all comes down to me, now. Taking a deep breath and holding it, I release the ball. Before it has reached the cones, I know I've done well. I turn back to the others confidently, and I just know I have the smuggest of smiles on my face.

Just before the ball hits the cones, my mouth opens.

"Strike."

Their reactions are priceless. Right after the word has left my mouth, I hear the jingle behind me that indicates I have indeed thrown a strike.

Everyone except Edward is looking at me with their eyes bulging and their mouths popped open in utter surprise. Edward is simply as smug as I and he sits back, basking in the wonderful atmosphere.

He's proud.

Emmett can't contain himself and throws his arms out wide, nearly hitting Jasper in the process. "She speaks!"

"Bella!" Alice gasps.

Rosalie just laughs out loud, and Jasper shakes his head, smiling.

Alice looks at Edward to share her happiness, and her face morphs into disbelief when she sees his completely different reaction.

Now Jasper laughs, his head thrown back. "Why does this not surprise me."

"Oh come on," Emmett says, turning to Edward. "Don't tell me you knew?"

Edward looks at me before he turns to his brothers and sisters. "All siblings are equal, but I guess some siblings are more equal than others."

"Oh my God," Alice exclaims. "How long?"

"A month or so?" Edward looks to me for confirmation, and I nod as I walk over to them.

Their enthusiasm makes me want to smile, too.

"And here you think you know what goes on inside your own house," Emmett mutters, pouting playfully.

Rosalie sits back and simply smiles. "This is just awesome."

"It really is," Jasper admits. "So, Emmett, pay up."

"Ah, what?" Edward asks.

Alice giggles. "They had a bet. Emmett didn't believe you'd be the first she talked to, but we all thought she would."

Edward puffs his chest out playfully. "I'm _that_ good." When his gaze shifts to me however, his eyes turn far more serious. I know he remembers the night I first spoke to him, and how completely broken I had been in his lap.

Alice notices, and she touches Edward's arm in silent communication. He looks at her and smiles, before he reaches out his hand to me in invitation.

"Congratulations to the winner of the night," he says, his gaze soft.

The others exclaim in happiness, having had forgotten for a moment that I decided the game.

But now Emmett has lost, and I didn't want that to happen. I make the 'sorry' sign against my chest.

"I'm sorry, what?" he says, genuinely confused.

Edward chuckles lightly. "Bella and I have been practicing a little sign language. She was apologizing to you for beating your ass."

I can't hide my laugh at the free interpretation he gives my sole sign.

But Emmett shakes his head and looks at me with an honest, open face, his dimples showing when he smiles.

"Hearing your voice was the best birthday gift ever. Thank you."

I blush.

**~O~**

I drive home with Edward, Jasper and Alice, even though Emmett tried very hard to get into the same car with me. He claimed that now I could speak, he could grill me about his birthday presents 'for real.'

Edward had just laughed and pushed his big brother away. When Emmett had been out of earshot, Edward had murmured, "no grilling my girl." I'm not sure if his words were meant for my ears, but it was good to hear them all the same.

I sleep soundly and without nightmares for once, and on Saturday morning I'm up early to help Esme making pies and other treats for Emmett's birthday. She's chatting to me comfortably, and she doesn't seem to mind at all that I am not talking back.

Since she and Carlisle had already gone to bed by the time we got home, they don't know yet what happened yesterday.

Esme laughs happily when she sees me writing Emmett's name and '19' on the chocolate cake in white icing. "He'll love that," she assures me, and when I meet her gaze, I realize that Emmett has his mother's eyes.

Once the rest of the household is up and fed, we all gather in the living room with cake and coffee. Emmett is extremely happy with the cake I made him, and then he makes me give him my present for him first.

He rips off the paper and nearly shouts his happiness at the sports gear I bought with Edward's help. "Exactly what I needed. Thanks so much. Though nothing can beat what you gave us last night."

"What did she do?" Esme asks, curious.

"Oh, she just spoke," Emmett replies, feigning nonchalance. The others are grinning in happiness.

"You did? Oh Bella that's wonderful," Esme says, beaming at me.

Emmett narrows his eyes at his mother. "She spoke to Edward _and_ you before she spoke to me? Dammit, and I thought I was important to her."

I make the sorry sign again, and his gaze shifts to me as a huge grin spreads on his face. "Maybe if you said it out loud, then I'd actually believe it."

My throat blocks entirely and even if I had wanted to speak, nothing would have come out. But I can't make a sound, because Carlisle is in the room. He looks at me, his eyes crinkled in amusement. There's no resentment there that he now is the only one that hasn't heard my voice yet.

It still leaves me with a heavy feeling of unease in my stomach, though.

Rosalie catches the atmosphere before it can plummet. "Good for you, Bella. Never apologize to a guy. Makes them feel way too powerful."

Emmett scowls playfully at her, and then announces that he believes he has some more gifts to unwrap.

The day passes quickly. Some of Emmett's friends come over before dinner, and they order pizza to eat in the living room. James is there, and with him is a new girl. She introduces herself as Victoria, and she has the reddest hair I've seen on a person. From the way she's focused on her curls constantly, I suspect it's not her real color. Or she's just really vain.

Apart from that she's quiet, though. She doesn't interact much with the others at all, instead glances at her watch frequently. I'm not sure if she's simply shy or just doesn't want to be here, but she's not bothering me so I'm okay.

James and Victoria are supposed to be a couple, but he doesn't look at her the way Jasper looks at Alice, or Emmett looks at Rosalie. He doesn't look at her like Edward looks at me, and Victoria doesn't seem to acknowledge him at all.

Emmett acts aloof to her passive behavior and is obviously enjoying himself. After dinner, they're going out to Port Angeles. They'll play some snooker game, probably, before they go dancing somewhere.

Alice and Jasper will go to Port Angeles with them, but they'll go watch a movie instead. Edward wants to stay home, and even though Emmett invites me to tag along, I decline his offer, too.

I really need some quiet after this past week.

Carlisle and Esme are going to the reservation to visit some friends after dinner. Although I knew they were planning to go, it only dawns that Edward and I will be alone in the house once everyone has left.

The moment the door slams shut, Edward grins and stretches, his shoulders popping quietly.

"Finally. Do you mind if I play some piano?"

I shake my head. Not at al.

"Good. What are you going to do?"

I shrug, unsure.

"Give me words, Bella," he says quietly, making me smile shyly.

"Maybe bake a little for tomorrow? Maybe read. I don't know. I'm a bit tired."

He nods. "Then take it easy. You're always moving about. We can watch a movie together if you want?"

I shake my head again. "You wanted to play. Go play."

"Yeah." He looks over his shoulder to his baby grand.

"I'll listen," I add softly, and he turns back to me.

"Then I'll play."

The soft piano notes drift through the empty house while I empty the dishwasher and clear up the last bits in the kitchen. I don't particularly feel like baking anything, so I walk over to the foyer, where I lean against the wall to hear Edward play.

Some of the songs he's playing I don't recognize, and not for the first time I wonder how many songs he can play by heart.

Moving one hand from the keys, he silently invites me to come sit with him. I walk over, intending to slip onto the bench next to him. Instead, without lifting his left hand from the keys, still hitting chords, he wraps his right arm gently around my waist, guiding me to sit on the bench between his legs.

It's a tight fit – a _very_ tight fit – and I feel his chest press against my back as he reaches around me to place both hands on the keys, his arms enfolding me like a human cage.

"Okay?" he breathes, probably sensing my tense posture.

I need a moment to take stock, but I realize that I am okay. It's new and sudden, but it's good, too. Like my dream from last week, before it turned into a nightmare.

"Okay," he whispers, leaning his chin on my shoulder to look at the keys. Then he starts playing a new song, one I haven't heard yet before.

I sit as still as possible, not wanting to disturb his playing. As the song progresses though, some of the rigid tension leaves my body and I gingerly allow myself to let my weight lean against his chest a little.

He nuzzles my neck, and I can't help but think it's some form of reward for relaxing in his arms.

The notes of the song pick up, and I feel every movement Edward makes against my back and around me; the way his arms reach to the keys with more force as the music swells, then almost tenderly as the music calms down again. Then the song ends. I'm perched right on the edge of the piano bench, my knees tucked underneath the piano.

I start with a gasp when I suddenly feel Edward's lips against my neck. He places a lingering kiss, and it allows me time to get used to the sensation.

He's _kissing_ me. Much like I asked him to do only a few days ago.

"Breathe, Bella," he says against my skin, and I take a shuddering breath, my heart already going a mile a minute in my chest.

My hands are clenching my own thighs in an effort to relieve some of the wild tension that I feel, but Edward gently pries my hands loose and intertwines the fingers of both hands with mine before he wraps our arms around us, cocooning me in a warm embrace.

"It feels so good to be close to you like this," he murmurs. "I'm not going too fast, am I?"

"I don't think so," I whisper back.

"If I ever move too fast for you, you have to tell me, okay? I don't want to push you."

"You're not." My voice is unsteady, but I am speaking the truth.

I think Edward understands this, because he squeezes me lightly. "Good."

We sit like that for a moment, silence surrounding us in the room. After some minutes he moves a little, letting me go. I miss his warmth around me immediately.

"Want to watch that movie?"

I never said _yes_ to his earlier proposal, but I nod anyway, and while he turns on the TV, I slip into the kitchen to fix us drinks and snacks. I also let cold water pour over my wrists. For some reason, I have a splitting headache.

We opt for _The Lord of the Rings_. We've both seen it but we don't care, and Edward invites me to sit next to him on the couch when the movie starts. He makes a show out of lifting his arms to scratch his neck, before he carefully drapes it around my shoulders. I end up lying curled up against his chest, my cheek resting against the hollow under his shoulder.

It's as scary as it is exhilarating to be close to him like this, his arm around me as if he has done this a thousand times before.

"Did you do this with Jessica?"

Oh _God_. I want to bite off my tongue. Did I really just ask that? What is _wrong_ with me?

Edward doesn't seem to be offended though, thankfully. "I wanted to," he says with a humorless chuckle, "but she always wanted more."

I take a breath to speak, then bite my tongue for real. I have no right asking him these questions. I really shouldn't bother him with this.

Edward pulls back so he can meet my eyes. "What? You can ask."

I frown a little and look away again, my cheeks flaming before I have opened my mouth to speak. "What would she want?"

He chuckles with real amusement now. "Oh, invariably her hands would wander underneath my sweater, stuff like that. I didn't like it. Her hands were always ice cold."

Guiltily I pull my own sleeves over my hands. My hands are always freezing. Guess it's good to know he doesn't like me to touch him then.

"Now, if they were to be your hands, for example," he continues, making me hold my breath, "I'd be happy to warm them up. Does that make sense?"

It does, maybe.

"I don't think I'm ready for that," I whisper so quietly I'm not even sure he heard. "But I don't want to cross a line, either."

Edward kisses the top of my head, and the gesture is so entirely reassuring that I relax against him again.

"We'll just have to figure it out together. You have to trust me when I say I'll let you know when you're overstepping. Just like I want to be able to trust you for the same thing."

I nod against his chest, and he rubs my arm soothingly. "I'm in no hurry though. And I don't think you are, either."

My cheek rubs against his sweater as I shake my head, and he shifts a little on the couch, getting more comfortable. We've missed a part of the movie, but I really don't care. I do wish this headache would go, though.

Edward pulls the afghan closer and drapes it over me. It's so good to be in his arms, and the afghan provides a cozy warmth. My eyes are burning, so maybe if I just close them for a minute…

I nod off.

When I open my eyes again, it takes me a moment to take in my surroundings. The movie is still going. Edward is uncannily still behind me, and when I pull back carefully to check, I notice that his eyes are closed. He fell asleep, too.

When I drop my head against his chest again, he tightens his embrace in his sleep, rubbing his cheek against the crown of my head. His deep sigh sets off mine, and my eyes slip closed again, too.

It's okay.

**~O~**

Quiet footsteps wake me from my slumber, but I'm so far gone that I don't open my eyes immediately.

"Oh, Carlisle, look at this," Esme whispers softly.

My eyes fly open at the sound of her voice, and I see Carlisle and Esme in the living room, looking down at us. Esme has her hand pressed to her heart, and Carlisle has a distinct smile on his face.

I struggle to sit up though, waking Edward in the process.

"Wha-" he starts, but he blinks and collects himself. "Guess we fell asleep, then."

"_The Lord of the Rings_ never could hold my attention," Carlisle muses, amused.

Edward rubs his eyes and looks at me, then smiles softly. He looks back at his parents. "Did you have a good time at the reservation?"

"We did, thanks," Esme says as Carlisle goes to hang up the coats. "Though Billy's health is still challenging him."

"Those rez kids sure grow up fast though," Carlisle says as he walks back into the room. "I hope they can find enough distraction so they won't be getting into any trouble."

"That guy Sam seemed to be a good influence, though," Esme remarks.

I frown at the mentioning of his name. He didn't give a very good impression when I saw him at the beach with Renée.

"But you had a good time?" Edward asks, putting the conversation back on topic.

"We did. How was your night?" Esme replies.

"Oh, wonderful. We partied so hard we fell asleep on the couch, exhausted," Edward says with a straight face, and Esme smiles.

"Sleep is good," she says, looking over at me. There is only warmth and love in her eyes, and when my gaze shifts to Carlisle, to check if he is really okay with what he walked into, he smiles at me.

Okay, so nobody seems to be angry then, except for my head. God, it feels like someone is hitting it with a sledgehammer. Without thinking, I rub my temple in an effort to find some relief.

"Tired?" Carlisle asks.

I shake my head and cup the side of my head in my hand. Only after I've done it I realize I admitted physical discomfort – a weakness.

"Headache?" he clarifies.

I nod.

"That's annoying. There's some Tylenol in the downstairs bathroom if you want some?"

I completely forgot about that, so I nod at him in thanks and get up to go get the pills. Normally I wouldn't easily take pain killers, but I'm tired in general and too tired to fight the pain right now.

After we've all said good night, I tumble into my bed with an amazing new memory freshly burned into my brain.

I slept in Edward's arms.

And it was wonderful.


	64. Chapter 64

**A/N I don't own Twilight  
**

_As always, thank you SO much for your response! I read every single review, I just can't reply to them often. Thanks also to Sherry and Bob, for feedback and holding me together. _**  
**

_Note: Next update in two weeks. Life, you know.  
_

* * *

Emmett's 'formal' birthday party passes fairly quietly. There are some distant family members I can't remember the names of for the life of me, and I distinctly feel their cold attitude towards me. Hiding, I busy myself in the kitchen as much as I can, setting out food and preparing various drinks and snacks.

Esme grins when she finds me at the counter, taking way too much time to slice up a cucumber. "They're dull people," she admits. "Most of the family is old money, and they're here because they feel they should be. Luckily they rarely stay over two hours. I'm surprised they came out at all, actually."

She's right, so before dinner, the house is empty again. Emmett runs off the porch steps as soon as they are gone and does a cartwheel in the backyard, clearly showing his happiness. Alone with Esme in the kitchen, I force myself to speak.

"They don't seem to like me."

Esme can't hide her pleasure at hearing my voice. She puts down the dishtowel she's holding and turns to look at me. "They never understood why we adopted Jasper and Rosalie, and they don't understand why we took in a girl like you. Fortunately I don't have to explain our reasons to them. Don't you worry about what they think."

"Are they all your family?" I ask.

"Carlisle's family lives far away. Did you know he's from Alaska, originally?"

I shake my head. I had no idea. My cheeks turn pink when I realize I never even wondered about the back-story of this family.

As if she is reading my thoughts, she waves my worries away. "You had other things on your mind. Carlisle's family usually doesn't even fly out on his birthday anymore."

"Are they not on friendly terms?" I ask carefully.

Esme smiles and sighs softly, resigned. "They didn't like me very much, and they couldn't understand how Carlisle could stand working in a small town hospital. They felt he was made for bigger things."

"Why didn't they like you?" I feel as if I shouldn't be asking these questions, but for some reason I'm not able to stop.

"They felt Carlisle just liked me for my money."

Her words make me frown, and Esme smiles again.

"They'd rather he would marry someone who was as smart as he, who could make a career, achieve something in life. A stay-at-home mother wasn't impressive to them."

She picks up the dishtowel again and resumes drying the dishes that didn't go into the dishwasher. I mull over her words in my mind as I drain the sink.

"You can't learn compassion in school." The words are out before I realize I have spoken, and a heart beat later, Esme has hugged me hard, pressed a kiss to my temple, and resumed drying off again.

I give a breathless laugh and shake my head. I was just saying the truth.

We finish up cleaning the kitchen, and just when we're done, Emmett walks into the room. He hugs his mother, wrapping his huge arms around her tiny figure, and lifts her off the ground completely. "Thanks for everything, mom."

He leans down so Esme can kiss his cheek. "You're welcome, sweetheart."

He beams and walks out of the kitchen again, calling out for his brothers as he rounds the corner. "Eddie, Jazz, wanna play some ball outside?"

"If you have any other questions about our family, just ask," Esme tells me as she walks over to the fridge. "Would you like something to drink?"

The way she looks at me tells me she wants me to use words, so I swallow and speak. "Tea would be nice, if it's not too much trouble."

"Then tea it is," Esme says simply. Minutes later, we walk to the living room with our drinks. Alice and Rosalie and Carlisle are watching a cooking show on TV. The atmosphere is relaxed, and I ease back in the big winged chair, enjoying the calm air.

"I'm getting hungry," Alice says after a while. "What's for dinner?"

"How about you and Rosalie cook tonight," Esme says.

"What? No," Rosalie says, indignant.

"Rosalie," Carlisle warns, but Esme speaks as well. "Bella cooks nearly every day and she never complains. You can cook once."

"But Bella actually can cook, and she likes doing it," Rosalie mutters.

"Now is as good a time as ever to start learning it, then," Esme says, brooking no argument.

"But I don't want to," Rosalie whines. I've never seen her like this. Usually she's a lot more composed. My gaze flits to Carlisle. I know in my previous homes, this behavior would never have been tolerated.

I want to offer to cook instead, because it's really no trouble, but just at that moment, Carlisle meets my gaze and shakes his head silently, with friendly eyes.

"I don't want to, either," Esme says, her voice turning more demanding. "What if every time I didn't feel like cooking, there wouldn't be dinner on the table?"

Rosalie huffs and crosses her arms, unable to come up with a counterargument. "I still don't want to."

Esme sighs and rubs her face. "Why does it have to become such a discussion every time I ask one of you to cook dinner?"

"Maybe if you asked us in advance and not throw it out there five minutes beforehand," Rosalie mutters.

"I vividly remember that not one year ago, you promised to cook for us every Sunday for a year if you got the BMW you wanted so badly."

Rosalie's cheeks turn pink as she ducks her head.

"Carlisle," Esme continues, "what have we done wrong to have raised such ungrateful children?"

"I'm not ungrateful!" Rosalie says quickly.

"You sure are acting like a brat right now, Rosalie," Esme says sternly. "There's a cookbook in the drawer underneath the stove."

"_Fuck_," she says under her breath, but gets up anyway. "Alice, come on."

Alice shakes her head as she follows Rosalie into the kitchen. "We can just make pancakes."

"At least three of the food groups included, please," Esme calls after them.

"Pancakes with bacon or fruit it is, then," Alice calls back gleefully, and Carlisle chuckles.

Two hours later, we've had a fairly good meal with thick pancakes and lots of fruit and other toppings. Rosalie, however reluctant she was to cook, can't hide her pride at having provided a meal for everyone.

Edward and Jasper offer to clear the table and afterward they join us in the living room to watch a movie. I'm having trouble focusing on the movie plot, because every time I look at Edward, he's looking back at me. He's not even trying to hide it. I smile shyly and focus on the television screen again, feeling my face heat under his intense gaze.

There was a time when I would have been wildly uncomfortable if someone was looking at me like that. But right now, there's something else, too. Something that revels in the knowledge that I'm apparently good enough to be looked at. I tuck my hair behind my ear, self-conscious, and bite my lip.

"Dude, the TV is over there," Emmett says suddenly, and everybody laughs when Edward punches Emmett's arm playfully.

I guess the connection between Edward and me is no longer a secret. The thought would have bothered me, but it's clear that nobody cares or judges us for it. In fact, I've only noticed signs that indicate the opposite.

When I look over at Edward, he meets my gaze and we both smile.

**~O~**

Prom is on Friday next week and the school body is simply buzzing with it. The theme this year is 'Glamour' and I catch bits of conversation here and there. The gossip is hard to miss, even if nobody shares it with me. I have ears, and I hear others talking. Rosalie and Alice also discuss what they hear from others, and they do include me in the conversation, even if I have nothing to add.

Lauren is supposed to have bought a dress in gold.

"So she didn't buy the green dress she snagged away from you," Rosalie says during lunch, looking at me. "That's good, because it would have been horrible on her."

We're in the crowded lunch room, and even more people are inside today because of the steady rain. Jasper and Emmett are still in the lunch line. I haven't seen Edward yet, and I wonder where he is.

Lauren never got the drycleaner's note. Esme got the sweater clean perfectly, and after some discussion she convinced Edward that it was probably a one time thing, and that Lauren wouldn't try something like that again.

Me, I'm undecided. I don't like what she did, but I loathe the idea of any form of violence. And I'm afraid to make someone pay for what they did. Usually, it results in me getting hurt more, anyway. Might as well lay low, however much Edward disagrees.

"I hope our order comes today," Alice says, pulling me back to the present. Since they couldn't find what they wanted in any store, and a trip to Seattle was hard to plan before prom, they ordered some dresses online to try out.

Rosalie nods. "What a theme they came up with, by the way. I mean, isn't prom glamorous by default?"

"Well, at least it's easy to find a dress," Alice says. "I guess they weren't so happy when people turned up in jeans last year." When she sees my questioning gaze, she clarifies. "The theme last year was 'Rough and steady.' Whoever came up with that must have been high as a kite."

"You are not going to believe what just happened," Edward groans when he plops down on a chair next to me.

Alice gapes. "What, again?"

"Yep," Edward says with a nod. "How stupid does she think I am?"

"Look at what she's wearing," Rosalie whispers, scandalized. I follow the direction of her gaze and see Lauren strutting into the lunchroom, wearing a scowl on her face. On her body is a pink top with a cleavage so low it's surprising I can't see her belly button.

Edward shakes his head, growls something, and looks away. Defying my own fear, I place a comforting hand on his arm. He looks at me and smiles, placing his warm hand over mine before he reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. My automatic flinch is almost unnoticeable. "You okay today?"

I nod, smiling shyly, but cringe when I hear a distinct 'what the fuck!' coming from the other side of the lunchroom. I look into the direction of the voice I heard and see Lauren, mouth wide open, looking from Edward to me.

Oh, shit.

Edward simply shrugs and turns his back to Lauren, shifting so that his body is blocking her from my line of sight. He squeezes my hand. "You want to get together for some studying later? Finals are approaching rapidly."

I nod, amazed how he can act so oblivious. Lauren is clearly upset. Edward looks over his shoulder into Lauren's direction, and his movement makes me catch a glimpse of her, talking with wild gestures to her friends.

"I don't care about her," he says when he turns back to me. "I told her no several times now."

I wish I could ask him if he doesn't want to go to prom, but I can't talk in this crowded room. Edward squeezes my hand again. "We'll talk later?" he asks, just as the bell rings. I nod, once, and we leave together for Biology.

The big wrapping up has begun in our lessons, but not in Biology, apparently. A collective groan goes through the class when Mr. Banner rolls the ancient TV set into the room. He ignores the protests and turns off the lights, and we watch a video about DNA and dominant and recessive genes.

"It's clear Lauren is made mainly of recessive genes," Edward whispers in my ear, and a snort escapes me, drawing the attention of several students, including Mike. I duck my head to avoid their gazes and bite my lips to stop my - silent - giggling.

When I meet Edward's eyes, they are sparkling.

After last Saturday, when I fell asleep in his arms, it feels like it's different to be close to him. Like a mental block has been breached and now I'd rather be close to him than keep my distance. As if Edward can sense this, he quietly moves his chair closer to mine. I imagine I can feel his body heat, and it's taking quite some effort to not simply move a little and lean against his side.

I never thought I would ever be able to feel like this.

Gym drags. I still can't do much with my wrist, even though the swelling has subsided almost completely now. I type a first draft of a foreword for my thesis and make notes on questions I want to ask Emmett still. After that, I look out the window over the school grounds and wait for the bell to ring.

The drive home is interrupted by a tree that has fallen across the road. A cop, whom I recognize as Chief Swan when he walks up to our car, tells us how we can best navigate around the trunk. Other men are already working on getting the thing out of the way. Everyone is sodden with the heavy rain, and I feel sorry for them.

"Guess there wasn't much rain in Phoenix, huh, Bella?" Jasper asks from the back seat.

I look over my shoulder at him and shake my head.

"I wonder what it would be like to have more sunny days than not."

"You'd look like a real surfer instead of an albino one," Edward jokes.

"Har, har." Jasper smiles. "Are the plans for the summer holiday finalized yet?"

"Good question. I don't know. I think mom and dad are waiting for Rose and Em to decide if they want to come along or not," Alice says.

Summer holiday? Are they actually going on a holiday in the summer? Where do they go? Am I allowed to come along? Do I _want_ to come along?

"Bella," Edward says quietly as we stop for the last traffic light before we leave Forks and head home. I look at him and see his soft smile. "Don't worry so much."

I try to exhale some of the tension away and store my questions away to ask later. I know I've used my voice with the others, but doing it again is not as easy as I thought it would be. Besides, details about a holiday aren't that urgent. It can wait.

After dinner, Edward invites me up to his room so we can study together. Ignoring the looks from the others I follow him upstairs, and we go over Biology together. We handed in our assignment last week and are still waiting for a grade. Right now we have to answer some questions about genes.

And I'm stuck. I don't know what hair color my father has, or what the color of his eyes would be. I can't do this homework assignment, and my throat constricts as the questions force me to think of my past.

"What's wrong?" Edward asks when he sees my stencil is still empty.

I close my eyes for a moment and shake my head. "I can't do this."

"What? Why not?"

I look at him and in his eyes see the pain reflected that must be in mine. "I don't know who my father is, Edward."

His face blanches, then fills with compassion. "I'm sorry."

"How can you be sorry?"

"I'm sorry you have to go through this all. Don't worry about the assignment though. We can explain Banner tomorrow you couldn't do it. Mom can even write a note if that makes you feel better."

I nod with a sigh and sit back. Edward shoves his papers and books into a pile and moves over to his stereo. "I've had enough of homework, anyway. What kind of music would you like to hear?"

I shrug. "You decide."

He rummages through his CD's and moments later, the soft tones of Debussy's Clair the Lune drift into the room. I smile in recognition and let the music wash over me, the warm memories of my mother and the hammock playing in my mind's eye.

Edward moves over to me and reaches out his hand. When I place my hand in his, he pulls me to my feet gently, mindful of my sore wrist, and guides my left hand to his shoulder before he places his hand on my waist.

He chuckles lightly when he sees my confused gaze. "Dance with me?"

I swallow thickly, suddenly nervous. I've never danced before and I'm sure I'll completely suck at it. Edward chooses to ignore my anxiety and guides me through the room in slow steps, even managing to make me twirl a few times.

"I can't dance," I say quietly when he moves on, seeming undisturbed.

"Of course you can. Just let me lead you." He tightens his grip slightly, making sure I can sense which way he wants to go. Even so, my steps are hesitant and slow and when the song ends, I pull back in relief.

Edward looks at me with an unreadable expression on his face, then composes himself and smiles. "A movie, then?"

"It's a school night," I say feebly.

He shrugs. "I won't tell if you won't."

However tempting his offer is, I don't dare risk Esme or Carlisle's displeasure.

I'm about to turn to leave his room, when I feel his hand, warm around my wrist.

"Wait," he says. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I don't want to push you, I'm sorry. I just... God, I can't help it. I just want to stay close to you for a little while longer."

His expression is open, and he's showing me his vulnerability with his eyes and words. The feeling of being accepted, of being wanted for the right reasons, feels like a caress trailing down my spine.

He must see something in my gaze, because he smiles. "Come here," he says quietly, and I walk up to him without hesitation. A sigh escapes me when his arms come around me in an embrace, and after a moment, I dare to lean my head against his chest.

He hums in appreciation, making me smile a little.

"I never thought I'd get this far, you know," I say quietly. "I never thought I could ever be comfortable in a hug."

Edward chuckles quietly. "Do you remember the first time we met, in the kitchen at night? I wanted to hug you then and you freaked out completely."

I think back to that night, and even though I was panicked, I remember every detail clearly. "You were just trying to help," I whisper. "I see that now."

"Exactly. I didn't know what to do."

"I thought you hated me."

He squeezes me gently. "Why would I hate you?"

"I was wearing your sweater without your permission. And I just broke a glass. So much for a good first impression."

"I was trying to make a joke," he says quietly. "I had no idea you would react like you did. I hated myself for upsetting you so badly."

"You did?"

He pulls back so he can look into my eyes. "Of course. Every time I did something that made you tense up, it broke me a little inside. Remember when you fell and knocked your head? I carried you to bed. But I don't think you remember that."

I look down, shy. "I do remember bits of that. I remember hearing your heart beat. It calmed me."

I can practically hear him smile, and he pulls me back against him.

"I'm happy you seem to have found your place here," he murmurs into my hair. "I mean, I hate what happened to you before, but I'm glad that you came to live with us."

"It's weird to think that if I'd had a normal life, I would never have met any of you."

"Aren't you angry, sometimes?" he asks carefully. "About what happened, I mean? It must feel unjust to you. I know it does to me, and I'm only a spectator."

I sigh, needing a moment to think about his question. "It bubbles up, sometimes. But it's no use getting angry. It won't change anything."

"I wonder... Was he ever arrested? Your foster father?"

My breath halts. "No, I don't think. I don't want to testify."

Edward says nothing, just tightens his arms around me. "Maybe in time? Wouldn't it help for you if he was behind bars for what he did?"

A shudder travels down my spine, and Edward notices.

"Ssh. I don't want to upset you."

"I guess I will have to think about it though. It's just... it's hard to think about making him pay for what he did. I've believed for such a long time it was all my fault."

Edward hesitates clearly before he speaks again. "That wasn't just Stefan, was it? You already were told that before you came to live with him."

"You mean my mom?"

Another moment of silence. "What happened when she left? Is that when you went to live with your foster father?"

I frown, realizing that he doesn't know. My throat constricts when I try to talk, my face hidden in his chest. "No... I stayed with Laurent, my mom's, well, ex-boyfriend."

"He wasn't a nice man, was he?"

The compassion is so clear in his voice, my defense crumbles in an instant and an uninvited sob escapes me. No, Laurent wasn't a nice man.

"Ssh," he says again, swaying us gently back and forth. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to trigger you."

"He said it was my fault she left," I hiccup. I don't want to cry, but the harder I fight it, the more impossible it becomes to hold back.

I feel naked, vulnerable, as another well-hidden part of my story is laid bare. I loathe that Edward sees me like this, a crying mess, weak. Pathetic. When I try to pull back, he doesn't let me, and instead of feeling caged, I feel cocooned. Wanted. _Safe._

"It wasn't your fault. How could it ever have been your fault? You were only seven."

"I tried to be a good girl," I say in a breaking voice, the words almost incomprehensible through my growing sobs. "I tried, I did..."

I barely notice how Edward guides us to his bed and kneels in the middle, holding me closely against him as I cry.

"Of course you did," he murmurs, stroking my hair. "It wasn't your fault, Bella."

"Then why did it happen?"

His voice sounds agonized when he speaks. "I don't know."

There's nothing else he can say, and nothing else I can do but cry.

"I was so scared you would hate me when I got here," I whisper, unsure if I want Edward to hear my words. He does, and stiffens before he pulls me tighter against him.

"Hate you? How could we hate you?"

"I'm ugly, and stupid, and I can't do nothing right." The barriers have been broken, and now I can't stop the words from coming out. "A bitch. A whore. I asked for it, they said. All my fault. Nobody could ever love me."

"Ssh." His hush is almost urgent.

"I tried so hard to be better..." I can't continue speaking anymore, my sobs choking me up until I almost retch. Edward holds me against him. He reaches over for something, but I'm too far gone to care. It doesn't take long anyway, and soon his arm is back around me, holding me safe.

"Don't let me go, please," I plead, voicing the wish I have held in my heart for all these years.

"I won't let go," he says certainly. "I won't ever let you go."

A knock on the bedroom door, and then it opens.

"What's wrong?" Esme's voice.

I stiffen, already trying to unfold myself from Edward's embrace. "No," he whispers. "I texted her, asked her to come. Ssh, it's all right."

"Edward?" Esme asks, uncertain.

"She thought we would hate her," he says quietly, his voice rough. "She thought she could never be loved."

A shudder tears through me as he relays what just ripped from my core, and one moment later, Esme is on the bed behind me, and her arms are around me, her voice close to my ear.

"Never, Bella. We love you. We loved you even before we saw you. The moment Renée called us, we knew we would give you a home. Show you what it should be like in a family."

"I was so scared." It's as if someone else is saying the words, but although the voice that speaks is small and rough, it's definitely my voice.

"Oh, honey," Esme says quietly, "of course you were. Who wouldn't be?"

I can only cry, sobs that seem to be coming from my toes, grief I've hidden for such a long time being pushed to the surface and there's nothing I can do.

"What's going on in here?" Rosalie's voice sounds from the doorway. "Everything all right?"

"Just a cathartic release," Esme says gently, stroking my hair.

"Then a hug is needed," Rosalie says resolutely and moments later the mattress dips, and she's on my left, wrapping her arms around all of us.

I don't hear other footsteps in the room, but a few minutes later, Alice is suddenly on my right. From the corner of my eye I see the tears of compassion rolling down her cheeks, and she simply sniffles and smiles before she leans her cheek on my shoulder.

We sit for long moments, and finally my sobs are starting to fade away. Belatedly, I realize that I am beyond worrying what they will think, that there is no voice whispering in my mind that I shouldn't show weakness, that I'm a pathetic little mess for crying like this.

I heave a deep sigh, easing the last of the sobs away, and the others release me slowly, chuckling softly.

"Feel better?" Rosalie asks, making me meet her gaze.

I nod, once, and give her a tentative smile. She smiles knowingly back at me. "Sometimes you just need to cry, right?"

"Definitely," Alice says on my other side.

"And we love you, Bella. Don't ever doubt that." I turn a little to look over my shoulder at Esme, a fierce motherly look in her eyes.

"Thank you," I whisper, and she smiles. I can't say the words back and I think she understands. Maybe in time, when I have a better grasp of a concept that has been alien to me for most of my life, I can use the words and know what I mean with them. I do care for everyone in this family though, but it doesn't feel right to say that instead of an 'I love you.'

I suppress a sigh. It's going to be complicated like this for a while, I'm afraid.

"How can there be a group hug going on here without me in it?" Emmett's voice booms behind me suddenly. I cringe in automatic response, and Edward tightens his grip a little in reassurance.

"Because you're not always the center of attention, Emmett. Sorry to break it to you, but the universe doesn't evolve around you," Rosalie deadpans.

"Oh, no, see, it does. Scientists just haven't figured it out yet," he replies easily, and I smile in spite of my brittle mood. "But," he continues, "there's definitely a group hug going on here, and I want to be a part of that."

"Emmett," Alice says quietly, warningly.

"No," he says, obviously understanding what she is trying to say. He walks around the bed and kneels next to Edward, effectively crowding him out of his way. "I've waited since October for this moment, and you all know patience isn't my forte. So, Bella, can a big brother hug his little sister, or what?"

He spreads his arms wide, deliberately pushing Edward even further out of his way. He's being a goof, dimples and all, and I suddenly realize it's just really who he is. He must have been holding back so much simply because he didn't want to scare me.

Taking a deep breath, I rise up on my knees and let his arms engulf me. He's big, no, _huge_, and he nearly squeezes the air out of my lungs. Yet - I am not afraid. It's totally different than when Edward holds me, and part of my already overloaded mind apparently still has the capacity to understand that this is a good thing.

"Jesus," I mutter, overwhelmed with his size, strength, and the sheer newness of it all.

"That's very nice of you, but Emmett will do," he says into my hair before he releases me.

Soft chuckles from the others again, and when I sink back on my knees again, now untouched by the others, I feel more connected to them all than I ever did.

Then Jasper's voice travels up from downstairs. "Where are you guys?"

"We're here," Emmett bellows back, making me cringe a little at the volume of his voice. "Hugging Bella."

"What?" Jasper replies, already coming up the second set of stairs.

"Everybody wants to have their share, it seems," Rosalie muses when Jasper steps into the room.

"Ah, a group hug?" Jasper says, walking up to the bed.

I look at his kind, relaxed face, and when he smiles at me, I smile back. Instead of demanding a hug for himself, he sits down in between Esme and Alice and places a hand on my shoulder.

"Welcome home."


	65. Chapter 65

**A/N I still don't own Twilight**

_Your ongoing love and support amazes and humbles me. Thanks so much for all your wonderful, wonderful reviews! I cherish each and every one! Thanks to Sherry for beta skills and hand holding, and to Bob for understanding me on so many levels. To Aisha, and you know why._**  
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_This chapter contains a trigger warning. Please read with care. Come talk to me or find someone you trust if you have need.  
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_Next update: 2 weeks. It's the best I can do. And it will be Epov :)  
_

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My mood stays brittle, even after the Hollywood style group hug I got yesterday night. I work my way through school like a zombie, ignoring Lauren's eyes which seem to be on me every single second we're in a room together.

The others either understand or just see the purple bruises from exhaustion under my eyes and they surround me like a guard, shielding me from the other students so I don't have to face them. I'm just so damn tired all of a sudden.

Edward asked me to tell Carlisle and Esme what I told him, about my past. I think they know, though. Back when I told my story to Siobhan, she told me she would call Esme and tell her. Weird how I never really asked what exactly was discussed then. I should ask Siobhan when I get there, later.

We're watching the second part of the movie in Biology, and I find I am rubbing my eyes constantly, trying desperately to stay awake. This has never happened to me before, but it's simply impossible to stay aware.

I stiffen in shock when I feel Edward's fingertips weave their way through my hair and find the skin of my neck, and he starts to caress my nape gently. Even as my body freezes, I find I push my chin to my chest a little to give him more space to work. From the corner of my eye I can see that he's looking at the television screen.

His methods are effective though. Vividly aware of his touch - and the goosebumps that travel down my arms as a result - I find it's suddenly a lot less difficult to stay awake.

Focusing on the movie, however, remains impossible.

After Biology, I yawn my way through Gym and am actually glad to be done with school. Edward finds me waiting near his car, ready to go to Port Angeles. Weekly sessions, instead of twice a week. I like it.

"Why don't you nap a little? You look beat," he says when he starts the engine.

"I'm okay."

He laughs, once. "No, you're not."

"Well, I don't tell the story of my past every day."

He looks at me, contrite. "I'm sorry. Did it keep you awake last night?"

I shrug and rub my irritated eyes. "No, not really."

"Sleep," he repeats, backing out of the parking lot and setting course for Port Angeles.

My eyes fall closed before we hit the highway.

**~O~**

"How are you?" Siobhan asks with concern as I sit down in her office.

The time has come, I think. Words come so easily now, so maybe I should start using them here, too. I'm getting damn tired of typing, anyway.

I meet her gaze before I speak. "Tired."

She blinks, then smiles, then gets back to her task again. "Good to hear your voice. Thank you for trusting me enough to talk to me. How come you're tired?"

Her simple praise makes me glow, somehow. I never realized it would be a trust thing, using my voice with her or not. But looking at it like that, I guess it's some sort of confirmation for her, too, that she's doing her job well. Not that I ever doubted that.

My throat seems to block when I try to speak again, and I frown.

"It's okay, take your time," Siobhan says. "If you would rather write down your words, we can do that, too."

I shake my head. I need to get my voice under control. Thinking back to yesterday's events, I realize it must be the subject matter that makes me block now. I swallow, and try again.

"I told Edward about my past yesterday. About Laurent."

"Ah. And how did he react?"

My arms wrap around my torso in a feeble substitution of yesterday's epic embrace. "He hugged me tighter," I say, my voice a bit rough with the emotion that resurfaces.

She simply smiles at me, her eyes showing something suspiciously close to pride. "So you're hugging him, now, huh," she says, more like a friend than a therapist, and I duck my head and smile as well.

"Yeah. It feels good, too, to answer your next question."

Siobhan laughs, a nice, light belly laugh that lightens the atmosphere in the room. "That's good to hear, Bella. Really good. But tell me more about yesterday, because it caused quite the reaction in you. Your eyes look hollow."

I sigh deeply, thinking back to yesterday and the emotional uproar that wreaked havoc in my mind. "Memories," I say finally.

"Of your past?"

"Yes. But of last year, too. When I just arrived with the Cullens." The word 'Cullens' sounds stilted, likely because I've never said it out loud before.

"What about that?"

I shiver involuntarily. "I was so scared they would hate me."

"But they didn't."

No, they didn't.

"Because your life was never your fault to begin with."

"I know."

Silence falls over us, and Siobhan sips her glass of water. "I actually believe you when you say that," she says quietly, and I smile a little. "So how about yesterday?"

"Back when I first told you about Laurent, how much did you tell Esme?"

Siobhan thinks for a moment. "I told her that Stefan wasn't the only one who abused you."

Right.

"Is that what you told Edward, last night?"

"Just that he said it was my fault my mother left."

"And then he hugged you tighter?"

"Something like that."

"So how come you're tired right now? One would think you would be relieved." She's baiting me, I know that, but I take it anyway.

"Maybe it's all the tension falling away finally."

She sits back and looks at me studiously. "Do you think that is all?"

A frustrated sigh escapes me. "It's a lot, what happened I mean. And it's like I can't push it away any longer."

"You're reliving it," she says, softer now.

I simply nod. Every waking moment since yesterday night, and almost every sleeping minute, too, or so it feels, has been filled with memories. And right now, triggered by Siobhan's words, my head fills with them again.

"You're processing them," she says. "It's part of the journey. You've come to a rational understanding of what happened, and now your emotions are starting to catch up."

"I felt so powerless," I whisper, frowning.

"You _were_ powerless," Siobhan said. "You were not responsible for what happened. That they made you believe that, is only proof of the way they abused their power over you."

What she says makes sense, but it's still hard.

"Bella, in any situation in which adults and children are involved, who should know better?"

"The adults," I whisper.

"Do adults have any right to beat their children beyond reason, to abuse them sexually and physically?"

My shoulders sag and I shudder. "They said I asked for it."

"How could you have asked for it? How can any child ask for abuse like this? You were a victim, and you were powerless to change your situation. There is no justification for what the caretakers in your early life have done to you."

Silence falls, and I chew on my lip until it bleeds.

"It's okay to be angry at them. You probably couldn't be, back then, because they made you feel they were right and you were wrong. But once you start seeing how very much wrong they were, maybe you can start getting angry at them."

That's a scary notion and I look away from her. It was always dangerous to be angry. Not only because it felt unjust, but because my anger would elicit a much stronger reaction from them, irrevocably.

"It's important to try and work through the emotions you felt back then through the mind you had back then," Siobhan continues. "Do you feel shame, guilt?"

My blush answers her question before I can nod.

"That's partly because you're judging what happened then with your mind as it is now. And because your abusers talked you into shame. It's a way for them to hold power over you. To prevent you from talking."

"I wasn't supposed to talk about it," I breathe, not even sure if Siobhan can hear it.

"Not according to them, no. But why do you think that was?"

Her question makes something topple over in my mind, it seems, as age old logic becomes unstable and collapses. They didn't want me to talk about it, not because it was all my fault, but because they knew damn well what they were doing was wrong.

"But my mom?" I ask. "She was so angry."

"There is no way of knowing unless you ask her," Siobhan says gently. "But it's up to you if you would want a confrontation with her, at all."

I shake my head, slowly. "She's not a part of my life anymore."

"That's a coping mechanism," Siobhan says. "But for now, I see no harm in that. For the next week, I want you to focus on the emotions you feel about your past. When you feel guilt or shame, know that these emotions stem from your mind now, not from your mind then. There was nothing you could do against it. You can't blame yourself for what happened. You were too young to know that what was happening, was wrong."

I suck on my lip, the blood tasting coppery in my mouth.

"Bella, listen to me. Children are loyal, You were loyal to the adults in your life. You accepted what they decided to give you, probably because you wanted desperately to please them, to earn their approval. Correct?"

God, yes. Contorted as it may be, it's true.

I tried so hard to be a good girl…

Hot tears burn in my already irritated eyes and trail down my cheeks. But then anger washes over me. Anger at myself. How could I ever have possibly accepted what happened?

"There you go," Siobhan says, looking closely at my face. "Don't judge yourself, Bella. If you picture yourself as another small child, you would understand why the child couldn't, and wouldn't, fight."

Right.

"It's hard," I offer, my voice broken.

"That, it is. And processing this all is not going to be easy. An important step would be to forgive yourself for what happened. There was nothing you could have done. Nothing."

"I could have told the authorities," I whisper. "I could have told someone."

"Yes, perhaps. But what child goes against its superiors? You were respecting their authority, and they abused it horribly."

Slowly, slowly, the hierarchy of power is starting to shift in my brain. I _was_ powerless. Not because I was too weak to improve myself, to make less mistakes, but because I was a child, and they were my caretakers, and they were supposed to provide a safe home for me.

It's… confusing.

Siobhan tells me about various methods I can use to give way to the emotions I'll sure start to feel now this wall has come down as well. She explains that pushing my emotions away has been a good coping mechanism. 'A form of dissociation,' she calls it, and sometimes it will help me to get through the day. But in the end, it's these repressed emotions I will have to sift through and process, or they will follow me for the rest of my life, haunting.

She proposes drawing as an outlet, but it doesn't sound all that appealing to me. Any other thing I can't really do yet with my stupid wrist.

"Think about ways to let it out," she says. "And don't judge yourself for what you did back then. You were still a kid. You didn't even know that what happened, was wrong."

Her last words make me pause. She's right. I thought it was normal, and it wasn't. But it's damn hard to make myself realize that it's not me who should have been smarter.

I am not responsible.

It's as scary as it is liberating, somehow.

When I emerge from Siobhan's room, Edward's face seems to crumple to moment he sees me. I make the 'sorry' sign against my chest, but he shakes his head.

"Just know you can talk to me, anytime."

Yeah, Siobhan said I should try that. Talk. Talk, talk, talk. Stop making it a secret what happened, and talk about it.

But, oh my god, she has no idea.

No, I think then, she does. She has been through this as well. She is a certified peer counselor after all, and I read her diary.

All the way home, I ponder about a way to bring this up with anyone. Maybe I should start with Esme? I don't want to burden Edward with this, it's clear I'm already bringing him down with my sad, sad behavior.

I sigh and suck on my throbbing lip to soothe the ache. Siobhan said this was a normal part of processing my past, but I don't like it at all.

The problem is, I don't think there's a way back.

When Edward parks in the garage, I'm out of the car before he has opened his door. I speed through the hallway, not wanting to be alone with him. It's not that I'm suddenly afraid of him or whatever... It's just that I can't stand having anyone close right now.

The living room is an explosion of activity, and it takes me a moment to figure out what's going on. Then I realize that the dresses Rosalie and Alice have ordered must have arrived, and they are looking at them downstairs, the gowns spread out over the couches and chairs.

Edward slips past me, touching my lower back in a silent sign of support, but leaving me be otherwise.

"Oh Bella, good you're here," Alice exclaims. "We need your opinion." She's oblivious to my hollow state and starts pointing out the various dresses for me. When she offers to try one on and show it, I don't deny her. The moment she disappears in the downstairs bathroom, Rosalie steps up to me.

"You all right?"

I want to nod, but I can only swallow in the hopes of suppressing the sudden urge to cry. Rosalie bears an understanding I can't completely explain, but I know she knows what I'm feeling. Maybe it's because she knows what it's like to be touched without wanting it.

Instead of leaving me alone, she resolutely pulls me against her in a strong hug, holding me so tightly it almost hurts. And yet, it's not enough. I lean my weight against her and sigh deeply, and she strokes my hair.

"It sucks, doesn't it," she says quietly.

I'm not sure what she is referring to, but she's right, so I nod into her neck. I step back just before Alice comes back into the room, a beautiful fuchsia gown draped around her frame.

"That's pretty," Rosalie says. "Even if you don't wear it for prom, maybe you can keep it."

Right then, Esme comes in from the kitchen. "Keep it reasonable, ladies."

Alice nods, showing absolutely no remorse whatsoever, and twirls. "What do you think?"

"Pretty," I say, my voice so rough I hardly recognize it. I clear my throat quietly, but it's constricting against the emotions I'm trying hard to hold down. Alice and Rosalie simply beam at me, for having used my voice again.

I force myself to focus on them until dinner. Alice seems mostly unobservant, but Rosalie knows I'm not in the best of moods. The only thing she does to acknowledge it is by giving me understanding looks. Apart from that, she doesn't draw attention to me, and I'm grateful for that.

They put on quite the fashion show in the last twenty minutes before dinner, and when Carlisle comes home, he looks at the spectacle, arms crossed and an amused look on his face.

When Alice begs him to give his opinion on the dresses and which one she should wear to prom, he throws his hands in the air and refuses. "No. I'd rather see you all in high collared lace. Nice and covered."

Alice giggles, but I don't miss the flash of pain that travels across Rosalie's face. She mans up quickly however, shaking her head at me almost imperceptibly when she sees I noticed. I nod, once, acknowledging the silent bond we have formed.

"Dad, we are living in the twenty first century, you know," Alice says, undisturbed.

"Nothing wrong with covering up," he persists. "Dresses from the Victorian age were elegant, too."

"The corsets weren't," Esme interjects, walking up to Carlisle and wrapping her arms around his waist.

I suddenly can't stand the careless atmosphere in the room anymore, not with what is weighing down my mind, and stomp into the kitchen resolutely to set the table or stir the sauce or do something, anything at all to distract myself from the tears that are burning in my eyes.

Somehow I manage to keep myself in check until after dinner. Long after the others have gone upstairs or to the living room to study or watch TV, I sneak into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. I nearly burn my hands on the kettle, which apparently had hot water in it still, but apart from fueling my irritation, it seems to be okay. Setting water to boil, I take out a glass of the cabinet to drink some cold water to kill the time until the kettle whistles.

How it happens, I don't know, but the glass slips from my hand as I bring it to my mouth. It bounces on the counter and breaks, and in my reflex to catch it, a sharp shard of glass digs into the fingers of my right hand. Blood starts to flow immediately, thinned by the water on my skin.

I've reached my limit and explode.

"_Fuck_!"

Damn it feels good to curse out loud. And then I hear movement behind me and I whirl around, cupping my injured hand in front of me and feeling the blood drip down my left hand to the floor. Carlisle is coming up to me, obviously alarmed.

He heard me swear.

In utter panic, my mind locks down and my old instinct kicks in.

_Run._

I flee the house, ignoring him calling my name. The last full minutes of full daylight are starting to get a grayish hue, signaling that twilight is about to set in, starting early because of the heavy clouds that hang overhead.

Ignoring the threat of rain, ignoring my bleeding hand, ignoring everything, I run through the garden and into the forest, past the forgotten fence a little ways into the woods, and into the direction of the only safe place I can think of right now.

It's fully dark by the time I reach the meadow, and an audible sort of shocked grunt escapes me when a flashlight clicks on and Edward is waiting for me in the center. For a moment I consider turning around, but I don't want to go back to the house alone, either.

We stand a few yards apart for a long minute, unmoving. Then, when he holds out his arms, I break down and walk straight into his embrace. I thought I wouldn't be able to stand the touch, but knowing that he came out here, to find me, to wait for me even if he couldn't be sure this was where I'd go, makes me feel even more connected to him.

I cry.

My body convulses with the sobs I'm trying to keep quiet, and tears are streaming down my face. I'm happy it's dark out, so he can't see my red eyes. Edward hands me a pack of tissues without words and I wipe my cheeks and running nose. Since I'm not sure if my hand has stopped bleeding yet, I press a clean tissue against my sticky fingers as well.

His arms come back around me again and I shudder, suddenly cold. _Thank fuck it stayed dry_, I think, but then add, _until now_, as the first fat drops are starting to fall. I can hear them on the leaves around us, a few clearly close by and a lot more, softer, farther away.

Edward doesn't move, undisturbed by the rain. "Do you have words, Bella?"

I shake my head into his chest, and he rocks me gently back and forth, patiently waiting for my sobs to die down a little.

"I'm so sorry," I finally force out, but he hushes me.

"Don't be."

"I just can't... I don't... And now, and the glass..."

I can't even finish a sentence, and I find I can't say Carlisle's name. Now that's an oddity I really don't want to spend any time thinking about.

"Are you hurt?"

"No." My fingers throb and sting like there's glass still stuck in it, but I don't care.

"What happened today?"

I grow cold from the inside out. I know what he means by his question. "I don't want to talk about it." Siobhan can take that advice and keep it. I can't talk about it.

"Maybe it'll help," he coaxes. His coat is starting to get soaked from the rain.

"No. I'm already enough of a burden to you."

To this, he pulls back so he can look into my face, even though I can only see his silhouette. "Would you do this for me?"

I nod numbly, not even sure if he notices. He pulls me back against him. "That goes both ways, you know."

For a moment, I consider telling him. That I'm reliving everything and that I'm scared about the emotional mayhem it's going to bring. That I want to die of shame and guilt, and that I don't see how I can rationalize these emotions away.

But my throat blocks and I pull back into myself, hunching against the cold.

"Are you ready to go home?"

"Is he mad?"

"No. Just worried. You took off into the woods like your life depended on it."

My body possibly thought it did.

As he helps me find my way with the flashlight and a supporting arm, I suddenly feel how tired I am. Edward is practically holding me up once we've reached the car, and, ignoring our sodden clothes, he helps me into the passenger seat. When he's behind the wheel, he clicks on the tiny overhead light.

"Show me your hand," he says.

Immediately protective, I have to fight my natural instincts to hide my injury away from him instead of showing it. But I force myself to show him my hand, the damp tissue I held against it turned pink with blood and rain.

As he pulls back the paper carefully, the gashes reopen and start bleeding again. They sting, and I suppress a hiss. Holy crap, they're deeper than I thought. Edward gives me a clean tissue to hold against it and then drives us home, pondering out loud that it might not be the best idea to get me to the hospital.

"What for?" I ask through chattering teeth.

"I hope those don't need stitches."

My vision goes dark for a moment when he says that, and my fingers curl inward over the wounds protectively. "No, it's all right. They'll heal."

Everything always heals, eventually.

He looks at me, but then focuses on the road again, navigating us back home. When he parks in the garage, I'm afraid to get out of the car.

"Bella, come on. It's okay."

No, it isn't. My heart is hammering against my ribs and my spine is rigid in fear. I fucked up big time. Not just by breaking a glass, but by running, too. What was I thinking? Don't ever run, nothing good can come from it.

A quiet sigh escapes me, and when Edward leaves the car, I don't move. I just can't. My surroundings start to fade until I'm alone in a bubble, not quite shut down but not completely aware of the world anymore, either. I'm shocked back into reality as the car door on my side opens.

The lights in the garage have come on, and Carlisle is kneeling next to the open door, and I am cornered. I take a breath, frightened, even though there is no anger in his face. In fact, the calm he is exuding allows me a second to gather my wits around me again. There is something in his gaze, and it immediately registers.

He's cornering me on purpose. He knows that I know that there's no way out for me right now. Yet, there's no darkness in his eyes, no threat in his gaze or voice. He just looks up at me, not speaking, not doing anything until I'm calm enough to actually meet his gaze and hold it.

"Good," he says quietly. Nobody else is in the garage. It's just him and me, and my heart somersaults in renewed fear when I realize this.

"Calm down," he says, his voice still warm and soft. "You know nothing will happen, and that I pose no threat. Deep down, I know you know this."

I inhale shakily, his words fighting with my natural instinct to fear men, especially those that hold authority over me.

He waits so patiently, I feel like he is willing to sit there all night if that is what it takes to get me to believe him. And when I finally accept his words for truth, a defeated sigh escapes me. I'm so ashamed of how I acted.

"It's okay," he says soothingly.

After a long moment, he shifts a little and sits down on the doorstep of the car. "Can I see your hand?"

What? No. I hide my sore hand from view like a petulant child, and again he just patiently waits until I see sense and, with hammering heart, hold out my hand so he can check.

The light of the garage is not ideal, but even now I can see how the bandage around my wrist has become bloody. Dried blood is all over my fingers, too. It's a mess. Carlisle doesn't blink, doesn't even care he is touching my skin, coming into contact with my blood.

This is not a doctor at work, but a father, I realize. The realization is unsettling, and quickly pushed away by pain when he pulls the tissue away from my skin. Like with Edward, my fingers start bleeding again immediately.

"I want to get a closer look at this. Would you come into the house with me?"

His question somehow is so undemanding and open, and it makes me feel so normal, that I unclip my seatbelt and follow him into the kitchen. Edward and Esme are waiting there. The others are nowhere to be seen. There are no signs left of the glass, or the trail of blood I must have left behind.

I blush when Esme meets my gaze, but she simply makes a sympathetic sound and then walks away quickly to retrieve a towel from the downstairs bathroom. Edward, I see now, has already taken off his coat and sweater and has towel dried his hair a little. He walks up to me and touches my shoulder, and suddenly I feel how cold I really am.

"Ssh," he says quietly, soothing me. Just then, Carlisle comes back into the room, having retrieved his black doctor's bag from his study.

"Take a seat," he tells me, moving to turn up the light above the kitchen table. Esme comes back with towels, helping me to squeeze some of the wetness out of my hair. She wraps another around me for some warmth, but I'm focused on Carlisle as he sits down next to me, laying out gauze, tape, and some stuff to clean the cuts with.

Edward stands back, then moves to help his mom with something in the kitchen. Carlisle clears his throat to get my attention back to him, and, numb, I give him my hand. He pulls away the tissue carefully, but can't prevent the sting that results when the cut skin is moved. He cleans away the dried blood and then cleans the cuts, warning me it will hurt a little.

I don't even react when the iodine burns any trace of dirt away, and, gritting my teeth, I let Carlisle check the cuts for traces of glass. When he's satisfied all is clear, he wraps up my fingers in gauze and tape. Then he proceeds to unwrap the bloodied bandage that's still around my wrist. I look on as he checks my wrist as well. Apparently satisfied with the result, he tells me to wear the brace for about a week more. The thin red rope Renée tied around my wrist is still there.

"Take it easy with your hand," he says quietly. "It has had much to endure." His thumb grazes the scar in my palm, and my breath catches. So he's noticed it. How long has he known? "You okay?"

I nod, once, pulling my hand back to examine the gauze. Carlisle has taped the three fingers that were cut. I look like a mummy. A sigh escapes me.

They don't ask me to explain my behavior, and for that I am grateful. They aren't angry, either, which relieves me immensely.

The clock in the hallway strikes one, and I look up in surprise. I knew I'd been away for a while, but I didn't realize it was this late already. When I shiver in cold, Esme steps up resolutely and looks at me. "Come on."

I frown but follow her as she leads the way to my bedroom. She gets clean pajamas from my closet and places them on the bed, then faces me. "Let me help you."

Only the light on my bedside table is on, and the room is filled in a soft glow. Today's events have lowered my defenses and crumbled my logic, and while I feel incredibly vulnerable, somehow I feel lighter, more open than I have in a very long time.

And so it happens that I let Esme help me take off my damp sweater, and then the thin long sleeve I am wearing under it. Her eyes show surprise when she sees the tank top I am wearing under that still — there's safety in layers — but she doesn't speak. Instead, she simply takes that off, too.

I've never been this… naked in front of anyone since I left Stefan. Even in the hospital they made an effort to cover me up. Still, it's nothing compared to the emotional rawness I feel. Esme doesn't speak, but can't stop her eyes from wandering over my form.

I know what I look like. I'm still too thin, my ribs are jutting out and my waist is too small. My pants, like always, only barely cling to my hips.

She helps me to pull on the pajama top, either not making me going through the discomfort of removing my bra, or deducing I usually leave it on when I sleep. I look on, helpless, as she then simply proceeds to untie the laces of my sneakers so she can pull them off my feet, as well as my socks. My pants follow suit, and she tuts at my skinny legs.

"I'm sorry," I croak.

Still kneeling in front of me, she looks up into my eyes. "This is nothing you have to be sorry for, honey." Her voice is soft, soothing. "Come, let's get you warm." She helps me step into the cotton pajama pants and then pulls back the blankets for me.

I crawl into bed, and though I haven't forgotten all my old fears, they're now just that; old. This is Esme, and she's the closest thing to a mother I will ever have. She just wants me to be happy, and right now, she wants me to be warm and comfortable.

By giving her the ability to fulfill her clear need to take care of me, I realize that I find comfort in being taken care of. I always thought that that was a luxury not reserved for me. Then I needed a while to come to terms with accepting it, simply because it's scary to be needy.

And now here I am, tucked into bed by Esme, and somehow I feel that she's been wanting to do this ever since I set foot in her house.

Esme gets up and starts to turn, and suddenly I don't want to be alone. I don't want to face the night with its endless horrific dreams on my own. I don't want to sleep, but I can feel my body already locking down on me.

"Stay?" I ask before I can stop myself.

Her eyes grow warm. "Of course, honey. Want me to sit with you?"

I nod, my throat clogged with tears that have been too close to the surface since Edward brought me home.

Esme simply crawls up onto the bed and sits against the headboard, waiting to see what exactly I want. I sit up a little against the pillows as well, and finally lean my cheek against her upper arm. I don't need her arms around me right now, in fact it would probably make me uncomfortable, but the simple contact of resting my head just below her shoulder is enough right now.

Siobhan's advice, to talk, talk, talk, comes back to mind. But I have no words tonight.

I swallow, knowing that the last boundaries will be broken soon, that I will have to start talking, disclosing my past. But not now. I'm not ready yet to close this chapter, this antebellum between my past and my future.

Let me just sit here in silence for one night more.


	66. Chapter 66

**A/N Twilight is not mine  
**

_Hello and thanks again for all your wonderful reviews. It makes me sad though that some of you seem to think the story has come to a standstill. In my effort to try and write a realistic story, sometimes progress comes to a halt. Healing doesn't go smoothly, sadly. I won't nag about negative anon reviews, but calling a story 'phony' and 'crap' is not constructive criticism. Using words like that is hurtful for the author. I am, by all means, still an amateur writer who is trying to write a story. And I put my heart and soul into it. If it's not perfect, it's still the best I can do. _**  
**

_Thanks to Sherry for beta work, to Debbie for being my affair, still, and to Bob for holding my hand. Thanks to you, and all the others who held my hand as I broke down. Thanks to Aleea, who still manages to preread against all the odds._

_This is Edward's point of view, and he's wordy as usual. Hope you'll like it :)_

* * *

**Edward**

God.

I don't know what to do. Bella's desperation wrecks me as much as it does her, I think. Something happened, a breakthrough, dad says. But the way her shoulders are now hunched, her eyes puffy from crying, the way she fidgets nervously constantly, doesn't make it easy to believe that this breakthrough is a good thing.

Mom brought her to bed last night and then didn't come back out again. When I get ready for school the next morning, with just over an hour of sleep on my own count, Bella is nowhere to be seen.

"I let her sleep," mom says by way of explanation. "I already called her in sick."

"Is she okay?" I ask. I really want to go check on her, but I know that walking into her room might not be the best idea. The bond we are building is amazing, but it's a fragile one. I don't want to overstep in my arrogance that I'd be somehow more special to her.

"Right now, I don't think she is," mom says honestly. Something twists in my gut, the fiercely protective side of me, the part of me that wants to make it all right for her.

"Her emotions are catching up, Edward. I called Siobhan yesterday when Bella ran away. She explained a little what was happening."

"So what do we do?" I ask, tugging at my hair.

"We let her know that we're there for her. She might start talking about her past, and all we can do is be there to listen."

Talk about her past... Like she did to me, when she told me about Laurent. "Did you know about Laurent?" I ask.

Mom's eyes turn sad. "Yes, we do. Did she tell you?"

"A bit, yes."

She nods, once. "If you ever need to unload, come find us, okay?"

I nod to let her know I heard her, but I don't know how I could talk to them to discuss anything Bella tells me. I know I've said some things before, but it feels like betraying her trust in a horrible way if I were to talk about what she tells me.

"Time to go to school, Edward," mom says quietly.

"Right," I say, distracted.

"Try to pay at least a little bit of attention. Bella will be all right. We... We kind of knew this would happen when we offered to become her foster family. This is a phase she has to get through."

The sadness in mom's eyes matches my own when I look at her. "It tears me apart," I confess softly. "I care for her."

"I know you do, sweetheart," she replies and she comes up to wrap her arms around my waist. I return the hug, grateful for mom's unwavering support and the way she never judges anything we feel. "We all do. But we can't all put our lives on hold because Bella is going through this." She chuckles without humor. "Think how nervous that would make her."

I can't help but grin and lean my cheek against the top of her head for a moment. She smells like her favorite perfume, a scent I've known and associated with her ever since my early childhood.

"To school you go," she says, pushing against my chest. "Alice and Jasper are already waiting for you in the garage."

I nod, try to smile, fail, and turn to drive to school with my siblings. Rose and Emmett have already gone, and if I don't hurry, the three of us will be late.

"Where's Bella?" Eric asks during class. "I didn't see her?"

"She's home. She didn't feel well." That's about the safest answer I can think of right now.

"Did you hear the rumors?"

"What rumors?"

But the teacher asks us to pay attention and I have to wait until after class until he can tell me.

"Lauren is telling everyone you're doing Bella," he says. He looks decidedly uncomfortable. "I hope you aren't, because that would be all sorts of wrong."

What, again? After spring break, word got around that I traded in my V-card. Why do others target me with this shit?

I grit my teeth. He's not my closest friend, and he's just warning me for the shit Lauren's been spreading. I don't feel like reminding him that I have four siblings, not related by blood, who are in a committed relationship with each other.

"I'm not, I'll have you know," I say. "And if I did, so what? She's been with us for seven months, it's not like we grew up together." _And even then._

"I don't know, man. You look like her like you'd give your right arm just to make her smile. Seems like an awful lot of effort to me. Why bother with so much trouble?"

I take a deep breath to curb my anger and yank my school bag off the table. "What I do or don't do is none of your business."

Eric throws his hands up in the air. "Just saying, dude. Prom is coming up, if you're planning on getting some, Bella doesn't look like the best opportunity to me."

I snap. "If you like your teeth inside your mouth, I'd stop talking now."

He swallows, and frowns in clear confusion. "Whatever. Your loss."

I shake my head and walk away. No loss. My gain. Bella is... Amazing. Sweet. Loving. Special. Loyal. Caring. Genuinely interested. Smart. Funny. Witty, even. Beautiful. And she fits in my lap as if she was made to be there.

But right now she's home, and I can't shake the image of her crying her eyes out over her past, over the hurt those fuckers caused her. To think they're still walking around makes me want to break something.

But she doesn't want to testify. I think I understand. It must be a daunting prospect of telling every detail of your story to police officers, and then later in the court room to the lawyers and jury. Having the lawyers of those assholes probably question the testimony, hooking onto her own fears that it was her own fault... It's not something many people would have the strength to face.

Yeah, I think I understand. But when she's ready, I'll be there for her. Hell, I wish I could do it for her, but I can't. I can only be there for her now, and not even that, since I have to be in school. Dad is not going to let me get away with skipping class.

During Biology, I figure she must be awake if she slept in, and I text her.

_Hey, how are you? Mom said you needed some quiet time. You okay?_

A response comes within minutes.

_I'm okay. Please pay attention to class._

I can't help but smile. Her telling me to pay attention to class is not because she's acting like my mom, but because she either thinks that school is more important than her, or that she doesn't want to be responsible for me missing any information during the lecture.

But her response is flat enough for me to know she's not okay.

_I can multitask. Was just thinking about you, worrying._

This time, the response takes longer. When get her message, I have to wait a few minutes before Mr. Banner turns back to the board and I can check the screen of my phone.

_Don't worry about me, Edward. I'll be fine._

I can't argue with her through text. I'll worry just as much as she tells me not to worry.

_You sure?_

It's a silly question. As if her reassurance would stop me from fussing over her. I'm not sure if this is part of the deal when you're falling in love with someone, but it sure as hell is a big part of it for me.

_I've survived this far. I can survive the memories, too._

That's pretty damn insightful of her, and for some strange reason it eases my worries, however much I thought that to be impossible. She's opening up, I think. She's finally letting us know what's going on in that mind of hers. She's just reliving things.

Last night, after the emotional roller coaster that started with me going to the meadow like mad man, hoping she would be there, had settled somewhat, I started googling. There's a whole lot of stuff to be found about abuse and the consequences of it. After sifting through some websites, I found an article that was written in a friendly tone of voice, telling about the emotional consequences of abuse.

It was enlightening to read, even though it made me sick to think that Bella has been through this in her past and is going through this again now. No wonder she's learned to shut down her emotions. The article listed them all, along with the reasons why the victim would try to push them away. It made my stomach roll.

And then I saw Bella in my mind's eye, and all I can see is how strong she is. Even if she runs when she gets overwhelmed, even if she doesn't speak easily, or still doesn't like touch or to be around others in general. Underneath it all is the clear desire to fit in, to get over her past, to be normal, as far as normal goes.

I will the minutes to pass so I can go home. There's just no way I'm going to Spanish. _Eso no va pasar._ There you go.

A quick text to Jasper and Alice assures me they can get a ride home themselves, and the moment the bell rings, I'm out of my seat and on my way to the door.

"Edward, a word?" Mr. Banner asks just before I can pretend I didn't hear him. Closing my eyes in frustration, I want to laugh at my pathetic behavior at the same time. Jesus. It's not like Bella is waiting for me, is she? Maybe she won't even want to see me.

I make myself move to Banners desk and he speaks. "I hope Bella's illness doesn't last long. Here's a list of the upcoming week's homework for her, so she can keep up to speed if she's up to it."

My mind works quickly. What does he know about Bella being ill? Has he been told, or is he guessing?

"You okay there?" Mr. Banner asks quietly as the last of the students leave the room.

"Yeah. I... yeah," I say, a hand coming up to my hair.

"You haven't heard one word of today's class, have you," he says gently.

I frown at him, but his unwavering gaze tells me I'm busted.

"Send her my well wishes. She means a lot to you, doesn't she?"

"I..." What's with the stammering all of a sudden?

He smiles again. "I can tell she looks up to you, too. When she just came to my class, she was fragile as glass. But now? It's good to see how she's coming out of her shell."

"Yeah," I agree. It's all I can say, really.

"It's hard not to like someone like her the moment you meet her. I hope she gets well again soon."

In the hallway, I can hear the students of the next period approaching. The words blurt out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

"She's not okay, Mr. Banner."

We're interrupted by people streaming into the room. Mr. Banner holds my gaze, not distracted by the movement behind me. "She will be. She's as strong as she can be. Just give her time and patience."

I nod, unable to come up with a proper response, and turn to leave the room. I wonder again how much he knows, and if he knows more about the subject matter than you might expect from a biology teacher.

And then I want to slap my forehead at my own stupidity. Of course, he must have guessed something when Bella explained she hadn't been able to do the homework assignment on genes. The teacher may not know what exactly happened, but he knows Bella is a foster child and that her father is unknown. It's not hard to put two and two together and figure she's had a hard life before she came here. The fact that she didn't speak, or still doesn't as far as he knows, and was indeed little more than a hollow shell when she first arrived in Forks, only adds to that.

Briefly I consider turning back and thanking him, but the next class has started and the hallway is empty. I have to get out of here if I want to slip out of school unseen by any teachers.

The air outside is warmer, almost balmy for the time of the year. It surrounds me like a blanket and suddenly, I am exhausted. I've slept like shit, and worrying over Bella all day long didn't help. With a silent groan I realize I have to do homework tonight, to make up for the time I lost yesterday when I picked up Bella in the meadow. And I can't push it forward until tomorrow, because then I simply won't have enough time to finish that stupid paper for Spanish.

Ugh. Only she would give such a huge assignment right before prom and finals. Which is all the more reason for me to get myself home now instead of wasting any more time and energy in her class.

By the time I pull up in front of the garage, my eyes are burning with fatigue. The house is deserted, so I figure mom is out and Bella must be in her room. I grab a snack from the fridge and go upstairs, knocking at her door. No answer, but very faintly, I can hear the shower going. She sure has the weirdest showering rhythm, but then again I've noticed before she sometimes showers multiple times a day.

After reading that article, I know now this is likely because she feels dirty. I think I can understand this, even though she's not dirty at all, of course. But I think I'd feel the same if someone had touched me without me wanting it, too. Hell, I wanted to shower every time I'd spent time with Jessica. Go figure.

Shaking my head to get that excuse of a girl from my thoughts, I leave Bella's door and go upstairs to my room, intending to study. The moment my eyes latch onto my bed however, I don't even want to fight my exhaustion anymore. How Bella keeps awake with her obvious sleep deprivation is beyond me, but I'm too tired to try and copy her strength. Instead, I kick off my shoes and stretch out on the bed, my muscles burning in the sweet relief of being able to relax. The candy bar I brought upstairs with me lies forgotten on my nightstand as my eyes slip closed almost immediately.

A soft knocking on the door rouses me. I don't know how long I've slept. Not long, for sure. Again a knock, or more a scratch. By the tentativeness of the sound I just know it's Bella.

"Come in," I call, my voice groggy and low from sleep.

She slips into the room as quietly as a mouse, then closes the door behind her with a soft click. I turn to face her more fully, and her eyes grow wide. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were sleeping."

I give a one shouldered shrug, but damn it if I have the energy to lift my head. She stays near the door, undecided, and in an impulse, I reach out my arm in invitation.

She hesitates.

"Come on. You must be even more exhausted than I am."

Her first step towards me is jerky, as if she's forcing herself to move. Then she moves over in a more graceful way, walking around the bed by my indication.

"Come here," I say, suddenly very much needing to have her in my arms again. I can clearly hear her breath stutter as she sits down on the edge of the mattress, her body so light I can barely feel the dip.

She searches my eyes, and I can only hope she's finding what she is looking for in my gaze. Then her hand slips forward on the mattress, bringing her upper body with it as she reaches out.

I take her hand gently, hoping to convey that I really, truly, honestly want nothing more than just lie with her for a bit. After reading on the web I suddenly realize how every action, every look, every word can be a threat to her. More than ever, I know I have to be extremely careful with what I do. Yet, I also know that without positive reinforcement, she won't make any progress.

Not that it's my intention to barge in and fix her or anything. But I'd like to show her that life can be good, too.

Her body is stiff as a board, but slowly, slowly she moves until she is flat on the bed, on her back, her eyes on the ceiling. I can't help but shake my head and chuckle quietly.

"Nothing's going to happen. I'm hurt you would think that of me."

Her head whips around to meet my gaze, and it's clear she's a bit startled by our proximity. This from the girl who literally asked me why I wouldn't kiss her. The answer, I think, is right here.

But she's so beautiful, more so up close. Her skin is flawless, her eyes wide and vulnerable, framed by thick, dark lashes. She doesn't need make up or any fancy stuff to be gorgeous. She just is. At least, to me.

But damn, I'm tired. I shift a little, getting comfortable. And then I do something she might very well knee me in the balls for, but damn it, I want this and I think I can be sure she wants this too, once she can let go of that fear of hers.

My hand touches her hip, guiding her to turn her back to me. She frowns.

"Nothing will happen. I just want to hold you for a while," I murmur, sleep clogging up my brain like a drug.

Slowly, her fear almost tangible, she turns away from me. Rosy and hazy with sleep, I shift closer to her and wrap my free arm around her body. I'm not using any force, but fuck me, I just want to feel her.

Her breath halts, but she doesn't bolt. Instead, her small hand closes over mine, and our fingers interlink as if we've done that a thousand times before. It feels _so_ good.

"I dreamed this," she whispers, so softly I can barely hear it.

"Now you can dream like this," I reply, pushing my face into her slightly damp hair and smelling the fresh scent of her shampoo. A hum escapes me, and for some strange reason, it relaxes her.

I want to stay awake. I really do, because oh my God, it's beyond amazing to have her in my arms like this. We're lying on the bed together, and I'd be lying if nerves weren't buzzing in my stomach. I don't intend to take things further than this or anything, but the feeling of having her here is nothing short but incredible.

She smells amazing, and her body is so close I can feel the warmth she's giving off. I shift closer without intending to, and she stiffens for a moment before she relaxes again. The entire situation is intoxicating, and as if my brain has decided this is just about as perfect as it can get, it shuts down and I tumble into a deep, restful sleep.

Mom calling us for dinner wakes me. I blink a couple of times and inhale deeply, and Bella's scent invades my senses. She smells like... I don't know. Sandalwood? Something really nice, for sure.

She doesn't move, though, and I can tell she's not sleeping. I frown. "What?"

She doesn't speak. Her breathing is shallow and quiet, and she's stiff as a board.

"Bella?"

What the fuck? What has her so tense? Just as I'm about to move away from her, to give her space and to try and catch her gaze, my groin tightens.

Oh.

Fuck.

No.

I pull back my hips immediately, and a hot blush shoots up to my face. I should have known this would happen. It would likely have happened when I was alone, and with Bella next to me? However much I _don't _want anything like that yet, because she's totally not ready for that in the first place, my body seems to have a mind of its own when it comes to lying next to her.

"Um," I fumble for words, "that just happens sometimes. It's just morning wood. Or in this case, afternoon wood."

No reaction.

_Think fast, idiot, before you break down everything you've built up._

"Bella, nothing is wrong." In fact, it's disappearing rather quickly, due to the epically painful awkwardness of this situation.

"Bella, please." _Look at me. Say something. Kick me. Show a reaction._ I squeeze her hand, but she doesn't return the affection.

Shit.

"Hey, do you know how you don't always eat even when you're hungry? Or didn't speak for so long just by force of will?" She stays silent, but I push on. "It's about control. And I can control my body, too. Well, not in the obvious way," - _way to go, moron - _"but, you know... I don't have to act on it. Haven't ever, either." Oh, crap. Why did I just say that?

Silence. Mom calls again. We have approximately ninety seconds until she comes up.

"I hate it," Bella whispers without moving. "I hate that I cause such a reaction in you."

Yeah, I really don't know how I respond to that.

"I'm sorry," I finally say. "I really am. But I can't help this, you know. I can only help what I do with it." _Cringe_.

"I'm scared," she says after a moment, and the confession is so heartfelt and heartbroken all I can do is hold her tighter. I can feel her heart beating frantically, telling me how frightened she really is.

I lean up on my elbow and then pull at her shoulder a little so she will turn to face me.

"Don't be scared of me, Bella. Please. You know I won't do anything."

Her big, brown eyes search mine, going back and forth between them as if she can find the answers in there. I have the intense need to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, but I'm afraid that doing such a thing might be pushing the limits too far right now.

"Did you sleep at all?" I ask then, hoping to distract her a little.

She shakes her head, her gaze still locked with mine. "But you did," she whispers hoarsely.

I smile a little. "I did. That's how comfortable I am with you." Comfortable enough to forget I would sport a serious hard on once I woke up. Shit.

"I'm glad," she says, but her voice is so flat my heart cracks.

And then Alice is at my door, knocking loudly. "Wake up, brother. Dinner time."

**~O~**

Houston, we have a problem.

It's Thursday, and Bella is once again not in school. After dinner yesterday, she disappeared into her room and didn't come back out again. Needless to say, I have done shit about that assignment for Spanish, so I try to sneak in some work on that stupid paper during my other classes today.

I fear that I've done a whole lot of damage yesterday. She was already so rattled, and then having me going all up close and personal with her on my bed, definitely wasn't a good idea.

What's more, I have this nasty, poisonous voice whispering in the back of my mind. What kind of a person am I to want to do those things to her, that have been forced onto her in the past? Sure, I would do it lovingly, tenderly, gently, when it comes to that, if ever. But god, what kind of a pervert am I?

I pinch the bridge of my nose and rub my eyes. Somehow I can't shake the feeling that I've bitten off more than I can chew with her. I really, really thought that if we would take it slowly, things would just progress gradually and I figured that as long as I read her signs carefully, I would be able to pull it off.

God, what was I thinking?

"Edward, you wanna go to the mall with me after school?" Emmett asks during lunch.

"No, not really." Really not.

"Cool. You gonna wait for me here or do I pick you up at home?"

I glare at him, but he simply shrugs.

God.

"It'll be good for you to go out for a bit," Alice says next to me. "I'm worried about you."

I want to say something nasty, but her big eyes are imploring me to comfort her instead. Thing is, though, that I really, really want to go home and be close to Bella. Even if she doesn't want to see me.

Rosalie, who is sitting across from me at the lunch table, leans forward so I have to answer her demanding gaze. "Give her the space she needs. She's going through a whole lot of shit right now, and the last thing she wants to do is reassure us all that she'll be okay."

Even if she isn't aware of what happened, she has a point.

"Dude, you're developing tunnel vision. It's okay that you like her, and it's clear that she likes you but, and I know this sounds ridiculous, she has to do this alone."

My gaze moves to Jasper. He's right. It does sound ridiculous. And where did he get all this sudden wisdom from?

"You're not the only one with access to google," he says simply, and his stupid logic makes me realize all over again that they all care about Bella. Just without the falling and the butterflies.

I am so screwed.

By the time Emmett has finished his last class and walks over to his car in the parking lot, where I am waiting for him, I've given up all hopes of finishing the paper for Spanish. I don't even care anymore.

"You getting ready for finals?" he asks me as he turns out of the parking lot and hits the road.

"No. You ready to be graduated?"

He grins. "So much. Can't wait to be done and move to UCLA with Rosie."

They've done a great job together. They're both going to UCLA, Rosalie for Mechanical Engineering and Emmett for the sports grant he got. He's going to be a great asset to their team. And they get to stick together.

God, if their story isn't picture perfect, I don't know whose is.

Emmett ignores my silence and gives me space to think by cranking up the volume. Usher is blasting out of the speakers, and without wanting to, my head bobs along with the beat. He was right, and I hate it. I really needed some distraction.

He parks close to the mall and we set off for the shops. "You need anything specific?" he asks as we walk along the shop windows. "Something for prom, maybe?"

Prom. Biting back a harsh laugh, some kind of cough escapes me. Emmett stops and turns to me. "Edward?"

"You really think I'm going to prom?" I ask, confused by his blank look.

He frowns. "Well, yeah, I figured you would. Why not?"

"With who?" I ask, my voice higher than I intended it to be. God, I sound like a wuss.

"With Bella," he replies with a decidedly 'duh' tone of voice.

"I think that's not going to happen," I reply, softer now.

Emmett cocks an eyebrow at me. "I think you are ridiculously underestimating her."

"You don't know her," I snap, not caring that around us, people are looking over their shoulders. Two siblings in a fight in the middle of the mall. How old were we again?

"Come on, let's go sit down somewhere," he says, starting to move again.

"I don't want to." My voice is a pout. God, I don't know myself anymore.

"Tough. Come on."

We find a quiet corner in some diner and Emmett orders a soda for the both of us. When the waiter is gone, he leans in and meets my gaze. "What is wrong with you?"

I look at him, thinking how much I don't want to be here, that I really don't want to talk about this stuff, and that at the same time, I really do. It's just... I'm not so sure if Emmett is the right person for this.

His eyes are open and honest, and for once I can sense he's not going to crack some joke to make light of the situation.

And so I cave. My shoulders sag and my eyes track the lines of the formica table as my mouth begins to move.

"I fucked up, Em. I thought we were progressing, but I fucked up."

"What did you do?" His voice holds much more understanding than I ever thought it would.

"I didn't do anything," I say, not meeting his gaze. "My body had other plans though."

"Oh." He's quick to understand, and I'm grateful that I don't have to spell it out for him. "She freaked?"

"Yeah, something like that. And I haven't had a chance to talk to her after."

He shrugs, placing his elbows on the table, and waits until the waiter has placed our drinks before us until he speaks.

"What did you do when it... happened? How did it happen, anyway?"

I scowl at the table, uncomfortable discussing this. Emmett and I used to be tighter, but when he and Rosalie got closer, the distance between us grew little by little. I never really minded, because that's what happens when you get older.

Or maybe it was me causing the distance. Could very well be.

"You can tell me," Emmett says quietly. "Honestly."

"I... shit, this is awkward."

"Yep," he simply says, taking a swig of his drink. "And you need to get it off your chest. So spit it out."

"So, Dr. Phil," I start, earning a kick under the table, "I was napping when she came to my room, and I somehow got her to lie down on my bed with me. She let me hold her." Damn the silly smile I just know is on my face right now. Emmett simply smiles and nods though, not giving any indication that he thinks what I'm saying is ridiculous. Encouraged by his reaction, I continue.

"Anyway, I fell asleep, since I was tired. And when I woke..."

"Wood?"

"Yeah."

Emmett sits back. "Happens. But she knows that, right?"

"She hated it," I say quietly.

"You guess that?" he asks.

"No, she said so."

Emmett sighs a 'whoa' and crosses his arms, then unfolds them and takes another sip of his drink. I sit back as well and look outside into the mall. Tired mothers with nagging children, high school students, an elderly woman with a cane walking by.

They all look so... normal.

My brother sits forward again, catching my attention. "Listen. I'm taking a guess here, but I'm thinking she pretty much hates any sign that you see her as something sexual." The faintest blush hits his skin at his crude words.

"Hell, _I_ hate that," I say with a frustrated sigh. "Jesus, Emmett, how can I even think of those things after all that happened to her?"

He frowns, thinking, but he doesn't lash out at me. "That's not the same and you know it."

"It all feels pretty convoluted though."

"I know," he says, and there's something in his words I can't quite name. "But it comes down to this. Do you want to be around her for her? Even if intimacy won't ever really happen? Or are you with her now in the hopes of getting some later?"

His words are brutal, but we both know the answer to his question. "I just want to be around her. Right now I don't even care if anything ever happens, as long as I can hold her every once in a while."

"So there's your answer. You're not a pervert. That's good to know."

I scowl at his half hearted attempt to lighten up the atmosphere.

"You just have to show her she can trust you," he continues.

"No shit, Sherlock. Exactly how do I do that?"

"Just hold her, stuff like that."

I shake my head. "She's not going to let me go near her again."

"So you make sure you get close to her." His voice is so businesslike, I don't even hear what he's saying at first.

"I- what?"

When he clarifies what he means, I'm just about ready to fall off my chair. "How are you so confident that'll work?"

He shrugs again. "It's how it worked with-" He cuts himself off abruptly and looks away.

"With who?"

His jaws clench. "Nothing, forget it."

"With who?" I press. "Emmett?"

His face goes grim, and his eyes are the darkest I've ever seen them. I feel like I recognize that anger. It's not directed at me, but at something... someone else. Someone unreachable.

"With Rosalie? Is that what you were going to say?"

"It's none of your business, Edward," he snaps, and that's as clear an answer as a 'yes' would have been. _What happened to her?_ I want to ask, but I'm within punching distance, and knowing Emmett, it really is better to back off now.

"When?" I ask quietly, the question slipping out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

"Look, just take my advice and try it out on her. And ask her to go to prom with you, okay?"

Taking a deep breath, I try to humor him and shake the sudden subject change off me, too. "I don't think she'll want to go to prom."

Emmett sits forward once again, and his eyes are intense. "Listen to me. I know she'll likely not go with you. But you have to give her the opportunity to say no, you feel me?"

Right. He's right. Of course he's right. God, I can't believe I haven't thought of it that way before.

"Thanks, Em."

"Anytime," he says, but his voice is flat. "Also, next time you get to smooch and spoon her, and there will be a next time," he says when I want to protest, "just keep your hips back. If she's ready for that kind of contact, she'll initiate."

"How are you so sure of that?" I ask.

"Dude, are you even human? It's instinct and it's as old as mankind. Trust me. Ask Jasper, or even Alice if you want to check. You have to bridge that distance, but she'll close it once she's ready."

"You shouldn't go to UCLA. You could make millions becoming a guru."

He snickers. "It's called common sense and you would have it too if you weren't thinking so much all the time. Stop overanalyzing it."

Right. Easier said than done. Emmett lives by this rule, but I can't stop thinking just like that.

Emmett's easy logic does more than confront me with the knowledge that I tend to think too much. It also points out painfully accurately that I really have no idea what intimacy is about. And after what happened with Bella, I'm scared to follow my own instinct anymore.

"Stop. Thinking," Emmett says as he lays out money on the table for our drinks. "And let's go get you a suit."

"For that prom I won't go to anyway? I'm not going alone, you know."

"Who knows," he says as he leads the way from the diner. "After all, she might just say yes."

I want to laugh, but realize at the same time how incredibly low that would be. It would be the same as laughing in Bella's face, and that is something I do not want. Ever.

And so it happens that Emmett tows me to a fancy store where a fancy middle aged Italian guy helps me find a fancy suit, promising he can make it fit me perfectly in time for Friday next week. I guess that's one of the good things about having money. You can go to the more expensive shops, and as such get a suit about a week before prom.

Not even a suit. A tux.

Mom will have my head when she finds out.

"Or kiss it," Emmett murmurs, and I realize I've just spoken out loud.

"Let's go home," I finally say. "I'm a bit done with the revelations for the day."

When we arrive home, fashionably late for dinner, Bella isn't at the table. Nor is mom.

"Mom is with Bella upstairs," dad says as he fills my plate with food.

"Is she all right?" I ask, not liking the quiet tone dad is using when he speaks.

"She stopped talking again," Alice says sadly. She's picking at her food. When Jasper rubs her back to comfort her, she leans into his touch.

"Damn it," I curse, suddenly not hungry anymore. I was prepared for it being hard for her, but it never really crossed my mind she would have a setback like this.

After dinner, Jasper and I clear the table and clean the kitchen. I want to go upstairs after that, to check on Bella, but dad's voice drifts to me from the living room, stopping me.

"No, Edward."

"I was just going to my room," I protest.

"No, you weren't."

Fine. I turn and move into the living room, where he's watching a news bulletin. That Spanish paper is already forgotten. My grade is high enough that I can bear the repercussions.

I sit down on the couch with a huff, crossing my arms and legs. As much as I'm waiting for some sort of lecture or some well meant advice, dad doesn't say anything. Gradually, I relax, and after a while we're just watching the news together. When he offers his opinion on a new senator, we talk politics for a while, and Jasper joins us, always up for a good discussion like that.

By the time I'm ready to go to bed, mom still hasn't come out of Bella's room. I wish everybody a good night and take the stairs two at a time. I'm really not tired yet, so maybe I might give that stupid paper a shot anyway. Damn it. It's easy to skip a class every now and then, but blatantly missing an assignment deadline just doesn't sit well with me, however much I try to be nonchalant about it.

Soft voices drifting down the hall on the second floor make me slow my pace. Bella is speaking. "I was five when my mother took me to live with Laurent. I didn't like him from the start."

My heart skips a beat and then starts racing when I realize she's telling mom her story. She's talking. She's finally, finally talking.

Worried about what it will do to her, but also relieved that she feels safe enough to share her past, I quickly move away from Bella's room and skip up the stairs. I don't want to eavesdrop. This is something Bella needs all the space and privacy for she can get.

**~O~**

Looks like Bella and I both haven't slept much last night, I think when I come downstairs for breakfast on Friday. I finished that paper for Spanish, after all, so I didn't sleep. But at least Bella's up and down here with us, so maybe that's a good sign.

And then mom turns around to greet me, and I see that she isn't doing much better, either. Did she stay up with Bella all night?

"Are you going to school again today?" I ask carefully. Bella looks so fragile, even though I know she isn't. But damn it, I still haven't even had a chance yet to talk to her about the clusterfuck that happened the day before yesterday.

She meets my gaze though, which relieves me. But then she shakes her head.

"Bella and I are going to the beach today," mom says softly. Her eyes are puffy. I don't like how she looks. "Just for some fresh air."

"Well, enjoy," I say, unable to come up with a better term.

Bella mouths the word 'thanks' to me, and I suddenly have a great idea to close the distance between us again. Making a mental note to stop by Port Angeles after classes, I have a quick breakfast and then leave for school.

Thank fuck Lauren seems so have gotten the message and is no longer bothering me. I can't shake the feeling though that this isn't over, and might as well rekindle when Bella comes back to school. If she plays up again though, I'm not going to be polite anymore.

After school, I visit the library in Port Angeles, accompanied by Jasper and Alice. I offered to drop them off at home first, but they wanted to come anyway.

"Have you asked Bella to prom yet?" Alice asks me on the way back.

"Not yet," I reply.

Her predictable squeal fills the car. "Yet? As in, you will?"

I chuckle in spite of myself. "Yes, I intend to."

"God, I love you!" Alice says happily, and from where she is sitting behind me, her arms wrap around my shoulders. She even leans around the headrest to press a kiss to my cheek.

"To what do I owe that?" I ask, confused.

Jasper laughs quietly. "You'll see, my man. You'll see."

O-kay.

I can't get any more details out of them, so I finally decide to let it go. By the time we get home, mom's car is in the garage as well. When we step into the living room, I have to blink twice.

Bella is sitting in the living room, playing video games with Emmett. She looks... lighter. Relaxed. As if a load literally has come off her shoulders. A glow from the beach wind is still on her cheeks, and her hair is deliciously ruffled.

And God, I want to hold her so badly right now, it makes my skin tingle.

"Hey," I say, hoping she'll look at me.

She does. Oh Lord, I've never seen her eyes so light.

"Hey," she says back, her voice a bit hoarse. Does that mean she's been talking a lot today?

"Good day?" I ask carefully.

Her eyes dart over to the kitchen, where mom is, before she looks back at me and down. "Yeah."

"I'm glad," I say.

"Bella, you're aiming to lose here," Emmett says, making her focus back on the screen again.

And then she surprises the hell out of me. "No, I was giving you a chance to win, but I see my efforts aren't appreciated."

Emmett's eyes pop and the widest grin nearly splits his face in half. He composes himself, but the glee is clearly showing in his eyes. "Are you doubting my skills?"

"Ah, no. I _know_ you're not as good as I am. I really don't doubt that."

I have to hide my laugh in a cough. Bella is actually bantering, bickering with Emmett. I don't know what the hell happened, but oh man, this is just beyond epic. I stand back a little, not wanting to spoil the moment with my happiness at her sudden progress.

Tiny arms wrap around my waist from behind, and I feel Alice pressing her face against my back. She squeezes, and since she's my twin, I know exactly what she means. I'm feeling it, too.

"Incoming," mom says, holding a tall glass with what looks like one of her famous smoothies. My stomach growls in appreciation.

"Can we have one, too?" I ask, noticing how Alice is following the glass with hungry eyes, as well.

"No, we'll have dinner in less than an hour." Mom hands Bella the glass and she takes it without a word, telling me that she knew this was coming her way. Well, it's a nice treat for Bella, for sure.

Only, I can clearly see her wince when she drinks it.

"How can that not taste nice?" Emmett says, confused. "Want me to finish that for you, if you don't like it?"

"It's the protein," mom says quietly, and suddenly it clicks. Bella hasn't been down for dinner the last few days, and I doubt she's been eating much at all, lately. She has to get some strength back again, and high calorie smoothies with extra supplements will do that for you.

Bella dutifully works on getting that smoothie down, and Alice takes over her controller to play some with Emmett.

I make yet another mental note, this time to buy her some high calorie goodies, and lounge with the others in the living room until dinner. I've never really noticed it before, but lately, there have been times that Bella isn't helping out with dinner. I hope this means she's finally becoming a bit more relaxed.

It's nearly ten o'clock when I have gathered the courage to go to her room. Soft music is drifting out when she opens the door for me. Her eyes are still clear, but she's not carrying the lightness anymore she showed earlier on in the living room.

"I've come to apologize," I say before she can shut the door on me, should she want to.

She frowns a little. "For what?"

"For what happened when I fell asleep with you the other day."

She shrugs and steps back to let me in. "I shouldn't have reacted like that."

"I think it was a very understandable reaction," I say, wanting her to know that she is absolutely not to blame for what happened.

The look in her eyes confuses me, however. She looks lost, and so very sad suddenly. "What's wrong?"

She sighs frustratedly and sits down at her desk. Crayons are spread out over the surface, along with a half finished drawing.

"Talk to me," I plead. "Please."

"I just wish I could be normal for once. I hate that I reacted like that."

She has a very good point, and I think I can understand her frustration. But this won't do. Thinking of the advice Emmett gave me, I walk over to her and kneel in front of her, taking her hands in mine, mindful of the bandages around her fingers.

She looks up at me in surprise, but lets me hold her, for which I'm grateful. "You were caught by surprise, is all. So was I, actually," I add, feeling my face heat up. "I think if you know what to expect, it'll be better."

She doesn't say anything, but I know she's heard me.

"We need a safe word," I say then before I have thought this through.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Like an out for you. Something else than 'stop' or 'no,' because those are words I think you have bad associations with. You say the word, and everything stops."

_Please God do not ask me how I know these words exist. I stumbled upon it. I swear. The internet is a scary place. I just couldn't stop reading. _

"Okay," she says after a moment of thinking, but I can tell she doesn't believe it will work.

"We can just try it. If it doesn't work, nothing's lost."

"Right."

"So what kind of word?" I muse. "Something like sun, or window? It has to be unrelated."

She chews her lip, thinking. "Done," she says then.

"Done?"

"Done. That stops it."

"Then done it is," I reply, agreeing with her logic. "And I really am sorry for what happened."

"Don't be. You didn't... do anything." I can tell it's taking her some effort to get the words out.

"And nothing will happen until we're both on the same page. Hell, the same word on the same page. Clear?"

"Yes," she says quietly, and a faint smile tugs at her mouth.

I smile in response and lift her hands to my lips, kissing her knuckles. "Did you have a good day with mom?" I ask, my breath coming out on her skin.

She swallows, then nods. "Yes. I told her everything."

Whoa. No wonder they looked so beat this morning. "That must have been hard for you."

She surprises me by smiling, and some of that lightness returns to her eyes. "You know what, it kind of wasn't. I mean, I just shut down my emotions and told her everything. And the world didn't end."

Pride. It's pride I am seeing in her eyes, and damn, I'm proud of her, too. So freaking proud.

I want to hug her so bad right now, and I tell her so. She blushes, but leans forward a bit so I can wrap my arms around her shoulders.

"Who knew it could feel so good to talk about that darkness," she says into my neck, and I squeeze her a little in response.

"I'm glad," is the only thing I can say. So what that I wasn't the one she came to first. Maybe it's better, even. I'm pretty sure mom is way more capable of dealing with Bella's past than I am.

**~O~**

On Saturday, the sun is out and I try to convince Bella to come to the meadow with me. She doesn't look too excited about the idea though, so in the end I offer to just stay home then. When it's clear she does want to spend some time with me, I bring my laptop into her room.

"I was thinking we can practice some more sign language," I say, starting up the DVD I got from the Port Angeles library again. "So that when your words won't come, you can still communicate if you want to."

She agrees with the idea, and we spend a few hours together on the floor of her room, trying to soak up as much of the signs we deem useful as possible. There's a buzz between us again. It gets stronger when I get closer to her, until the need to touch her is taking over every thought I have.

Not wanting to push her though, I lie back on the floor, folding my arms under my head. From the corner of my eye, I see how she lies down as well, on her stomach, her cheek resting on her forearms.

We lie like this for a long moment, just looking at each other. God, I want so much to come closer to her, but I'm afraid to overstep, no matter what Emmett said I should do. In an attempt to compromise, I turn to my side. She doesn't pull back when I reach out slowly to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear.

Her hair is so, so soft. Like silk. I wish I could touch it more, but right now I'm not sure of anything anymore. I don't want to scare her in any possible way. It just won't do. My hand lingers, coming to rest on the side of her neck lightly. I love the subtle warmth her skin is imparting on mine.

Gradually, she relaxes. Her eyes even become a bit hooded, and a faint smile is still tugging at her lips.

"You know I'll likely fuck up at least a few more times in the future, right?" I murmur, having the sudden and insane need to have her reassurance. How's that for an upside down world.

"And you know I'll likely panic at least a few more times," she simply replies, and all I can do is smile at her. "I... I want this, Edward. But it's hard."

The way she says my name... I swear it's like a caress down my spine. Her speech is slightly off, probably because she has been silent for so long, and one of the moments it shows, is when she says my name. But I don't care. Somehow I love it that she pronounces my name differently than everybody else.

I force myself to focus back on the conversation. "I want to figure it out with you," I say. "If you'll let me."

"Yes," she whispers.

"So let me try something," I say, my voice quiet.

Her eyes turn more alert, expectant. My thumb caresses her cheek and my heart is hammering in my chest, but I take a deep breath and just go for it.

"Will you go to prom with me?"

* * *

_Oooh... what will she say?_

_And how awesome would it be if this story would break the 10k review mark? YOU can make that happen! See you in two weeks!_


	67. Chapter 67

**A/N I still don't own Twilight**

_You guys! THANK YOU! We did it! Amazing!  
_

_Thanks to Sherry for blitz beta duties. I know I'm a day late - so it. It happens. I'll always try to update as soon as I can.  
_

_Rose's back story is touched on in this chapter. For a better version, read chapter three of Shreds - find the link in my stories.  
_

* * *

"Will you go to prom with me?"

For a moment, time seems to come to a standstill. He asked me to prom. Which means he either wants to take me out of pity, or he actually wants to take me there because he wants to be there with _me._

I've come so far by now that I'm pretty sure it's the latter. Still, I want to be sure.

"Not a pity date?"

He actually rolls his eyes, looking exasperated. "I'm not even going to answer that."

I bite my lip to contain my joy. He wants to go to prom with me. And even though the idea alone scares me out of my wits, the desire to be normal overcomes everything. Going to prom would definitely count as 'normal,' right?

"Yes."

His eyes pop. "_Yes?_"

I smile at his clear happiness. "Yes."

He closes his eyes and smiles so widely I can see his molars. "She said yes," he says, rolling on to his back and hiding his face in his hands.

I grin at his joy. I feel pretty happy myself. And if I would have known it would make him this happy for me to accept his invitation, I wouldn't even have hesitated.

"I'm not wearing a dress though," I say, turning serious again. Wearing a dress creeps me out, for several reasons.

He chuckles and turns back to me. "Me, neither. Just so you know."

He's making light of the situation just to help me out, and I want to thank him for it. Except that would negate the 'making light' part, so I just meet his gaze and I know he understands me.

"I can't believe you said yes," he says quietly, reaching out once more to trail my jaw line with a fingertip. His touch no longer feels alien, and I'm even starting to anticipate it in a good way. The nerves that ignite in my stomach when he touches me, are no longer just fear.

"Me, neither," I reply.

"Don't do this because of me," he says, his gaze holding mine. "I want you to come because you want to, not because you think it would make me happy."

"I want to," I say. My lip disappears between my teeth as I put my words together. The irony of him being insecure I'm doing it to please him, is not lost on me. And I don't want to lie, even though I would probably go just to please him. "I want to be normal. Move forward from this mess. Maybe prom is a good way to start?"

His smile is tender. "Maybe. You're amazing, you know that?"

What? "I'm really not."

He shrugs. "I think you are. And I'm sticking to that opinion."

"I'll stop talking if you make me feel uncomfortable," I say, wondering where on earth I found the guts to talk as freely as I am doing now.

He laughs, a baritone belly laugh that resonates throughout the room. Then he gets a devilish glint in his eyes, and he brings his hands up. *_You are amazing,*_ he signs.

I can't win from that. Even though he is definitely the amazing one.

**~O~**

Things have changed, since I had my breakdown with Siobhan. It's been a rough week, filled with haunting memories that whipped my emotions raw. I needed a few days, and then there was Esme.

God, Esme.

I told her everything. Started at my first memory, and moved on from there. The trailer that smelled like mold and was too small, even when I was still a toddler. My mother, with the brown hair and the soft voice. When she spoke to me, at least. Laurent, who I met when she took me away in the dead of night.

Laurent never liked me. I learned quickly how to stay out of his way. Mostly. And around him, my mother changed, too. Things grew darker, more painful, more tense. I tried to tell my mother what Laurent did to me, how he pinched me, struck me, and touched me down there in my bed at night. She flipped. The poker had been in the fire and it had been white hot. I lifted up my hands to fend off the blow. The scar that remains distorts my palm. A reminder that I shouldn't ever talk about it.

So I became silent. Watched how she left the day after in a red car, leaving me with Laurent. I was scared of him, and he knew it. Used it.

I told Esme some of the things that happened. Covered the seven years I was alone with him in a sentence or two. The mind games. The ever existing threats. The beatings. When I had my first period, the rape started.

I can call it rape, now. Even though the whole notion of consensual sex is something quite beyond me, I have also realized that what happened was very, very wrong. I _am_ a victim. Siobhan's words were true as the purest diamond, and they have made my logic shift and crumble.

It wasn't my fault. It really, really wasn't.

I know that now.

Laurent got arrested for fraud. Social services scooped me up and after a week or two in some sort of temporary shelter I was placed with Stefan's family. They never wondered about my silence. Figured it had to do with the shock of losing my caretaker and my home. They never guessed what went on behind the closed doors of my old home.

It was okay at first, at Stefan's. Little violence - certainly less than I expected to meet. But then all went to shit, and Irina pulled a nasty. She wasn't right in the head. I tried to block out her mind games as best as I could, but then she got committed in a mental hospital. CPS was quick to remove my foster siblings Heidi and Peter, but my taxi never came.

Alone with Stefan, history repeated itself. That was when it clicked for me that it must be me, right? How else would such a thing happen?

I ran when he tried to kill me. However much I hated my life, I didn't want it to be over yet. Maybe I knew that somewhere out there, there was something waiting for me, something better. Or maybe survival instinct just kicks in, no matter how shit life is. I don't know.

I know that because I ran, I am where I am now. With the Cullen family, who took me in, warts - or, scars - and all. With their infinite patience and care and, yeah, love, they showed me what life can be like, too.

So here I am. And I feel light as air now I've told Esme everything. Of course, I kept the emotions at bay, mostly. Reliving it all and processing it in the right way is going to take years, if not the rest of my life. I'll probably never get over it. But for the first time, I feel I have a chance at normalcy. I've been to hell and back. Twice. And I'm still here.

I think it's time to call Renée.

I find Esme in the living room, watching a cooking show. The bakers are making wedding cakes, and their creations are so pretty, it's a shame to know they will be eaten.

"This is like what you can do with marzipan, but bigger," Esme says when she looks up at me with a smile. "Though your flowers look more realistic than the ones they made on that cake, see?"

"It's the icing," I offer, sitting next to her when she pats the couch in invitation. "With icing you can add nuances in color. Make it look real."

My voice is still hoarse. I'm beginning to think it's going to stay that way. As will the speech defect, unless I start therapy for that.

"Maybe you should like to do something with baking as a profession?" she asks gently. "You're good at it."

I look at her warm eyes and friendly face. She is, for all intents and purposes, becoming my mother. Even though I'm almost going on eighteen, with her, I feel like I can be a little girl who isn't responsible for everything.

"I've never really thought about what I want to do. I always figured it was going to be something away from people. You know, little interaction."

"But now you can do anything you want. If you can decide over the summer, you can even tweak your subjects at school to cater to your future education."

"I think I want to write. I have no idea how, though. Don't even know if I can." Wow, I don't think I've ever really talked about this with someone. But since talking to Esme has become easy over the past week, I continue effortlessly. Somewhere along the line, she changed from enemy into ally.

No, that's not true. She never was my enemy. But I've been scared for a very long time to rely on her. Love and trust, after all, can be very fickle things.

"I've always liked doing research of sorts. Maybe I hoped to be able to write articles for magazines? Contact people through email."

"You still can," she says. "But now you can call people, too."

Speaking of calling...

"I'd like to call Renée," I blurt out. "If that's okay. I mean, I know it'll cost money... But could I please use the phone?"

She laughs, a reassuring laugh that makes me realize she's not laughing at me, but at my ridiculous insecurity. "Honey, you don't even have to ask. Do you know her number?"

I realize I don't.

"Let me get it for you. You can sit here, or go to your room if you like some privacy." She gets up and retrieves her address book from the library, flipping through it as she comes back. "Ah, here we go." She places the address book in my lap and presses the phone into my hand. "Good luck. She'll be so happy to hear your voice."

And I, hers.

After some deep breaths and some serious scrambling for courage, I punch in her number on the phone. I don't press the call button yet, though. Esme looks at me expectantly, but there is also true understanding in her eyes.

When we hear Jasper and Emmett in the garage, she decides for me. "Go upstairs. It'll be quiet there. Good luck."

I nod, unable to speak, and scoot up the stairs, clutching the phone to my chest.

How weird is it that I've never in my life made a phone call, to anyone? In my room, I sit on my bed, then at my desk, and finally decide on the rocking chair. I'm so nervous, I almost decide not to do it. But Renée has been increasingly worried in her emails, and I really, really would like to hear her voice right now.

Clutching the quilt she gave me to my chest, I press 'call.'

It rings forever. Maybe she's having dinner. Maybe she's not home. Or maybe I'm just calling at a real inconvenient time. Maybe I should just hang up before-

"Dwyer."

Her voice, even distorted through the long distance connection, is undecidedly hers.

"Hello? Carlisle, is that you?"

_No,_ I want to say. _It's me, Bella. Do you remember me?_

"Hello?" she asks again, after a moment.

Panic constricts my throat, and I know I won't be able to speak now. She's going to hang up, and I will have ruined my chance.

The silence stretches, white noise the only thing audible on the line.

Then: "Bella?"

Tears, unbidden, come up and spill over.

"It's all right," Renée says, her voice changing. "Is everything okay?"

_Do it,_ I tell myself. _Just man up and do it._

God, this really isn't going the way I imagined it to be.

"Yes," I manage to squeak out, my voice more a rasp than anything else. I clear my throat and try again. "Yes."

There is another silence, but it isn't an awkward one. Renée is completely speechless.

"Renée?" I ask carefully when she stays silent longer than I expected. "Are you still there?"

"I am," she says, and her voice breaks. "I'm sorry, I'm just really, really overwhelmed."

She's crying. I made her cry. "Don't cry," I say, tearing up myself again.

"Happy tears," she clarifies quickly. "God, you can't know how happy I am to hear your voice."

She's smiling, I can hear it in the way she speaks. And I smile too, because she's happy.

"How have you been? Really?"

I bite my lip. I had hoped to skip this part of the conversation. "How are you?" I try instead.

"I'm great, actually. I'm getting married at the end of the summer."

"Congratulations," I say. "You must be so happy."

"I'd be happier if you were to come to the wedding."

Now I'm speechless. Again.

"You'll get a formal invitation, but maybe you can discuss it with Carlisle and Esme? I'm sure they'd let you go. And I'd get to see you again."

"Yes," I say. God, asking to use the phone was a huge thing. Asking them to go to another state? I don't know if I can do that, I'm leeching on their kindness enough as it is, am I not?

_Stop it,_ a new, sweet voice in my mind says, _don't doubt them or yourself so much. Just ask them._

"Tell me how you are," Renée says, her voice softening. "What made you start talking?"

She interprets my silence correctly. "Not a happy situation?"

"I had a meltdown," I whisper. "It's hard, sometimes."

"Oh, honey, of course it is. But you're making huge strides. Do the others know you speak?"

I nod automatically, but then realize that she won't be able to see me, of course. "Yes. They were happy."

"I can imagine. God, I would have loved to be there. I'm really glad you're calling me."

"I told Esme everything this week."

"That's good. That was very strong of you."

"I'm tired of being strong," I say so quietly I'm not even sure she's hearing it. Somehow, over the phone, it's easier to confess my weaknesses. "I feel like I've been trying to stay strong all my life, and now I'm so weary, but I can't let my guard down or I'll collapse."

Renée is quiet for a moment, thinking. "Would it be so wrong to collapse? Everybody needs a break sometime. I'm sure the Cullen family would completely understand."

I shake my head, even though she can't see. "It's not that. It's more like I'm scared I won't be able to get back up once I give in."

Renée makes a compassionate sound. "Has that happened before?"

"No."

"So there's no reason to assume it will happen now, right?"

"Guess not." But it's still scary. Does she understand that?

"You need a break. A holiday of sorts. Can you talk to Esme about that? Or do you want me to do it?"

"Can't. Finals are coming up, and I haven't been to school at all this week. And prom is coming."

She skips right to the interesting part, of course. "Prom? Who asked you?"

I smile in spite of my exhaustion. "Edward."

"And you said yes?"

"I said yes."

"Amazing. And you want to go, right? Just so we're clear?" Sometimes she sounds more like a mother than a therapist. I look at my wrist, where the tiny red bracelet is still tied securely. I'm not wearing the brace today, so the thing is visible once more.

"I- Yes. I want to move forward."

"It's very nice of Edward to ask you," she says gently.

"He was happier than I was when I said yes."

Her laugh is full of sudden understanding. "Guess things are progressing, huh?"

I blush. "Maybe."

She laughs again, lighter this time. "Very well. Listen, I was about to have dinner when you called. I don't want to end things so quickly, but I can't really keep this food."

"What are you having?" I ask, curious as well as wanting to hear her voice just a tiny bit longer.

"Mussels."

My entire torso contracts in a full body gag reflex. If there's anything that makes me retch, it's _mussels._ "Enjoy," I say, but my voice betrays me.

She chuckles. "I will. Call me anytime, okay? And maybe I can call you, too?"

"Yes. Thanks for talking to me."

"Thank _you_," she says.

When the call is over, I sit in my rocking chair for a long time, stroking Renée's quilt and feeling the pattern of the fabrics that have been used under my fingertips. I talked to Renée. What a wonderful thing.

And she's getting married. I try to imagine her in a dress, but all my tired mind can come up with, is a hazy image of Renée in some sort of tie-n-dye garment. Renée is too down to earth to be gliding along in a white dress. Or is she?

I'd love to go there, but I already dread asking Esme if I can. It'll cost a lot of money, and though I could easily go there alone, I doubt they would let me.

Well, I guess I can at least wait until the wedding invitation comes. Their reaction should give me an indication of whether it's safe to ask I can go or not.

I nod to myself, pleased to have come to a satisfying solution, and get up from my chair to bring the phone back down.

"Did you speak to her?" Esme asks, smiling brightly.

I nod, placing the phone back in the charger.

"How was it?"

"It was good," I offer, uncomfortable disclosing more, for some reason.

"Good," Esme says, not put out in the slightest. "You can use the phone any time you want."

"Thanks," I murmur, not sure what to do now. I guess I could go back upstairs for some homework, but the task seems daunting. I missed a whole week of school, and my energy levels aren't much better than they have been earlier this week. I'm apprehensive to see what I will have to catch up on.

Edward comes down the stairs at that moment, and he greets me with the warmest look in his eyes, and a smile that makes me feel like he uses that one only for me.

Which he likely does.

He moves to the piano and moments later, soft tones drift toward me.

"I love it when he plays," Esme says quietly. "How about a smoothie for you?"

When she and I were out on the beach, I told her even more of my story, and more about me, too. I told her how my not speaking, not eating and barely sleeping were coping mechanisms, ways to control a life that felt out of my control since I was very little. She understood completely, having known it already, and hadn't judged me or told me off for it.

But then, after we'd sat on that log in that tiny bay, I'd gotten up and gotten so dizzy I fell to my knees. Esme had discovered it was because I hadn't been eating properly for quite some time. Right then and there, she'd made me promise I would make an effort to at least get all my nutrition elements inside, even if I didn't want to eat much.

Somehow, it felt as if she understood my underlying desire to stay thinner than thin. A body as thin as mine isn't attractive, I know that. I want that. And being hungry complements the feeling of emptiness I have felt most of my life. Why comfort myself with food, when I had no reason at all to feel sorry for myself?

Of course, slowly but surely, that belief is changing as well. And Esme helps, not by making me eat much more than I usually do, but by giving me small treats that are tiny calorie bombs. If only to give my body the nutrition it needs.

And god knows it's a hell of a lot better than the liquid food I had to take when I first arrived here.

I follow Esme into the kitchen and watch as she pours me a big glass of the delicious smoothie she has made. Through it she stirs an amount of protein that makes my nose wrinkle, but I don't protest when she hands me the glass.

She moves over to the kitchen drawers where she keeps her cook books, and then invites me to sit at the table with her, to find new dishes to make.

That's one of the things I like so much about Esme. She's a hardcore mom, but at the same time she won't ever get bored by cooking the same meals over and over again. Instead, she makes something completely new on a regular basis.

"It's so my children can't get fussy over food," she explained me once.

We focus on dishes with fish, and Esme halts on a recipe with mussels. I tense up completely. How is it that they aren't in my life for a year or so, and then I am confronted with them twice in one day?

"Have you ever had them?" Esme asks, looking up at me so suddenly I can't smooth out the nasty expression on my face.

Well, oops. These things are dangerous knowledge to give away. What if she uses it against me?

But she laughs. "You don't like mussels?"

I can't stop my grimace. I hate them. _Hate_ them. Laurent made me eat them, knowing they made me want to vomit. Of course, if I did, I had to eat that, too.

Wrenching my mind away from the horrid memories, I look warily in Esme's eyes. They're bright and open, no hint of maliciousness in there. "If you dislike them so much, you won't have to eat them. Besides, you're not the only one in this house. Jasper hates them too," she says, just as Jasper walks into the kitchen, snooping into the fridge.

"Hates what?" he asks, coming back up with a bottle of water.

"Mussels," Esme says with a twinkle in her eyes.

His face blanches. "You're not going to prepare those, are you? Because then I won't be here, I'll have you know."

Esme laughs, amused. Then she turns to me. "We rarely have them, but even the smell makes him uncomfortable."

"I can't believe the smell alone doesn't make you want to vomit," Jasper says, shuddering. "God."

"Bella doesn't like them, either," Esme says.

"Ah, an ally. Tell me, those things are nasty, right?"

I smile at his candidness, and nod. "Like rubber," I say, softer than I intended because I haven't really said anything directly to Jasper yet.

He nods fervently. "And they taste like sh-"

"Jasper," Esme interrupts, warning him.

"Shmuck," he amends with a serious face. What, you actually thought I was going to say shit?"

"Jasper!" Esme warns, but her body is shaking with laughter.

He grins and winks, then uncaps the bottle. "So when are you planning on boiling those creatures? Because then I'll know to stay away."

"No planning yet. I was just looking at possible new recipes."

"I'd love some pasta with salmon," he says, gentler now. "With a thick cream sauce."

"I can make that," I say before I can stop myself. "But we don't have salmon."

"There's an excellent fish stall at the reservation," Jasper says. His gaze shifts to his mother. "Please?"

Esme exhales, but smiles. "Very well. You coming along, Bella?"

I nod, but almost change my mind when Jasper says he wants to come along, too. However, when we're on our way to the rez, with Esme driving and Jasper sitting shot gun, I realize that even though of all the Cullens he is the one I have interacted with least, he still is just a normal guy with normal behavior.

There's nothing to be afraid of with him.

**~O~**

School on Monday is business as usual, though some people are clearly glad to see me back. Angela greets me with warm enthusiasm during Government, asking me if I'm better now and if I need help catching up. Mr. Banner greets me with his jovial glee, stating that it's good to see I'm 'amongst the living' again. Thanks to the stencil Edward gave me last week, I'm not behind on this subject, at least.

My Trig teacher is triggered by my sudden reappearance, and asks me if I have talked to my guardians yet about the advanced classes. I have to admit it completely slipped my mind, and to appease him, I nod at his solemn plea to please discuss it with them.

When the day is finally over, I'm looking forward to get some fresh air. By the time we get home however, it's raining, preventing me to go and take a walk in the garden. Rosalie catches me looking out of the window wistfully, and offers me an understanding smile.

Sometime during the afternoon, Alice comes hopping down the stairs with a glimmer in her eyes. She looks at Rosalie, who is reading in the living room, and then they both look at me.

Ruh-roh.

"Bella, I want to show you something," Alice says. She holds out her hand in invitation. Her eyes are pleading and sparkling at the same time - a combination that somehow only Alice is capable of.

Rosalie smiles secretively and closes the train as we go up the stairs to Alice's room.

Once inside, with the door firmly locked, Alice turns to face me with the biggest grin on her face. "So Edward asked you to prom," she starts.

Rosalie, who is putting on some music, looks over her shoulder to see my reaction.

I nod, unsure where this is going to go.

"And you said yes," Alice continues, her excitement bubbling inside her.

"Yes," I say, my voice more a whisper than anything.

"So, you need a dress," Rosalie says as she walks back up to us. She gestures for me to sit down on Alice's bed, and I do.

I'm not sure I like where this is going.

"So," Alice says, ignoring my clear lack of enthusiasm, "it's with pride I want to show you," she walks over to the room divider that has been in that corner ever since I arrived here, and pulls it aside, "this!"

My mouth pops open at the sight before me. Alice claps her hands and then holds them to her mouth, clearly anxiously awaiting my reaction.

I'm... completely blown away. Before me is a long dress in green, fitted over the mannequin. A halter top holds the dress up, and with a natural waist it flares outward from the hips, falling down to the floor. A shawl accompanies the dress, the color a moss green that, as of now, has become my favorite color in the world.

"Alice," I whisper, overcome. This is exactly the type of dress I used to dream about wearing as a child. I would look through the magazines that were lying around the trailer or the house, and I would picture myself in dresses like these, wondering if I would ever be able to wear them.

After that, when life got nasty, I stopped thinking I would ever be good enough, be pretty enough for a dress like this. And now, I'm still not sure if I could ever wear a dress at all. There are so many arguments against it. One, I'm too ugly. Two, I wouldn't be comfortable - dressing up is really not my thing. I don't like attention. And dresses, as pretty as they can be, mean easy access. Which I dislike.

Yet, this dress...

My eyes move to Alice, and she's smiling brightly. "Do you like it?" she asks me tentatively.

"I... yes," I say, suddenly shy. "Where did you get this?" It's vaguely similar to the dress I tried on in the shop with Alice and Rosalie - the one that Lauren took from me.

But it isn't the same dress. I can tell because there are very intricate designs in the fabric, where it folds in and over itself, making a beautiful pattern I want to follow with my fingers.

"She made it," Rosalie says quietly, pride clear in her voice.

My eyes pop. She _made_ this? Holy crap! It's insanely beautiful and now even more so because I know that Alice made this entire thing herself.

"Want to try it on?" Alice asks, her eyes bright with emotion.

My gaze shifts from the dress to her. "Why? It's your dress?"

"She made it for you," Rosalie clarifies, and it's enough to make me gasp.

I look back at Alice for reassurance. "I did," she said. "Right after you moved in here, I bought the fabric. I just felt you deserved something pretty."

Something pretty... But this is too much! And I hate that deep down, I want it. I want this dress with everything I have, and I want to try it on and look at myself in the mirror.

"Go try it on," she says. "Please? I mean, if it needs some tweaking, I'll still have time before Friday."

"God, Alice," is all I can say. "I'm speechless."

She laughs, a short sound that betrays how nervous she was over my reaction. "That's a first," she says teasingly, and only then does my poor choice of words register. I shrug and smile.

Alice walks over to the mannequin and turns it around. The fabric of the dress makes a gorgeous hissing sound as it shifts, just like I always imagined it would. "It closes with ties along the back, see? So we can wrap you up. I made the back higher than usual, because I wasn't sure if you would be comfortable exposing much skin." She looks away when she says this. "The shawl will cover up the rest of your back. I wanted to make a v-neck with a collar, but I didn't have the skill," she adds apologetically.

"It's so beautiful," I whisper, not wanting her to doubt for a moment that a dress like this wouldn't be good enough.

"I hope it's the right size. I asked mom for help on that. And that green dress you tried in the shop? That was a good way of testing if I was on the right track," she says with a grin, and I smile back at her.

"Let's try it on. Alice and I will wait outside for you," Rosalie says briskly. "I can't wait to see you in this."

They leave the room, and I can hear them chat with Jasper through the closed door. I get up from the bed and move over to the dress, touching it reverently with my fingertips. Wear this dress? As in, for real? Can I handle that?

And then another emotion sets over me. Alice made this, for _me_. It's not even her size, because I am taller than her. Standing before the mannequin, I can see it's a floor length dress for someone my size. Not Alice's, or Rosalie's, or even Esme's. Mine. This dress was made for me. And the innocent girl inside me is pulling at my sleeve, begging me to please try it on, if only for once, to see how it feels to be pretty like the women in the magazines.

With a deep breath, I reach for the hem of my thick sweater and pull it over my head. The rest of the clothes follow, until I'm in just my bra and pants. I'll need a different bra for this, I realize, since the straps will show if I wear a regular one. For now, though, it doesn't matter.

With trembling fingers, I pull the dress off the mannequin and let it slide over my head. The fabric - it must be taffeta silk - is cool against my skin, and goosebumps rise up.

The hardest part comes next; removing my pants. The soft skirts feel alien against my naked legs, and I feel more vulnerable than I ever have. Yet, when I lace up the dress, the bodice fits around me snugly, perfectly, making me feel cocooned and safe.

I wrap the shawl around my shoulders, hiding the skin of my upper back, which is a good thing, and carefully step over to the full length mirror on Alice's wardrobe.

"Bella?" I hear faintly through the door. "Bella, are you done? Can we come in?"

Incessant knocking penetrates the haze around me, and then the door opens. "Bella, are you all right?" Rosalie asks, stepping up to me.

She appears behind me and I can see her in the mirror before me. I am frozen completely, my hands covering my mouth, my eyes staring unblinking at my reflection.

"Bella?" Alice asks, appearing at my other side. "What's wrong?"

Two tears spill over and roll down my cheeks, landing on my fingers. I am too emotional right now to move, let alone speak or communicate in any other way. This dress is just too beautiful, and it fits me like a glove. I'm uncomfortable in it, as I would be in any form fitting garment, but mainly, I just can't stop thinking how amazing this dress is, and how well it suits me.

For someone who has been convinced she's ugly as the night all her life, this is a confusing thought. My darker side, the part of me that carries the guilt and the shame of what happened, refuses to allow me to feel pretty in this dress. My emotions are conflicted as I look into the mirror, the green the perfect color on my frame.

"Good?" Alice asks shyly, meeting my eyes through the mirror.

It takes all I have to nod. She smiles at me, and then looks me over, touching me gently to make sure the dress is fitting correctly.

"Have you seen the back yet?" Rosalie asks, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

I shake my head, and she gently pushes my shoulder so I will turn around. The laces are done up as well as I could, and it's an amazing sight. Alice moves to pull the shawl away so she can check, but my hands move quicker than lightning, grabbing hold of the thing and pulling it tightly around my shoulders.

"I have to see if the neckline fits," she says by way of explanation, and her hands come up to the shawl again. She tugs, but I'm not letting go.

"No, Alice," I whisper, afraid to tell her no but more afraid for them to see the ugly scars I know litter my back.

"It's okay, I won't look," she says.

"The dress fits," I say as I shake my head. They can't see. They saw my feet and I know it didn't freak them out, but I don't want them to see my back.

She frowns, but Rosalie places a hand on her arm. "Leave it, Alice. If she says it fits, it fits."

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable," Alice says, "you know you don't have to be with us, right?"

"The dress looks wonderful on you," Rosalie says, saving me from having to answer Alice. "You've done a perfect job, sister mine."

I turn back to look into the mirror, and am again taken aback by the image that is staring back at me.

"Thank you so much." My voice breaks and my lip trembles as I speak.

Alice flings herself against me and hugs me so tight she shocks me. After a moment, I hug her back, though, even though I'm not at all comfortable. But she deserves it, and so much more, for what she did. There's just no way I will ever be able to pay her back for this.

But I am most certainly going to try.

**~O~**

Rosalie takes me to Port Angeles on Wednesday, and to my surprise, this seems to disappoint Edward.

"You can monopolize her all you want once we get back," she says, grinning. On our way to the town she chatters about school, finals, prom, of course, and her future with Emmett.

By the time we have parked and are walking to the mall, she changes the subject. "Where are you with Edward?"

Her question is so sudden I nearly stumble, and my gaze whips over to her in surprise.

She chuckles. "Was just wondering. See, I don't mean to pry, but Edward was so upset after what happened, he told Emmett, who told me. So."

Right. Well, I don't really want to use words in this crowded mall, so in the end I look away and shrug.

"Did you talk about it?" Rosalie asks.

I nod, glad she's giving me a simple yes or no question to answer.

"That's good. I know you must have been shocked, but as long as he didn't actually try anything... But I guess that's where trust comes in."

I chew my lip, thinking for a moment, following Rosalie's lead as we walk through the mall. I have no idea why she is taking me here, but for some reason, when she asked me to join her, I felt like it. I don't get out of the house enough, for sure.

"You were hurt," I finally say, the words stilted as I have to force them out against the barrier that has been in place for so long.

She stops walking and looks at me. "I was. And it took me a while to get back from that. But I sensed I could trust Emmett, no matter what those idiots did to me out there."

"What happened?"

Suddenly, she looks a hundred years old. She looks around and spots an empty bench, and she walks over to it, inviting me to sit down with her. Then she takes a moment, probably collecting courage to speak.

"Will you tell no one?" she asks, her voice small.

I shake my head, hoping she can see the honesty in my eyes.

She takes a deep breath, looking at her impeccable nails. And then she starts talking, in a voice so soft and broken I want to reach out and hold her. She went to a party in Port Angeles, alone, because Emmett was too sick. She wore a dress that Carlisle had warned was too sexy to his likes. On her way home, she got roughed up by some guys. They groped her, touched her under her dress. When she fought back, they slammed her head against a wall.

I'm hugging her before I know what I'm doing, and she's holding on to me, her arms around me so tightly that in another situation I would have panicked. I give her as much comfort as I can, but I'm not sure if I'm succeeding.

"Do you think I brought it on myself?" she asks me after a while in a small voice.

"No," I say honestly, immediately. "You didn't wear that dress to get harassed. They had no right."

"Mom and dad don't know," she whispers. "I'm so scared they'll be angry."

I say nothing. What can I say? They're not my parents, and I can't promise her they won't be angry at her for what happened, because I'm not sure they won't be.

"I think they would want to know," I finally say, searching for words.

"Maybe," she says, her voice a bit rough. Then she rubs her face, tracing her fingers under her eyes to fix her make up. When she looks back at me, her eyes are lighter again. "Let's go shopping. You need shoes for your dress."

She manages to find me shoes I can tolerate - ankle boots with a small heel. She also looks for some jewelry in a color that will match the dress.

"Too bad everything you have is blue," she says when we browse a jewelry store. Or, she browses and I follow. I don't care for fancy stuff like that, really, but I appreciate that Rosalie wants to help me.

And then she discovers my ears aren't pierced. Instead of trying to convince me to get it done, she finds me subtle clip-ons.

"But it's up to you," she says as we drive home again. "I mean, I just want to give you anything you might need, but if you decide to go in jeans and a hoodie, we won't stop you."

"Alice might," I murmur, shocking the hell out of myself by saying something like that.

Rosalie laughs, a sound I've rarely heard from her. "If she gives you grief, send her to me. The dress she made you is amazing, but it will still be amazing when senior prom rolls around, you know."

Her off handed comment about senior prom, telling me she expects me to still be with the Cullens when I finish high school, warms my heart more than all the other things she and Alice have done for me lately.

I shake my head to myself, wondering how I ever was so lucky to land with this family.

"You're a good girl," Rosalie says with a smile in her voice. "We'd just about kill if it means we get to see you smile."

**~O~**

On the day of prom I'm so nervous I can't even get any food down my throat. Edward asks me almost every hour if I still want to go through with it all, and it's all I can do to force myself to nod. By the time it's time to start getting dressed, my stomach feels hollow.

I sit on Rosalie's bed and watch her and Alice dance around the room in a flutter of activity. Apparently they have no qualms at all about walking around in silk camisoles and underwear, and I try to notice as little skin as possible.

They're both flawless, and the unexpected jealousy leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Their skin is unmarked by scars, and I feel worse about my own body than I have ever done.

But then, as my thoughts have drifted as they got ready, they turn on me like a trigger has been pulled, and I guess it's my turn to be prettified. Rosalie simply states that she is in charge of my make up, ignoring a huffing Alice. She guides me to put on a bit of mascara, and helps me add a subtle blush and a hint of gloss. That's all, and I'm grateful that she's not painting my entire face.

Alice comments in the background that I would look better with eyeshadow and foundation, but I turn to her and try to smile to reassure her. "I like to look like me. A lot of make-up is not like me."

Her gaze softens when she understands my words, and she touches my arm. "You're right. I'm sorry I get carried away."

"That's okay," Rosalie says, opening Alice's closet door. "If you didn't, we wouldn't try new things as often as we did."

Alice smiles, placated, and then turns to Rosalie to pull the dresses from the closet. Anxiety squeezes my chest when the dress Alice made me is spread out on the bed. The reality of the situation crashes down on me in a heart beat. Am I really doing this? Am I going to wear a dress, have all the others see me, first in the family and then at school? Can I handle the looks, the whispers that will undoubtedly come?

What if they collectively laugh at me for wearing a dress when I'm so ugly? What if Edward thinks I look ridiculous and is uncomfortable next to me? What if he refuses to take me after all? And do I even want to go?

"Bella, relax, tale a deep breath," Alice says lowly, kneeling before me as I sink down on a chair. "You look fabulous in that dress. Do you really honestly think Rose and I would let you go out in it if you didn't?"

She has a point, but it does little to calm my nerves. Alice takes me hand and squeezes it gently. "We can always try to find you a different outfit if it works better for you?"

I swallow and force myself to speak. "I'd stand out. But people will look."

"And you hate attention," Alice murmurs. "But look at it this way. _You_ will be the only one with a custom made dress. _You_ will be the only one Edward will look at tonight. And _you_ are the only one that matters."

"Think of it as a fuck you in Lauren's face, too, if you like," Rosalie adds as she comes closer. "To everyone, actually. Show them you're as good, no, better than the rest of them."

"But I'm not," I whisper.

Rosalie kneels next to Alice and meets my gaze with fierce, burning eyes. "You _are._ Think of what you've been through and where you are now. Think of how strong you are, to have been through hell and came out fully functioning on the other side. That's all that matters tonight. I _know_ you can't care less about what others think. So why bother now? Are their opinions at all important? I think not."

I smile weakly at her words, and she leans up on her knees to hug me hard.

"Tonight you will shine. If only for us," she whispers in my ear.

I nod into her hair, and then my heart skips a beat and my brain checks out as we get dressed - first Rosalie and Alice, and then me. Rosalie is in a stunning, floor length grey gown with sparkling stones down the neckline. Alice is pretty in pink, a short one shouldered dress that flares out widely with petticoats. Black flowers are embroidered down her left side, traveling up to form the shoulder strap.

So pretty.

And here I am, in the green dress, in a strapless bra that Rosalie arranged for me, and in the new ankle boots that she found me, with a necklace with green stones and matching earrings. Alice combs my hair and uses something that makes it shiny, using the soft natural curl to drape it over my shoulders.

My heart is beating so frantically now that I am panting for breath.

"Are you girls almost ready to come down?" Esme asks from the other side of the door. "We are waiting and the boys are getting a bit nervous."

Alice bites her lip and looks at me with sparkling eyes. "Are you ready?"

No, I'm not. But I said I'd go and I don't want to go back on my word.

"Edward is going to fall over backward when he sees you," Rosalie says. "He won't know what hit him."

Her words help my resolve to go through with it. I know Edward wants this, and vain as it may be, I want him to see me like this.

Rosalie takes my hand and squeezes it. "Let's go."

I take a deep breath and follow them out into the hallway, feeling ridiculously vulnerable outside the safety of the bedroom. At the landing of the second floor, they both hug me again, offering me smiles that are both reassuring and genuinely happy.

"You're so pretty," Alice says, and I can see in her eyes that she means it. "Shit, I'm going to cry."

Rosalie hugs us both. "Don't start yet. It'll get worse when mom sees us."

Alice smiles through her tears and wipes her eyes dry carefully. "Are you ready to go?" she asks me.

Downstairs, I can hear the quiet shuffling of people waiting. Edward is there, too. I take a deep breath and nod.

Alice goes first, and after some non-verbal negotiating, Rosalie goes second. I dig my nails into my palm to redirect my anxiety, lift my skirt, and start my way down the stairs.

* * *

_Reviews, as always, are love._


	68. Chapter 68

**A/N I don't own Twilight. I do own Torn's plotline. Proudly.**

_Hi everyone! Your reviews blow me away. So good! Like a warm hug every time I get one :D_**  
**

_Thanks to Sherry for beta duties, and to Heather and Aleea for support and prereading.  
_

_Next update might be three weeks. I am going on a holiday and I don't expect to get much writing done. I don't have any chapters up my sleeve anymore, sadly.  
_

_Playlist: The Black Ghosts - Full Moon; Bruno Mars - The Other Side; Death Cab for Cutie - Meet Me on the Equinox; Britney Spears - Toxic (Tango - you'll see); Maria Mena - I Was Made For Loving You; Pink - Glitter in the Air. Also, a__nything you love to dance to._

_Yep, that's right... Are you ready?_ **  
**

* * *

The last time I checked, the stairs had fourteen steps, but right now it feels as though there are forty. I concentrate hard on taking it one step at a time, being careful to not stumble over the long dress while at the same time keeping it low enough so my legs don't show.

I should have worn a legging or something underneath it. Fuck.

They see me first, of course. There's a distinct collective gasp going through the people waiting for me at the landing when my feet come in sight. I try to come down the stairs as gracefully as possible, but stop dead when I see the faces of the others.

Alice, holding Jasper as if her life is depending on it, beams up at me with unmistakable pride in her eyes. Jasper is smiling warmly, his eyes friendly. Esme, with a tissue in her hands, sniffles as Carlisle wraps an arm around her waist and hugs her closer. Emmett is grinning at me, dimples showing, and Rosalie winks before she tilts her chin up, reminding me to do the same.

And then my gaze shifts to Edward. He has tried to tame his hair and I get to see it for about one second, because his hand comes up to tug at it, pulling it completely out of order again. He simply looks at me, his mouth slightly open, his eyes unblinking.

But it's the look in his eyes that tells me I've made the right decision. Every single emotion I think I see in his gaze is positive. There is no darkness, or shame, or discomfort or lust or anger or annoyance. Only happiness, and warmth, and pride and something that's beyond admiration.

Esme finally breaks the silence. "Wow, Bella. You look so stunning."

But I can't look away from Edward, and warmth blooms in my chest when he steps up to me, offering me his hand to guide me the last few steps down. I can't help but think back to when I first came here. I would have run back up the stairs if someone would have come to me like that.

Now, I place my hand in Edward's and let him help me, and when I'm safely on the floor, he places his hands on my waist gently. Everything around me fades for a moment as I look into his eyes.

"Perfect," he whispers. "You are a vision."

I blush and bite my lip at his compliment, but his words make me glow. As convinced as I am that I am ugly, there still is no way I can deny I like hearing his words. Especially now I know he says them because he means them, not because he has an ulterior motive.

And he looks good, too, though I'm too shy to tell him so with the others present. But, you know. Damn. Edward in a tux? I've never looked at him that way, not really, but he looks mighty fine in that suit.

I swallow and look away, and he chuckles knowingly.

"Amazing," Esme whispers again when I turn to the othersq. "You look so beautiful, honey."

I smile shyly. Everyone is telling me this, and with such conviction, too. Even Carlisle nods in agreement at Esme's words. I look down and pluck at the dress, self conscious suddenly.

"Time for the corsages?" Esme says, and only now do I notice the small boutonnière on the guys' lapels.

They all walk over to a side table, where the small boxes with the flower decorations are. Edward steps up to me to present me mine, and I smile genuinely at its beauty. It matches the smaller version he is wearing, and it's he coloring matches my dress. When I glance at Alice, she looks back at me with knowing eyes.

God, how long must she have been planning to give me this dress? What would have happened had I said no to prom?

"Here," Edward says quietly, slipping his warm fingers around my wrist so he can lift it and fasten the corsage around it. Then he brings my hand up to his mouth so he can press a kiss to the back. "I like you without a brace," he murmurs against my skin. His breath is warm, and I can feel his lips brush my hand when he speaks.

Too bad my fingers are still wrapped up. That cut was a lot deeper than I thought.

When I'm able to tear my eyes away from Edward for a moment, I see how Emmett and Jasper have presented the corsages to Alice and Rosalie, too. They all look superhumanly beautiful, and I feel out of place. But then Alice meets my gaze and she smiles so brightly, so genuinely, that the sharp edge of my insecurity fades.

"Pictures, please," Carlisle says. "Jasper, do you have your camera down here?"

Jasper nods and hands his father the device. Unable to look at the camera or even fake a courtesy smile, I look at Edward instead. He looks back at me, grounding me with his gaze, and my expression relaxes into something a bit less tense and a bit more joyful.

Carlisle takes a lot of pictures of all of us, and surprises me out of my wits when, after he posed with all his children, he wants one with me, too. He comes to stand next to me, and thankfully does not wrap an arm around my shoulders or waist.

"Are you happy?" he asks gently, and his voice makes me look up at him.

His eyes are so warm and his voice is almost hopeful, and I smile and nod to answer his question honestly. Right at that moment, Jasper snaps a picture. Carlisle winks at me and then it's Esme's turn to pose with her children, and me. In the end a tripod is produced from somewhere so they can join us in front of the lens. At the countdown, I fret, but I feel Edward's hand in the small of my back, providing silent comfort.

This is the first family picture with everyone in it. And I am just about in the middle of the composition. They really see me as a part of this family, and I have to swallow a few times to keep sudden, unexpected emotions at bay. I don't want to cry right now.

"Are you all ready to go out for dinner?" Emmett asks when the pictures are finally done.

My hand, that is still in Edward's even now, clenches in alarm, squeezing his fingers with it. Shit, I totally forgot about dinner. Going to a restaurant, in this dress? Well, I guess I can always just eat when I get back home.

"Relax," Edward whispers. "You'll see."

"My lady," Jasper says, handing Alice a cape that matches her dress perfectly and then inviting her to walk out the door. I half expect some fancy car to be waiting in front of the house, but when I see nothing, I look at Carlisle and Esme, confused. Only now do I notice what they are wearing. Esme is in a beautiful black cocktail dress, and Carlisle in dark jeans with a smart jacket on top of it.

They're dressed up, too.

Emmett and Rosalie go out second, and then Edward invites me to lay my hand in the crook of his arm to walk outside.

I want to ask where we are going, but the words are stuck in my throat. I guess when stressed, I turn back to my old mechanisms, but I don't care, and from Edward's behavior, he doesn't really care, either. From what I can tell, he's simply happy, and not afraid to show me. He's not very talkative, either.

His eyes are telling me a story of a thousand words.

My confusion grows when we walk through the garden to... the green house?

I look at Edward, who is not giving me any information, so I look over my shoulder at Carlisle and Esme. Carlisle winks at me and then points to the green house, as if that is supposed to make any sense at all.

But when we get to the big double doors of the glass building, my eyes grow wide and my mouth pops open in pure surprise.

Candles, everywhere. The plants have been cleared to the sides, and in the middle is an oval table with six chairs around it. The table is set for a fancy dinner, and covered dishes are in the middle.

I reach out for something to hold on to, because I'm sure my knees are going to give out, and feel Edward's hand take mine. I look from him to the others, and their expressions tell me how completely emotional I must look myself.

"Have a seat, children," Carlisle announces. "Dinner is ready to be served."

Edward holds out my chair, like Jasper does for Alice and Emmett for Rosalie. I feel self conscious, even though I recognize the simple gallantry in Edward's gesture. Esme walks over to me and hands me a linen napkin to place over my lap, and it is only then that I realize that they will be our waiters tonight.

This doesn't feel right.

I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. I swallow, and try again, but my throat constricts and I can't find my voice.

"What's wrong?" Edward asks quietly. "Tell me."

When I meet his gaze, it gives me the strength to at least sign something. *_Too much.*_

"What is?" he asks gently.

_*This. You changed your plans.*_

"No, we didn't," Edward says easily. "We planned it like this right from the start."

Emmett clears his throat so pointedly that I look over at him to see what is going on. He leans forward as he looks at me, his eyes sincere but intent.

"Bellabella, you have to understand that what we're doing here tonight is for us. See, you're a part of our family, and we want you to have a good time, too. It's _our_ wish that you be with us, so if we decide to make it so that we can be with you, that's our choice. We're basically being selfish here."

I vaguely remember having heard a similar speech before, and I can't help but smile a little at his logic. Tension falls away even more when I see the others around me agreeing with what Emmett said.

"You wouldn't eat in a restaurant," Rosalie adds. "And it would have been painful for us to see you so stressed. How are we supposed to have fun when you aren't?"

Again, that inherent knowledge that I am truly a part of this family, blooms in my stomach, and my smile turns into a genuine one. I look at everyone and see only friendly faces, and Edward squeezes my hand reassuringly under the table.

"First course," Esme announces. "Mushroom soup."

Ah, so this is why she wanted to browse through cook books the other day. I distinctly remember her looking at this recipe then. She smiles at me when she sees my recognition. "I decided against mussels," she informs me, and I can't help but smile back at her.

The atmosphere is somewhat awkward, and when I start to get up to help Esme and Carlisle as they serve us dinner, Edward stops me with a gentle touch.

"This is about us. Let yourself be pampered tonight."

In his gaze I can see he knows how hard it is for me to simply sit back and let it happen, but I do as he tells me and wring my hands in my lap until he places his hand over mine, calming me.

He's touching me a lot this evening and I can't really seem to wrap my mind around how at ease I am with that. Or how much less stressed I am in this dress than I thought I would be.

I think that will change once we go to the school for prom itself, but for now, I try to enjoy this event as much as possible. God knows that had I still been with Stefan, or had the Cullens not taken me in, I would not have been here, in a dress, having dinner and planning on going to prom.

Edward would not have been next to me, looking at me as if he actually likes what he sees. And I would never have gotten a chance to see Edward in a tux.

He meets my gaze and catches me ogling him, and I blush myself when the tips of his ears turn red. When I look away to break the sudden tension between us, I look straight into Alice's wide and overly happy eyes.

"Oh, sake," Edward mutters, exasperated. I look back at him again, and then we both grin like the teenagers we actually are. I don't miss how Edward kicks Emmett under the table though, the moment Emmett opens his mouth for what I suppose was going to be a witty comment at our expense.

Carlisle and Esme have disappeared in the meantime. I didn't even notice them leave. I listen to the others as they chatter lightly about prom, of course, and school, and the summer holiday that's now suddenly enticingly close.

As they focus on their conversation and meal, they give me the privacy I need to actually eat something. The soup is delicious, but thanks to my nerves it rests in my stomach like lead, and I don't finish it.

Esme doesn't ask anything when she removes my bowl, and a few moments later, Carlisle appears with the next course. Venison, prepared like only Esme can make it.

I close down my mind until I'm solely focused on the now, and can only see, hear and feel what is going on in my direct vicinity. The food on my plate and the rich table cloth underneath it. The siblings chatting, laughing, and eating. Edward's hand against my lower back, providing the support, the anchor I need in this situation in which I feel afloat.

I won't think of prom, later, with all the other students looking at us, at me. Lauren and Jessica, bitching about as they will do. Mike, who will surely notice me. I suppress a shudder and force myself to stick to the here and now.

It works. Before I know it, dessert is presented, something with chocolate and caramel. Emmett jokes he half expected to have seen some of my marzipan flowers on top, but Esme explains gently that I really didn't know what they had planned.

After the plates have been placed before us, Carlisle and Esme disappear again. It feels strange, but also somehow easy to have them out of sight during this dinner. The others are visibly relaxed, the context of this gathering completely different than when the meal had been served in the main house.

But all too soon, dinner is done and the time has come for us to go to prom.

Since Alice was the only one who would have loved a limo, Edward tells me, it was decided that they wouldn't hire one. Instead, the three cars we will be taking are adorned with ribbons that match the color of our dresses.

Esme hugs everyone in turn, including me, and Carlisle shakes hands with Emmett, Jasper and Edward before he hugs Rosalie and Alice. He steps up to me with a completely open posture and face, and I know he is letting me decide if I want to hug him or not. But I can't, and the understanding in his eyes makes me want to cry for some reason.

He holds out his hand and I place mine in it before he lays his other hand over mine. "I've always taught my children to face their fears, and to be as strong as they can be. What you are doing tonight, shows who you truly are. A true Cullen," he says quietly, and my heart warms at his words. For him to accept me in his family like he does, like he's always done, is something I never could have dreamed up to ever have.

"Come on, we don't want to be late," Emmett says. "Seriously, all this sweetness is giving me a toothache."

Rosalie slaps the back of his head and he protests, but then he looks at me and I can see he really didn't mean what he just said. There's as much pride in his eyes as there is in the others'. It feels so strange to know that pride is directed at me.

Edward opens the car door for me, and my insides contract when I realize that this is the moment we will go to the school. I swallow my fear away, thinking of Carlisle's words. I can do this, right? I will have to.

We are the last car to pull away from the driveway. The others are ahead of us. I can see their tail lights in the dark of the woods. Edward has put on some classical music. I recognize some of the songs from when he played them on his piano.

"You okay?" he asks after a moment.

I can only nod. My throat is too tight to speak. But I'll be damned before I let Edward know how stressed I really am. If he realizes it, it will ruin his night, and I refuse to let that happen.

The ride to school is never long, and now it seems even shorter. I see Emmett's Jeep and Carlisle's Mercedes with Alice and Jasper turn left into the parking lot, and I brace myself.

Except, Edward doesn't turn. He drives on.

I'm so stunned it takes me a second to will my eyes to turn to him. He looks back at me and his facade is so open, so relaxed, it releases some of the rigid tension in my body.

"You're way too nervous. I thought I'd drive us around for a bit so you can gather your bearings?"

I can only nod.

He drives on, and after a while parks his car on the dirt road that leads to the trail to the meadow. He turns in his seat to look at me, and then pulls my hands free from their death grip on each other and takes them in his.

"Tell me honestly, Bella. Do you want to go to prom?"

Shit. I don't want him to cancel just because I can't be normal. I swallow, then nod.

He smiles, relieved, and hope flares that I won't have to disappoint him, after all. "Are you ready to go, then?"

I nod minutely, not sure he even sees my movement. Edward shifts gears and backs out of the dirt road before he turns onto the main road again.

"I'm really looking forward to tonight," he says quietly. "I hope we can have a good time, you know?"

Yeah, I know. But my hands are clammy with nerves and I don't know where to leave them, afraid I will stain the expensive silk of the dress.

I'm really screwed. I reach into the depths of my mind, trying to find the coping mechanism I developed years ago. Not only can I shut out my surroundings, I can also deal with time. However slowly it passes, it always moves forward. That knowledge will be my comfort tonight.

But when we reach the school parking lot, he doesn't turn onto it. He drives past it yet again, and I wonder if he thinks I need even more time to gather my courage.

"No," I say in protest when I realize he's driving us back home.

He ignores me, and tears pool in my eyes. I ruined it, I realize. I couldn't hide my anxiety and now he thinks I don't want to go. I'm trying to think of a way to get his attention, when he turns off the street and onto the mile long driveway back to the house.

My mind stops.

Torches are lit along the entire driveway, guiding us home. My mouth pops open as I see them, the lights like an invitation, welcoming us. Edward drives us slowly, giving me time to take in the changed surroundings. He drives up to the main house and parks the car in front of the porch steps, and in the faint glow of the porch light, I see a red carpet on the stairs.

Finally, it starts to dawn on me. He's not taking me to the school prom. He's taking me here, to the main house, where we will have our own private party of sorts.

Edward looks at me, telling me with his eyes to stay put, and walks around the car to open the door for me. I place my hand in his when he offers it, and let him walk me up the steps. More torches are lit on the porch, and I can feel their heat when we walk past them.

Inside the house, Alice, Jasper, Emmett and Rosalie are waiting for us. I blink in confusion. Didn't I see them go into the school parking lot? Did they turn around after Edward drove on?

Carlisle and Esme are not here. Soft music is playing and a fire is going in the hearth. The living room is redecorated; the couches have been pushed away to make a makeshift dance floor, and the coffee table is against the wall, filled with various drinks and treats. Decorations are everywhere; flowers and ribbons and even colored lights in the corners of the room.

"Welcome to prom," Rosalie announces.

I look from her back to Edward, and his smile makes me melt a little.

"Did we do the right thing?" he asks me quietly. "We can still go to school if you want."

They are giving me a choice, but underneath that is the stronger realization that they truly are okay with this, with staying at home and organizing a private prom. It's too much to comprehend, and my chest feels tight.

"Talk to me," Edward pleads. "Do you want to stay here?"

"Perfect," I croak around the lump in my throat. "You okay with it all?"

"Definitely," Emmett says. "Like I said, we're just being selfish here."

Right. I think I like his logic. Rosalie beams at me when she catches my gaze again, and purposely straightens her shoulders, like she lifted her chin earlier. I straighten my own back in answer, but I don't feel nearly as strong as she looks right now.

"Let's have a toast to tonight and then let the dancing begin!" Alice announces happily.

There is alcohol free cider in champagne glasses, and we raise them in salute to each other.

"To the end of finals," Jasper says.

"To prom night," Rosalie adds.

"To a good summer," Emmett continues.

"To new experiences," Edward chimes in.

"To us," Alice says with a giggle, and we clink our glasses and sip the bubbly drinks.

There is a moment of undeniable awkwardness and then Jasper turns up the volume of the music. It's a somewhat slow song and as one, the two other couples move into each other's arms and start to dance.

Edward takes my hand gently and turns me to him, his eyes asking. Nerves explode in my stomach when he wraps his arm around my waist and lifts my other hand with his, making the shawl shift from my arm and exposing the skin.

But he doesn't look at the scars that are faintly visible there. He is looking into my eyes, and I feel as if he is looking right into my soul. With gentle movements, he guides me to dance with him. Just like in his room what feels like a lifetime ago, we don't do more than sway, really, but we're moving to the music and as one song seamlessly changes into the other, the tight ball of anxiety finally is starting to uncurl.

I'm dancing. With Edward. At prom. It's weird and it's safe at the same time. I still worry they're missing out on the real thing, but every time I look at the others for reassurance, I can only see pure happiness and joy in their faces. You can't hide such a thing.

I'm going to bake them the best pies to thank them, and I'll start tomorrow.

The music switches to something with a heavier beat, and the others laugh and dance. I move to the side of the room a bit. I'm not comfortable dancing like that, but with this happy atmosphere I find that my head bobs along to the beat all the same.

And I can watch them without feeling like I'm at the fringe of things. At one point, Alice comes to keep me some company, and she laughs as Edward and Jasper are goofing around a little, showing off their most ridiculous dancing moves.

"Do you know the foxtrot?" Alice asks me over the music.

I shake my head. I don't know any dancing but for the extremely fancy stuff I see on tv.

Alice smiles and shows me the moves. "One, two, three-four," she counts, stepping to the side, to the front and twice to the side again. Within moments, I can copy her. In the next moment, Edward comes up to me, taking my hand and pulling me onto the floor with a twirl. I almost squeal and he grins, placing his hands in the right position again.

And then we're dancing the foxtrot. Stilted at first, since I keep looking at our feet, until Edward tells me to look at him. His eyes... They're so green in the light of the room, and they hold something new I've never seen before. I don't think I can name the emotion, but there is a tenderness in it that seems to tug me closer to him.

The music turns slower again, and the other two couples snuggle up in an intimate embrace. Edward sees my hesitation and a crooked smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. He intertwines his fingers with mine and takes me outside.

It's warm for the time of year, the fresh air not too cold to be outside for a moment without a coat. I move to stand at the porch railing, and Edward comes to stand next to me. He slides an arm around my waist, and I stiffen for a moment before I can relax.

"This okay?" he asks quietly.

I nod, looking into the direction of the driveway, where the torches are still burning.

"Do you like the way we planned it?" he asks next, and the raw vulnerability in his choice makes me look at him.

"I'm sorry you couldn't go to the real prom," I whisper, my voice refusing to cooperate any more than this.

"Are you kidding me? I wasn't looking forward to meeting the bitch squad anymore than you did, I think."

I smile a little at his words. "But the others?"

"They wanted to stick around you. There was no way of stopping them. So we made a plan."

I nod slowly as I realize what he means.

"When I didn't take you into the parking lot, they turned and went home again. Mom and dad prepared the house just in case."

Such an effort, and all to please me. I feel overwhelmed and guilty, and so grateful my skin tingles.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"The others will be going to the after party though," he adds with a smile, and it reassures me. "The diner organized a little something, I heard."

"Good," I say softly, looking back at the garden again. "Do you want to go there?"

"Not without you, and I don't think you will want to go."

"Don't let me stop you."

Edward turns to face me more fully and with the utmost care cups my face in his hands. His thumbs stroke my cheek and I blink at the sincerity in his eyes.

"If I go to a party, I want to go with you. I'm not missing out on anything when I don't go."

I want to protest, but he leans in and kisses my forehead, then the tip of my nose. My heart skips a beat when I feel his lips on my skin, and my knees seem to go weak at the tenderness he is showing me.

"Let's go back inside," he says gently, "before you get too cold."

The others inside are clearly having a blast. Jasper and Emmett are trying to do a tango together, and Alice and Rosalie are shaking with laughter. Emmett is stooped into a ridiculous position so he can press his cheek against Jasper's, just like I've seen in movies with an exaggerated tango in it.

Emmett and Jasper have to break apart because they are laughing so hard, and Emmett turns to Rosalie, picking her up by her waist and raising her above his head. When he lowers her, her body slides down against his, and to my own horror I simply can't look away from their intimacy. They are so at ease with other, and a strange sense of want radiates in my gut.

Edward steps back into my line of sight, and when I look at him I can see he's caught me looking at Emmett and Rosalie. I look at the floor, feeling lost. I think it will forever be a battle for me, wanting things and allowing myself to pursue them.

They all make a tremendous effort to make me laugh and have a good time. When the clock strikes eleven thirty, my feet hurt and my lids are heavy, but I can look back to an amazing evening. They made me dance and didn't laugh at me. They even made me feel at ease in this dress.

Accepted.

_Normal._

Rosalie, Emmett, Alice and Jasper help us clean up the room a little and then say their goodbyes to go to the after party.

"You can have your own after party here," Alice whispers in my ear. "Mom and dad aren't going to be home anytime soon."

That's as scary to know as it is exciting. But, I don't think anything will happen tonight. There isn't much more I am willing to try out. I have pushed myself far enough.

Rosalie comes up to me when Edward is already outside with the others to wave them off. She grasps my upper arms, making sure I will listen to her words. "He's not going to hurt you, Bella, or force you into anything. Just remember that."

I nod, a little surprised at her words. Clearly, she _does_ expect something is going to happen.

"I don't think I'm ready for anything," I whisper, the confession pushed out by a sudden need for reassurance.

Her face turns tender and she hugs me tightly. "Then nothing will happen. I've seen how he is around you. He's so careful to read your reactions right. He won't even try if he's not a hundred percent sure."

I swallow, wanting her words to be true. As much as I hope she is right, and as well as I think I know Edward, I can only hope nothing will go wrong. Sure, I let him hold my hand and I like to be around him, a lot, but I can never be sure about what will happen. I don't think I will ever be able to trust someone that fully.

We stand on the porch as the two couples drive off in Emmett's Jeep. Edward wraps an arm around my waist again and shifts closer to me. "Did you have a good night?"

"I did. Thank you. You?"

He looks down at me and smiles. "Better than I imagined it could be."

We stand together in companionable silence for a few minutes, until I shiver. He shrugs out of his jacket and places it around my shoulders before I can protest. It smells like him, and I try to be as inconspicuous about it as possible when I inhale his lovely scent.

Silence stretches between us, but it's not an awkward one. We're back to the comfort we both seem to be having in being quiet, and not for the first time, I'm glad that he does not feel the need to speak or make me talk.

After a while though, the damp night air settles in too heavily around us and we're drawn back to the warmth we know is inside the house.

The fire has gone down to embers, and I look at the hypnotizing glow. I don't even notice it when Edward comes up behind me and gently takes his jacket off my shoulders. He tosses it on a chair without really looking where it lands, and then takes a moment to rearrange my shawl so it's draped nicely over my shoulders again.

His fingertips touch the small of my back. "You are so amazing in this dress. I still can't believe you decided to wear it."

I blush a little at his compliment. How do I tell him that the little girl in me demanded I wear it, if only once? How to tell him that I am basically indulging in a fantasy that I have had since I was about four years old?

"Will you dance with me one more time?" he asks quietly.

I turn to face him and almost gasp at the expression I see in his eyes. I can't look away when he wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer than he has done before. His other hand takes mine again, but he holds them both close to our bodies. I imagine I can feel his body heat through the layers of our clothes, and it's not frightening. It's a taste of that intimacy I so desperately long to have.

His thumb strokes my wrist as he leads us both to dance on the soft, slow music. The lyrics strike a chord in me, and I close my eyes for a moment as the words wash over my soul.

The song ends and another begins, but I rarely register it. All I know right now is Edward being close to me. He shifts even closer, moving his arm slightly up my back. His hand slips under the shawl and all of a sudden, his fingertips are touching the skin between my shoulder blades.

We both freeze. I gasp, my eyes flying up to his. He doesn't move.

I know he must feel the scars that are there. I shouldn't have been so stupid as to accept a dress that would leave my back uncovered. But Edward's hand doesn't move. He doesn't feel around for the ridges I know are there. Instead, he holds my gaze with his, and we stand still for a long moment.

Then he starts to move us in a dance. His hand is still on my back, and after what feels like a lifetime, his fingers move ever so slightly, caressing my skin.

My breathing stops as wild goose flesh races over my body. I'm not even aware I am squeezing his other hand. His touch is too much, too intense. Too close. It stirs up a storm of emotions I have never felt before.

Within a second, he stops, warned by my reaction. He pulls back slightly and ducks his head to look into my eyes. "Too much?" he asks quietly.

I can't meet his gaze, and it takes me a while to nod. This is not like admitting a weakness. Holy fuck, but that felt good! Yet at the same time, the amount of sensation scared me shitless. And shit, he's _touching_ me. I'm ugly, I'm scarred. Why would he bother?

"Hey," he whispers, tilting my chin up with his forefinger. "What's wrong?"

I can only release a shuddering breath, and Edward smiles as if he understands exactly how I feel. He takes my hand and places it over his heart.

It's beating just as fast as mine.

He cups my face in his warm hands, one on my cheek and one more to the back of my head, his fingers weaving through my hair. I expect him to say something, and when he doesn't, my heart explodes in my chest as I realize what he is about to do.

He hesitates for the longest time, and I can't move. I'm not sure if I'm ready, and I'm not even sure if that means I should tell him to wait or push through it.

I don't know.

At that moment, Edward's phone chirps, signaling an incoming text message. He doesn't look, but the spell is broken, giving me the strength to place my hands over his and step away from him.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them I can only see understanding. He leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead, silently confirming what I just realized.

I'm not ready yet.

But that's okay.


	69. Chapter 69

**A/N I don't own Twilight. I own this plot and any original characters and traits.**

_Please read. Thank you all for your continued support and patience. I am dealing with some issues in the family sphere, so my priorities lie elsewhere at the , I have to let my updating schedule go. I'll try to keep updating as regularly as possible!  
_

_In the fandom, too, there has been bad news. Just4Ale passed away and Katalina is fighting for her life. If you want to do something to support Stand up for Cancer, please do so: katalina . fandomcause . info._

_This chapter is pretty special to me, and I am sad it is marred by bad news both in the fandom and in my personal life. However, I hope you will enjoy._

_Special thanks to Sherry for being my beta, and to Bob and Aleea for cheering me on. Shoutout to Juliette and Danny, and to Sandy (Southern) for giving me her words. _

_I will post an outtake, too, which might answer a question from the previous chapter.  
_

_Music: Pink - Crystal Ball (Edward plays it); Natasha Bedingfield - Wild Horses. This has always been my theme song to Torn :)_

* * *

"Last night was amazing," Alice says with a happy sigh.

We're having a late breakfast on Saturday morning, and those who are present are talking about prom. Edward is still upstairs, as is Rosalie. Emmett is just coming down, yawning so widely his jaw pops as he rubs his face.

"Man. Awesome," he mumbles, his voice still low from sleep and maybe also from talking over the music the night before. He stretches, his shirt riding up and showing me a hint of his six pack. I look away quickly.

Carlisle and Esme are eating and listening with indulgent smiles on their faces.

"Did you have a good time too, Bella?" Esme asks me as she sips her tea. "Did you like what we arranged?"

I smile and nod. It was wonderful, even though I've spent most of the night worrying if I should have let this happen. After all, they missed out on prom because of me. I can't shake the feeling that I should have told them to go and have a good time without me.

"How was the after party?" Carlisle asks Emmett.

Emmett flashes a dimpled grin and he pulls the bread basket towards him as he begins to talk. "It was cool. They decorated the diner according to the theme, and the music was a lot better than at prom itself, or so we heard."

"There was a really good DJ at the diner," Jasper agrees.

"Oh yes," Alice chimes in. "He took requests, too, which was awesome. And I loved how everybody was dressed."

"I can't believe Lauren actually came in that golden monstrosity," Jasper says, disbelief at the memory showing on his face. "What was she trying to achieve?"

"Buy me, I'm cheap," Emmett says drily, and the others snicker.

"And how were things at home?" Esme asks, turning to me. "Did you enjoy yourself when the others were gone?"

Emmett tries and fails miserably to hide his amused snort in a cough. Edward, who is just coming into the kitchen, gives him a death glare that is so fierce it shocks me.

"Emmett, please," Carlisle admonishes softly.

"What?" he asks, all innocence.

Carlisle cocks an eyebrow at him, not buying it, and Esme turns back to me. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yes," I say, knowing I could easily nod but wanting Edward, who is currently with his head inside the fridge, to get my answer as well.

He shuffles over to the counter and pours himself some coffee. Esme looks at him, beaming. "You, too, sweetheart?"

He smiles, still sleepy, and nods. "I think last night couldn't have gone any better than it did." His gaze shifts to me when he speaks, and he's letting me know that he doesn't mind I pulled back from the almost kiss. I smile back at him, the reaction involuntary but triggered by his gaze.

I like it when he looks at me like that. Like I'm actually worth looking at, but in a good way. He truly sees me, and it makes me want to open up more to let him in, to show him more of me. All of my life I've been hiding myself away, but with him, and with the rest of the Cullens, I don't feel like I have to hide in the shades anymore.

Doesn't mean I'm going to step into the spotlight all of a sudden, but it makes it easier to just be. Of course, my mood, and as such my courage, can change like the weather does. For now though, I'll take it.

"Oh, Edward, by the way, you should have seen Lauren's face at the after party! I wonder how she was at prom, but when you didn't show up at the diner, she acted as if you stood her up," Alice says.

"She really doesn't have a clue, does she?" Edward asks.

"I don't know," Alice says. "I think she really likes you. She has a poor way of showing it, though."

Edward shrugs and sips more of his coffee. "Did they know where we were?"

"Well, gossip ran rampant," Alice says, leaning forward on the table. "I heard the most outrageous stories."

She stops quite abruptly, and it immediately alarms me.

"But?" Edward prompts.

Alice sits back. "I think by Monday the entire school will know you spent prom night with Bella, and with Bella alone."

Edward shrugs. "Tell me something new. Besides," he adds, looking and speaking to me alone, "I'm okay with them knowing we're together."

Pride, happiness, all things good surge inside me at his simple admission, and his answering smile tells me it shows on my face. He reaches over the table and I place my hand in his to squeeze it.

Oh hell, I want to squeal. Me!

The others chuckle and Alice actually seems to have tears in her eyes, but they don't pay any other attention to our little moment, and that's good. Their agreement shows in their behavior. I chance a glance at Carlisle and Esme, and there is no hint of malice in their gazes. They are okay with this.

I must be good enough for their son.

Amazing.

"So, what are your plans for the day?" Carlisle asks.

"Shopping," Alice announces, rubbing her hands. "One last spree before the dread of finals comes."

"Wouldn't it be better to wait until after finals?" he counters.

"No way. All the new collections are in stores this week. In three weeks' time, all the good stuff will be gone."

"Alice," Esme says quietly, "did you ever return those extra dresses you bought?"

She looks completely caught. "Eh, no?"

Esme frowns - something I have rarely seen her do before. "You said you would."

Alice shrugs, but it's a feigned nonchalance. "I forgot."

"I told you to do it," Esme replies. "More than once. Give me your credit card."

Alice's eyes go wide and her mouth opens in protest. "What? No, that's not fair!"

"You get to use a credit card under a fair use policy, Alice. Those dresses were insanely expensive, and when will you ever wear them? You can hand in your credit card, and you will get it back next month."

"No, mom, please. I won't do it again," Alice tries, but Esme is adamant.

"If you need money, you can sell the dresses you kept online or find a way to return them. Just because we are rich, doesn't mean you can be careless with money."

Alice huffs and sits back, crossing her arms. "I hate you."

Esme doesn't reply, she doesn't lash out. Even Carlisle doesn't react. He didn't even interfere, instead let Esme sort this thing out with her daughter. I look on, stunned. An actual fight, about money no less, and nobody shouted, threatened, or used violence.

Jasper tries to comfort Alice, but she's still pouting. It's hard to comprehend for me, being used to spending money and then suddenly being not able to. But before I was with the Cullens, I rarely had money to spend for my own, except for the small change that Stefan would leave lying around. I saved it up to buy those birth control pills on the Internet. As for the rest, I would get money from Irina to buy some new clothes when the social worker was due.

There was no social worker in the period between Irina's admission to the mental hospital and my flight to Renée. As such, there wasn't any money to buy new things, either. But I don't need much. I'm so small for my age, I didn't grow out of my clothes anymore anyway.

That's changing now, though. With Esme's boost smoothies and her extra care, I know I have been filling out. My jeans are a bit tighter, and my face seems less... hard.

I'm not sure I like it, though.

Then again, what am I nagging about? Look where I am after a life filled with horror. I have a roof over my head, a most loving family surrounding me. I am intelligent, and I am healthy. I have Edward. I can talk again.

And I know that what happened, was not my fault.

**~O~**

The shopping mood is gone with Alice having no money to spend. Rosalie, anxious to be away from her moping sister, asks me if I want to go out instead.

I spend a few hours with her in Port Angeles. She tells me everything about the after party. I'm happy that they had such a good time, and from what she tells me, it's clear to me I wouldn't have been happy at that event.

On our way back, I ask her tentatively if she wants to stop at the supermarket.

"Sure," she replies. She even pushes the cart with a patience I have never seen in her before as I find the ingredients to the party of pies I want to bake as thanks.

In the back of the supermarket, where I am looking for the ingredients for toppings, she comes up to me. After looking around to check if we're really alone, she touches my arm to get my attention.

"I'm thinking of telling mom and dad what happened. After finals. What do you think?"

I'm stunned for a moment. But then I think of how I told Esme everything, and how she reacted. Maybe it's a good thing for Rosalie to tell her parents everything, but I would never forgive myself if they wouldn't react nicely. Then again, would they even be angry?

"I want you to stay with me," she continues, even quieter now, stopping my train of thought. "Will you?"

"Yes," I say just as softly as she. "Of course."

She touches my shoulder and in her eyes I can see she wants to hug me, but she's respecting my own boundaries. "Thank you."

She helps me load all of the groceries in her car and then we drive home again. The sun is not quite out, but the sudden brightness still stings my eyes.

"It's supposed to be sunny and warm tomorrow," she says. "I'm thinking a certain someone might want to take you out for a picnic."

Her eyes are sparkling when she glances at me. "How did things go yesterday?"

I shrug, but then recognize the rope she's throwing me. She's been so nice to me, and after everything she's told me, maybe I can open up to her, too. I need a friend in this, because god knows my feelings for Edward are confusing the hell out of me.

"Okay, I think," I say in answer to her question. "We danced some more after you left."

"Hmm," she hums, clearly pleased. "What else? Did anything happen?"

I bite my lip. "No. I- I wasn't ready."

She smiles reassuringly. "That's okay, sweetie. You know that, right?"

"What if I disappoint him?" I ask, my worries pushing the words out.

Rosalie halts at a traffic light and turns to me. "I think you could only disappoint him by doing things you don't want to do. He'd be devastated to learn you did something against your will to please him."

"Does he really care so much?"

She gives me a 'duh'-look. "Does this still surprise you?"

"But… I'm not normal," I say softly.

She snickers, a delicate lady-like snort only she could make sound attractive. "In case you haven't noticed, he isn't normal, either. That's why you two fit so beautifully."

At my questioning look, she continues. "Has he never told you he has a hard time making friends? He can only let people in if they are completely honest with him. He won't do superficial contacts. It takes ages to get to know him, because he's so slow to open up. People lose patience with him."

I blink. "He opened up to me."

She smiles as if my answer explains everything. "Exactly. He opened up to you. Like you did to him. Tit for tat."

The light turns green and she pulls up. "Are you baking today?"

Her sudden change of subject makes me shake my head to clear it. "Yes. What kind of pie would you like?"

I spend the rest of the day baking, and since I got a clear hint that I might be going out tomorrow, I make scones too. And muffins. And cookies. And banana bread. Just in case.

**~O~**

Like Rosalie predicted, Edward comes to me on Sunday morning. He's out of bed earlier than usual, and he finds me in the library where I am curled up in the window seat, enjoying the morning sun with a book.

He rakes a hand through his bed hair as he walks up to me. "Rosalie spoiled my surprise, it seems," he says, a shy smile tugging at his mouth. "Do you want to go to the meadow with me today?"

I nod before I have registered what I'm doing, and his smile is so bright it could set the room on fire. A flare of anxiety starts in my lower abdomen, like butterflies are running rampant.

With claws.

I swallow the sudden tension away and go back to reading as Edward goes back upstairs to shower and get ready for the day. When he comes back down, we go to the kitchen to gather the food we need to spend the day in the meadow. He laughs when he sees the treats I've made yesterday, but when I want to put the cupcakes back, he takes them from my hands and puts them in his already bulging backpack.

He has packed some blankets, too. After I've filled a thermos with tea, he asks me if I'm ready to go.

I nod, my heart hammering. After prom last Friday night, spending time alone with him has somehow gotten a whole new dimension. But I like it, I think. Especially after Rosalie's words from yesterday. Tit for tat. He's honest with me because I have been honest with him. And even though he doesn't know all of me, I don't know all of him, either. But that's okay. It means we have things to talk about still.

The drive to the meadow is quiet, and Edward's relaxed mood puts me at ease a bit. He hums along with the music, his voice quiet and surprisingly resonant. I've heard him sing once before and I remember loving it back then, too.

He parks the car at the end of the dirt road and walks around it to open the door for me. His chivalry pleases me, and without hesitation, I take his hand. It feels so good to be able to do that, and from the look in his eyes, he likes it too.

He squeezes my hand before he lets it go to walk around to the back of the car. To my surprise, he doesn't only pull out the backpack with food and the blankets from the trunk, but his guitar case as well. A tiny thrill of excitement flares. Is he going to play? That would be amazing.

The hike through the still damp forest is quick, since we both know the way by now. I carry the blankets and Edward has his pack and guitar. He's careful to navigate it through the trees, and more than once I keep a branch out of the way so he can pass more easily. He thanks me every time.

And every time he thanks me, my heart warms a little.

It's a bit chilly under the still damp cover of the leaves, but in the meadow, the sun is out. I step through the last of the trees, and then come to an abrupt halt.

It's a sight to behold. The tiny clearing is exploding with wildflowers, every color brighter than the other. I don't know the names of any of them, and I can only stare at the beauty that is in front of me.

Behind me, Edward chuckles. "It's like this every year. And it never fails to amaze me, either."

"Beautiful," I whisper. I can't remember ever having seen such colors in Phoenix.

We seek out a sunny patch with relatively dry grass and spread out the blankets on the ground. After placing his guitar and pack near the edge of the plait, Edward sits down, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he leans back on his hands.

He looks up at me, squinting against the sun, and smiles as he pats the blanket next to him in invitation. I sink down to the ground, not breaking eye contact as I sit next to his knees, facing him. The sun is on my back, and it's warmer than I expected.

Following his example, I take off my coat and place it to my left, tugging on my sweater. I changed into the blue one I know he likes before we left, but it's a bit form fitting and it still makes me nervous.

"You look good," he says quietly, ducking his head to catch my gaze. "You always look good to me."

My face warms with my blush and I look away, wringing my hands in my lap. I jump when I feel his warm hand over my cold ones.

"Hey," he says, and just like that, he grounds me. He smiles when he sees something he must like in my face, and squeezes my hands. "I had a great time, last Friday."

The corner of my mouth lifts a little. "You didn't mind I..."

"Not at all," he says immediately. "I'd rather you pull back a hundred times than doing it against your will once. I want to be very clear on that."

"Okay," I say, but it comes out so quietly I might as well have mouthed the word. "I'm sorry, though."

He shakes his head. "Don't be. I thought we established the rules of our game? And if I ever go too fast, you can say 'done,' and I'll stop."

Right, the safe word we agreed on. He remembered. The fact that he didn't forget makes warmth bloom in my chest.

He plays with my hands, tugging on my fingers lightly and caressing them. It helps me relax a little, and for a while we sit in silence as I let him touch me. Around us, a light breeze ruffles the leaves, and a few birds are whistling their songs. It's so peaceful here, and I finally sigh in pure contentment. Edward smiles and he looks as happy as I feel.

"Shall we eat?" he asks after a moment.

At my nod, he reaches for the pack and takes out two of his signature sandwiches, wrapped in foil. He hands me one, and we eat in companionable silence. Not for the first time, I am happy that he is okay with not talking, and that I can eat in company. It's actually quite nice to have lunch like this.

We talk a little about school, but move on to other topics quickly. Edward is passionate about health care being available for kids, and his eyes light up when he talks about it.

"To think there are children out there who aren't getting the care they need, because their parents can't afford it," he says. "And here I am, filthy rich. I want to do something good with that money, you know? Make sure children can get care. And of course I want to be that awesome doctor they aren't afraid of," he adds, popping his collar in mock arrogance.

I giggle at his antics, and he looks at me with sparkling eyes. There is a heat in his gaze my instinct recognizes immediately, even though my mind stumbles in alarm. I look away, not sure what to do.

From my peripheral vision, I see him turning to the pack. "What else did you bring?" he asks, more to himself than to me. He brings out box after box of goodies and laughs. "You made food for an army!"

"As a thank you," I try to explain. "For keeping prom at home for me."

He looks at me and shakes his head. "If this is how you reward us for being selfish, you're going to ruin all the effort our parents put into raising us."

I want to roll my eyes at him for using Emmett's funny argument. "I wish I could have gone with you to prom, though. So you didn't have to change your plans."

He looks at me for a minute, thinking. "Do you remember when you arrived with us first? You wouldn't even look at us."

"That was months ago," I say after a moment. I can't tell him what really bothers me - that I just wish I could be normal, and that this painstakingly slow process of healing would go faster.

"Seven months, Bella. Only seven months."

"And two weeks," I say mulishly, looking down.

"And how long did you live in fear, in pain?"

A scowl twists my face and I cross my arms. "Sixteen years."

"Do you really think you can heal sixteen years of trauma in seven months?"

"I just want to be..." What, exactly? Like other people? Able to love and be loved? Fearless? Free?

"Normal," he finishes for me.

I can only nod.

"What's your definition of 'normal?'" he asks.

"I... I don't know," I say as I realize that truly, I don't. "Being carefree, maybe. Not afraid to step out of line. Able to live, and laugh." Able to be touched without freaking out.

"Able to hug?" he asks carefully, making me look back up at him. His arms are open wide in invitation, and I scoot closer to him. He smiles when I wrap my arms around his waist and he pulls me closer, squeezing me. "There's a problem though," he whispers into my hair.

"What?" I say against his chest. I want to stay here for a while, even if our position is slightly awkward.

"This doesn't feel normal to me. In fact, it's pretty damn spectacular."

I giggle in spite of myself, and he rubs my back. The movement is soothing and not alarming at all, and for a moment I simply enjoy the fact that I am okay with this.

"Before I forget, I brought you something," he says after he pulls back. "Though it's a bit redundant after everything you made." He rummages about in his pack and comes up with a small paper bag, which he hands to me.

Macadamias. He bought me macadamias. My smile is radiant as I open the bag and hold it out for him to take some.

"I heard you need to gain weight, and these contain all the good ingredients for that," he says quietly.

"You don't have to do that," I say, though his gesture is sweet.

"But I want to," he protests. He looks at me more closely. "Okay, so I bought them because I know you love them, and I like to see you smile. Better?"

I blush at his words, and he laughs quietly.

"You're adorable," he murmurs, reaching over to get his guitar case.

Our get together transforms as I get my e-reader from the pack and he strums a little on his guitar. I can't focus on the words; my mind doesn't want to miss a note Edward plays. He's trying to figure out how to play a certain song, it seems, and he starts over several times to find the right notes.

"If you bring your guitar as a doctor, the kids won't be scared," I offer, distracted by his playing.

He looks up, his smile bright. "That's a great idea, actually."

He bends his head back to the strings, trying out several notes. "Ah, here we go," he says suddenly, and then he starts playing. It's not as quick as I imagine the song is supposed to go, but he keeps up a good rhythm. My face brightens when I recognize the song from the first movie we watched together. Chocolat.

He beams at me, his head bobbing along to the rhythm of the music. When the song is over, he makes a little bow as I clap my hands.

"I love that song," he says. "It's been forever since I played it, though. I'll play it again for you when I'm better."

"It was perfect," I say. He can play for me anytime.

He strums along, until a breeze catches us and I shiver. The sun has moved, and we're partly in the shadow now. Edward looks at the sky. "Let's move."

We pack up and move to a new sunny patch. Edward places the blankets close to a tree so he can sit back against it. I'm comfortable keeping myself upright, and he starts playing again as I try, once more, to read. I don't even know what book I opened.

My eyes fly up when he suddenly starts singing in a low, quiet voice. He's not singing to me, but he's apparently comfortable enough to sing for himself. The words are beautiful, and after a minute I give up pretending I am reading, and simply look at him as he sings.

The song leaves me with goosebumps. He comes out of his tiny bubble when he's done and he looks up at me, suddenly a bit shy.

"It's beautiful," I say quickly. He has no reason to be uncomfortable.

He shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. "It's nothing special."

"I think it is. Is there anything you Cullens can't do?"

He laughs at that. "Well, I can't draw to save my life. I have a bad short term memory too, so last minute studying doesn't work for me. I over think everything. And I have a hard time making friends, but that you knew."

I cross my arms in a subtle form of defiance. Those aren't bad traits at all.

"And, let's see. If you put Jasper in front of a group of people, he'll go green. He can't speak in public. Alice can't sing - don't ever let her. She can't keep a rhythm, either. And she and Emmett aren't good with numbers, like you are, for example," he says while looking at me pointedly. "Emmett can't dance, as you have seen at prom."

"And Rosalie?" I ask carefully.

"Rosalie is so pigheaded it gets in the way of everything sometimes," he says, his face darkening. His gaze shifts to me. "Do you know..." He breaks off, shaking his head. "No, I shouldn't meddle. Forget I asked."

I frown as I search his face. He knows something maybe, but not all. I can tell he's worried about his sister. They may not be very close, it's obvious they care for each other. I think back to Rosalie's speech about Edward I got yesterday.

"She's okay," I whisper before I realize it.

Edward's gaze flies up to me, his eyes moving back and forth between mine. "Yeah?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"That's good," he says, nodding as well. "That's good," he repeats, to himself this time.

He puts his guitar away and leans back against the tree trunk, tipping his face up to the sun and closing his eyes.

"Hey, do you know what else would be normal?" he asks without opening his eyes to look at me.

"No?" I have the sinking feeling that what he is about to propose just might freak me out.

"For my girlfriend to lay down next to me with her head in my lap."

I'm stunned for a moment, and I sit motionless as he reaches into his back pack and pulls out a magazine that he starts to read.

"Anytime you like," he adds after a minute. "Just saying."

He casually turns a page of his magazine. He's leaving me the choice. I know he's not offering me this to make me feel abnormal. But it does feel like he's pushing me. Lying down though... It'll make me vulnerable.

And then I think back to that painfully awkward afternoon when I lay down with him on his bed and he fell asleep, waking up with a hardened body. He didn't do anything then. He's never done anything out of line. Last Friday evening, he already was pulling back before I could place my hands on his wrists.

He won't hurt me.

With hammering heart, I move closer to him, making sure he can let me know he changed his mind any time. Instead, he shifts a little to make more space for me, holding out the magazine slightly to the side.

Can I do this? I know he won't hold it against me if I don't, and we both know it won't mean I'm not normal if I can't do this. But in a sudden sort of epiphany, I recognize that I want to. I want to be close to him, to get rid of the fear and the tension I feel around him which I can't seem to place.

I crawl closer and roll onto my side, then to my back, fitting his thigh in the hollow of my neck.

"And now you relax," he murmurs.

The roles are reversed. I loved having his head in my lap all this time ago in this same meadow, when I could touch his hair and knew he enjoyed it. I look up at him and meet his gaze. He puts down his magazine and laces the fingers of one hand through mine. His other hand comes to rest at the crown of my head, and his thumb strokes my forehead.

The caress is surprisingly soothing, and a whole different form of nerves awakens in my stomach when he moves his thumb slightly and caresses the skin between my eyes. His gaze never leaves mine, and the tenderness in his face warms me. I hope I look the same. I think I feel like that, at least.

God, it's all so new to me.

"Close your eyes," he murmurs.

It takes me a second and a mountain of will power to do so. He keeps caressing me, slow circles that calm my frantic heart. Then his other hand lifts and wanders, and his fingertips trace over my forehead, along the tip of my nose, past my cheekbones and down to my chin.

He reaches for my other hand and places our interlinked fingers next to my head, on his knees. When he touches my lips, they part of their own volition. He squeezes my hand and I hold on to him, finding strength in his grip.

I want this. God, I want this. But holy hell, it's scary. Is it like this for him, too? Is his heart hammering like mine?

His hand leaves my face, and just when I'm about to open my eyes, he touches my cheek again. I flinch away, an instinctual reaction I can't control, and my eyes fly open.

"Ssh," he soothes. "It's okay, it's just me."

Taking a deep breath through my mouth, I slowly close my eyes again. It's just him. I know that.

He touches my cheek again, and again I cringe, but less harshly this time. He touches my jaw, and his fingertips slide down to caress the side of my neck. My free hand comes up in an attempt to protect.

I haven't forgotten how Stefan tried to choke me with his bare hands.

"It's okay," Edward says quietly. "You're okay."

His voice grounds me, and my hand comes to rest on my stomach. If I didn't know any better, I'd think I was coming down with something I feel so queasy. But I'm not entirely stupid. These are butterflies.

The good kind, even though they feel pretty evil to me.

His fingertips leave, and then they touch me again. My forehead, my cheeks, my chin, my lips. I flinch every time, even though I don't want to. His touches are featherlight, and he keeps going on until I barely react anymore.

Then he cups my face, and as if on command, my eyes open so I can look at him.

He bends his knees a little, bringing my head up as his thighs rise.

For once, I can read the look in his eyes like a book.

My heart somersaults, and I swallow.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes searching mine, and then he leans in, slowly, so slowly.

I am ready.

My eyes close and I tilt my head up just a little.

His lips, when they touch mine, are soft as silk.


	70. Chapter 70

**A/N Twilight isn't mine. This plot and any original characters therein, are.**

_Hello, lovely readers! Thanks so much as ever for your wonderful response. Glad you liked the kiss! I giggled at those of you that giggled about it happening in chapter 69. Dirrrty! _

_Life isn't settling down yet, but we're taking it by the day. Thanks to Sherry as ever for beta duties, and to Hev and Aleea for making me like my own work. Thanks to Hev who I actually got to see and hug last week! Miss you, love._

_Some of you won't like this chapter. Maybe a trigger warning is in place, too. Sadly, life can't all be roses and sunshine..._

_Music: Natasha Bedingfield - Chasing cars, Pink – Beam me up, Pat Monahan – Great Escape_

* * *

Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod.

I suck in a breath from shock when he pulls back, and I know my eyes must be wide and scared, but I'm not.

Just overwhelmed.

Oh, god.

My hand starts to cramp, and I realize I'm clutching his bicep. I pry my fingers loose from their death grip on his arm, and he smiles at me, biting his lip.

He brushes the backs of his knuckles along my cheek, the gesture so infinitely tender that I want to laugh and cry all at once. He looks at me intently, and then he leans back in.

This time, I am even more ready, and I know what to expect. This time, I am actually able to feel the silky texture of his lips, the subtle warmth of his mouth, the way he moulds his lips to fit them against mine.

He lingers for a few seconds and then pulls back once more. The look in his eyes is a mixture between elated and completely content. The fingers of his left hand thread into my hair, and his thumb caresses my hairline.

He looks blissful, and I can't stop looking at him.

Edward hums a sigh and settles more comfortably against the tree. His movements make my head shift closer to his stomach, and I'm painfully aware of where my head is also very close to.

Nothing happens though. He doesn't even seem to notice it himself. Instead, he keeps looking at me, his expression tender.

"Seven months, and look at you now," he says quietly, still stroking my hair.

"That was my first kiss," I whisper, a bit overcome with the notion.

Something close to pride crosses over his face, and then he smiles. "And? Is it worth repeating?"

I blush when I nod.

"Good," he says softly, "because will want to do that more often, too."

He leans his head back against the tree and closes his eyes. His hand is still in my hair, but apart from that, he's not moving or speaking. The built up tension of our exchange fades away and leaves me tired, but content. In the quiet of the meadow, with faintly rushing leaves and singing birds as our background music, I close my eyes and let my thoughts drift.

"Bella." A soft voice tugs at the edges of my consciousness, and I feel like I'm pulled out of a swamp.

"Bella, wake up, sweet girl."

I open my eyes and blink a few times against the bright sun. The light has changed. Looking up, I see Edward's smile.

"There you are."

I try to sit up, but he makes a hushing sound. "No rush."

"I slept," I say, bewilderment clear in my voice.

He nods. "You did."

My body feels heavy, relaxed with the remnants of my nap. "How long?"

"An hour or so. I'm not sure. Why?"

I frown a little. "You?"

"I didn't."

Guilt washes over me. Did he wait this entire time for me to wake up again? But Edward actually laughs and shakes his head.

"Relax, silly. I liked having you asleep in my arms. If I didn't, I would've woken you."

Right. He has a point. My mind really misses the most obvious things at times. And then my entire body grows warm when it sinks in that he sat still for an hour, just to let me sleep.

"Now we're even," he says quietly, and I can't help but smile at his words. "I'm glad you were at ease enough to sleep."

He strokes my forehead again, and this time, my own hand comes up tentatively to cup his face. He leans into my touch, and I can feel the slight scruff of his beard against my palm.

"I like it when you touch me," he says, and then and there I make a solid vow to myself that I will touch him more. It's just that I'm so scared to annoy him.

My fingertips touch his sideburns, and again it surprises me how soft his hair is. I move my hand up to touch more of his copper colored locks. It's growing out again, but I like it longer and I tell him so.

"Then I'll leave it long," he simply says. He rakes a hand through it, messing it up further.

I sigh happily, and his eyes smile at me.

"Happy?" he asks.

"Yeah."

He nods. "Good."

"You?" I ask.

"Totally," he replies. "Especially if I get to kiss you again."

Nerves explode in my stomach immediately, but I sit up anyway, feeling cold where my body was resting against his legs a moment ago. I face Edward, and suddenly the situation is more scary than it was when I was lying down, somehow.

But Edward looks from my lips to my eyes, and he cups my cheek before he leans in and presses his lips against mine once more.

My entire body feels hyper sensitive and over aware of everything at once. I feel the warmth of his hand and the insecurity of my inexperience as his lips move against mine.

And then he opens his mouth.

I freeze up completely, but he doesn't push. Instead, he nips on my lower lip gently with his, and my mouth opens to take in a nervous breath.

This is so good and so scary and so nerve wracking and so soft and so strange and so perfect and so new and yet as old as time. I know it all, but still my heart is trying to work its way out of my chest right now.

His tongue darts out, not pushing in put tracing my lower lip tentatively. The sensation is overwhelming and unexpected and I pull back, shocked more by my own reaction to this than by his action.

"Done," I whisper quickly, breathless. The word is out before I've had time to think it through, or think of the consequences.

He licks his lips. "Okay," he says, his voice rough. "That's okay."

I swallow, wanting to try out some more kissing but wanting to run and hide and process this day as well. My mind is scrambling to make sense of everything, but most of all, I am surprised by my reaction to his ministrations.

And he listened to me. I used the safe word, and he respected it. Does he have any idea how important that is to me? He doesn't seem irritated or put out by it. He is still looking at me, searching for something in my gaze I think.

Then he leans his forehead against mine, and with sudden clarity I realize that he might be as nervous as I am. His hand is still cupping my face, and I wrap my fingers around his wrist, wanting to give him some comfort as much as I want to hold on to him.

Finally, he takes a deep breath and pulls back. A breeze drifts through the clearing, breaking the moment, and I shiver. The sun is way past its highest point, and the afternoon is already coming to an end.

Also, my full bladder is starting to demand attention.

Still, I don't really want to leave here and end this magical day.

"Shall we go home?" he says reluctantly.

I sigh and nod. Back to reality, I guess. Back to school, to Lauren and her friends, to finals and to having to tell Carlisle and Esme about the advanced classes for Trig and to Renée's wedding. It feels strangely... normal.

I bite my lip. I used to hide in my own mind, make up little stories about my future life to escape my reality. Not once did I think my future would hold a day in a meadow like this, with a guy I want to be with, and who wants to be with me.

Edward gets up and brushes off his clothes before he reaches out his hand to help me to my feet. Together we pack up the blankets and make sure we don't leave any traces of our presence here behind.

"I am liking this weekend," he murmured when we set course for the car again. "Just saying."

I can only smile.

~O~

I am nervous for school on Monday. Usually I don't care about rumors but I don't want Edward to be implicated, as well. I imagine that every set of eyes is focusing on me when we cross the parking lot and go into the building.

We're not holding hands, but Edward is walking next to me and there's no way his tie to me can be left to imagination. His arm brushes against mine as we walk, and the sensation sends strange nerves zinging in my stomach. It's not exactly uncomfortable, but I'm not sure I like it, either.

People point, stare, whisper. Edward faces them off even as I keep my gaze directed towards the ground. I don't care what they think. Truly, I don't. If they feel like I don't deserve him, they are probably right, anyway. On the other hand, however, is the growing conviction that I don't have to answer any of them for my choices. The Cullen family all approve of Edward and me being together, and isn't that all that matters?

Edward's hand brushes against mine when we arrive at the door of my first class. He looks boyish, almost shy, but happy, too. He looks at me for a long moment, as if he is deciding on what to do, and then he winks at me before he turns to leave for his own class.

My blush, for once, feels delicious, but damn it if I will let my classmates see it.

Rumor spreads fast, though. In Government, Angela is positively beaming as she sits down next to me.

"I heard you had your own private prom," she whispers urgently, before the teacher calls the class to attention. "How was it?"

I hold up a thumb. So far, other students don't know yet I can speak, and I would prefer to keep it that way. Speaking in public brings a whole new set of issues that I am not willing to deal with, right now. Fortunately, none of the Cullens have even made that link. They seem to understand that I'm not very willing to speak in school, which suits me fine.

"Amazing," Angela breathes. "It must have been amazing. So are you with Edward now?"

Since he admitted flat out that he is with me, I figure I can say the same about him. I nod, and Angela smiles brightly and presses her hand to her sternum. "I always hoped you two would find each other. Well done," she says with a smirk.

She makes it sound like I did something to win him over. Shaking my head to myself, a focus on the lesson when the teacher calls for our attention.

Jessica and Lauren, who are apparently in friendship again - I lose track of their cat fights - are in a corner of the lunch room, talking urgently as they look up every now and then. When they see us enter, they go quiet and start hissing a moment later.

Surprisingly, they left me alone earlier, mostly I think because they didn't get a chance to drive me into a corner.

Edward doesn't even look at them and walks over to our usual table, holding out a chair for me. The gesture is universal and the message is abundantly clear. He's laying out his claim for the world to see. Looking at the dirty linoleum on the floor, I take that seat and allow him to help me push closer to the table.

He leans in close. "I'm proud to be walking next to you, no matter what anybody says."

I only realize how much I needed his reassurance the moment I hear his words. I turn my head to look at him, and, still bent down, he smiles. "I'd kiss your cheek, but I don't want to stress you out," he whispers. Instead, he nuzzles my cheek with his nose ever so softly before he pulls back again.

My heart is still somersaulting at this very public display of affection, and I have trouble processing his request when he asks me if I need something from the food area. I shake my head, and he walks away with Emmett and Jasper. Their gestures show me that they're bantering.

It is amazing to see Edward in such a good, light mood. It's incomprehensible that I would have something to do with that.

But Jesus, we kissed. _Kissed. _Three times, in fact.

My fingertips go to my lips as I recall the feeling of the day before.

"Oh!" Alice exclaims, and I blink to focus on her.

Crap, busted.

"Did you?" she asks, leaning in. I have to be grateful she's not squealing so highly the dogs come running. Yet.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Rosalie starting to pay attention as well as the guys coming back with various purchases in their hands. But I don't give in to Alice's unrelenting stare. For some reason, I don't want to share this with anyone, not yet.

"What's going on," Jasper says when he arrives at the table first. He has a bag of crisps, which he opens noisily.

"Bella won't spill," Alice says, still looking at me.

"So?" Jasper says easily. "Do you tell her everything about our private life?"

She scowls. "Of course not." And then she frowns, because she sees his point. I reach out my left, unbraced hand to placate her. She hasn't had a good weekend at all, with her credit card being taken away from her. She smiles at me, suddenly looking older than her years. _Sorry_, she mouths.

_It's_ _okay_, I mouth back.

Edward and Emmett return as well, and Emmett is trying to engage Edward in a bet that Lauren will approach us before the day is done.

She doesn't approach us during lunch, for which I am glad. My stomach is churning with hunger, used as I am now to eating at regular intervals, but I refuse to eat in this room full of loud people. Edward offers to take me outside, but I decline. I refuse to give in to the demands of my body. I have to stay strong. Besides, if I eat and drink I will likely have to use the restrooms and that is so not going to happen. No _way_ I am lowering my pants in a stall that has ten inches of space above and below the door, unless it's completely and absolutely necessary. And then still I'd reconsider.

I shudder at the thought alone.

"Are you cold?" Edward asks. Oh, has he been looking at me? I shake my head, but he looks worried.

*_Just some thinking,* _I sign quickly.

"About?" He asks. _*Talk to me,*_ he adds in gestures.

I shake my head. Not here. And not about that. No need.

He looks me over, but lets it go. When the bell rings, he takes my bag from me and carries it to Biology. Although I don't like the other students looking at us, a strange sense of pride settles over me, too. I am walking next to Edward, and he's walking next to me. How amazing is that?

During Biology, a shadow settles over town in the form of dark clouds. By the time I go to Gym, the rain is pouring down like there's no tomorrow.

I have finally handed in my Gym assignment and I am done a bit early. Instead of waiting at the car though, I wait a little bit away from the main entrance of the school, under the cover of the overhang and out of the wind. Too bad I don't know where Edward's class is, or I could have picked him up for once.

Before the bell has sounded, I hear a voice behind me. "Look who's here. Waiting for your ride, Bella?"

Lauren's voice sounds sharp and nasty. I ignore her, although my entire body is aware of her exact position, behind me to my right.

"Maybe he won't show up," she continues. "Maybe he realized he wants a real girlfriend. One that can say his name."

I keep ignoring her, my gaze locked on Edward's Volvo. He should be arriving soon.

Lauren walks around me. "You must be really stupid, thinking he actually sees something in you. Everyone can see you're not worth him."

She's trying to get a reaction out of me, I know. But I dislike her, and much as I would want to attack her and shove her face against the concrete, I know it's better to ignore her. I hate violence. God knows I've seen enough of it to last a lifetime and a half.

She steps up to me, coming so close I have to fight my instinct to flinch away. I will not give her that satisfaction. I clench my fists, the tender cut in my right fingers protesting against the strain.

The bell rings.

"What are you even doing here, _Bella_?" she asks, her voice a low threat. "Got kicked out of your previous home? I'm not surprised. You're such a pity of a girl."

It's tempting, really tempting to spit the truth in her face, but I won't. I won't give her my words. I look past her, and wonder where the hell Edward is at.

Lauren's hand comes up, and she pokes my shoulder. My body contracts at the touch, but I manage to keep my composure. She can't know how much I hate it. She can't have that ammo.

"I'll have you know that I don't buy the goodie two shoes Mary Jane show you're putting on." She pokes me again, and I grit my teeth. "Don't you have anything to say, _Bella_? Aren't you going to ask me to stop?"

She's getting agitated, because I am not reacting to her words. Just as I start to walk towards the car in an effort to be away from her, she blocks my path. "Nobody wants you here. You're ugly and boring, and nobody believes the pity act you've got going on."

I refuse to let her words hurt me, but I can't help it when they hook into my brain. I feel powerless to do anything, helpless at the taste of history she's serving me. Why can't I just fight back? I walk around her, wanting away, but she blocks me again. She pushes my shoulder, but I won't budge. I have learned over time how to give in to violence - or how to fight it. And I won't give. I am not going to give.

She's momentarily caught off guard by my solid resistance, and she pushes me again. Then two hands come up, and she shoves at me so hard I have to step back. I can't glance around me for help, because then I'll show weakness. By now though, my heart is hammering and a cold sweat has started to form on my back. I need out of here.

"I always wondered, were you abused? Because you know what, I bet you deserved it."

My mind shuts down completely at her words, my insecurities shooting to the surface like a beach ball let loose under water. Stefan's face pops up in my mind's eye, pushing Lauren's to the background. _You asked for it, Isabella. I just know you asked for it. _

Her eyes glimmer. "I knew it," she says maliciously. "Don't you have anything to say?"

Again, I hear Stefan's voice. _Won't you say anything, Isabella? Are you too stupid to speak to plead your case? That means I'm right, doesn't it?_

However much I don't want to, my head moves from left to right of its own volition. There's nothing I can say. I couldn't then, and I can't now. I am, once again, numb without volition.

"Good, then you won't tell on me either."

As she reaches back to actually hit me, a sharp voice sounds from behind us. "Lauren Mallory, you step away from her right now!"

Lauren blinks and lowers her hand immediately, stepping back. "Mrs. Cope, I didn't do anything," she says quickly.

"I saw it happen from the moment you stepped up to her. Come on, and you can explain what happened to the principal."

"She started it," Lauren says, pointing at me. Her eyes are blazing.

Around us, students are starting to come out of the school, filling the parking lot and looking at us.

"She did not. Come along, now."

Lauren growls in frustration and stomps up to Mrs. Cope. I turn around to follow them both to the principal's office, just as Edward finally comes into view.

"What happened?" he asks, his face worried. "Are you okay?"

I point to Mrs. Cope and shrug. I can't tell him right now.

"I'll wait," he says, and he follows me back inside the school. Outside the office, he sits himself down on a chair and holds out his hand for my bag.

Lauren and I have to wait inside the administration's office until Mr. Greene will see us. She's in a mood, sitting with her arms crossed.

"You won't get away with this, you know," she whispers.

"That will be enough, miss Mallory," Mrs. Cope says. Right then, a buzz sounds behind the counter. "You can go in now."

Even though I've always felt that Mr. Greene doesn't like me, he listens to Mrs. Cope's version of events attentively and then asks Lauren and then me if we have anything to add. Lauren has to serve detention, and she has to apologize to me.

After she's dismissed, Mr. Greene looks at me. "Somehow you seem to get into trouble without ever starting anything. Either you're very good at hiding it, or you're just unlucky."

_The latter_, I think, but I simply nod once when he lets me go as well.

"What happened?" Edward asks the moment I step out into the hallway.

Since I don't know any sign language that will help me tell the story, I wait until we're on the road. Jasper and Alice have waited inside the car, and I feel bad for having made them wait as well.

"Lauren approached me," I say reluctantly.

Edward frowns. I can see his profile as he focuses on the road. "So? What did she do, Bella?"

"It's not important."

"The hell it isn't," he mutters.

"It's not," I repeat.

He doesn't let it go, and after dinner he comes up to my room. Ignoring my protests, he closes the door a little and leans against the wall, his arms crossed.

"I have to study," I say as I kneel up on the bed. Books are scattered around me.

"Will you please tell me what happened? Did Lauren say anything to you?"

"Nothing new," I say evasively. "Nothing happened."

"Eric said he saw she tried to punch you."

I flinch at his bleak - and true - description. Edward looks haunted when he meets my gaze. "He also said you didn't react at all to her, didn't even step back."

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

"What happened, Bella? What did she say?"

"That I deserved being abused."

His eyes flash black in an instant. "Why didn't you fight back?"

"I couldn't," I whisper. "I can't."

"Why not?" his voice is pained. "Why not walk away?"

"She wouldn't let me, and then I couldn't." I am suddenly exhausted, weary to my bones. The age old fatigue of a life that doesn't seem mine, but is all the same.

"But you could have... I don't know..." he trails off.

"I can't, okay?" My voice is louder than I ever heard it, the pitch high in my sudden outburst. "I can't fight her. I couldn't fight them then. I was never strong enough, and I never fought hard enough. It never was enough, and it never will be."

My voice breaks on a sob, and Edward stands stunned for a moment before he walks over to where I am still kneeling on my bed. He takes my hands and looks at me with pleading eyes.

"You are strong. Of course you are. How could you not be?"

"I let it happen," I say roughly. "I didn't stop it. I couldn't stop Lauren."

"You don't have to take her bullying," he says fiercely. "You can protect yourself, defend yourself. You should have pushed her back."

"No," I whisper. "No."

His hand grips his hair. "Why not, Bella? I don't understand."

"No violence." I want to moan my pain.

"It's not violence," he counters. "Not with her, not like that."

I shake my head, despair tugging at me. He doesn't understand, and how could he? I don't think anybody can.

"I can't fight back."

"Why not?" he says, exasperated.

"Because I'm weak!" I suddenly shout, my voice shrill. "Because I still feel like I deserve it. Because I can't."

He's silent, as shocked as I am by my words.

"If I fight, I'm no different than them," I add, softer now. "What does that make me?"

"It's not the same," he says.

"How is it not?" I ask sharply.

"You would defend yourself." He's getting angry now, too, and surprisingly, I am not afraid. If anything, I am relieved.

"That's what they said, too. I caused it, didn't I? It was my fault. They had to react."

His eyes narrow. "You're being unreasonable," he says. "You know it's not true what you are saying."

"Of course it's true," I shout.

"It's not," he counters, his voice harder now. "You were too young to fight back then, but you sure can now. You don't have to take any shit from anyone. You have to be strong."

"Well, maybe I don't want to be strong," I say on a wail that would embarrass me if I wasn't too upset to notice. "Everybody says I've always been so strong, but I'm not! How could I have let this happen if I'm so strong? I'm weak, Edward. All I've ever been is weak. Too weak to fight, even now, when I want to hurt Lauren in a way she'll never forget. But I can't, because that makes me worse than them."

A sob tears through me and I collapse on the bed, my face in my hands. I can't do it anymore. Lauren's taunting has unearthed a whole lot of nasty I would have preferred stayed buried forever.

"What is going on over here?"

It's Carlisle's voice and he sounds alarmed. I curl into myself on the bed in an automatic response, biting back a whimper of fear. I raised my voice in his house, something I swore I'd never do.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." It takes me a moment to realize the words are mine.

"Bella, look at me," Carlisle says. He's closer now, and my body constricts in fear. I can't obey his command.

Silence.

"Edward, can you take that blanket?"

I can't make any sense of his words, and in the next instant, I feel strong arms around me - stronger than Edward's. Carlisle picks me up like I weigh nothing and sits down in the rocking chair, holding me in his lap.

He shushes me as a whimper comes out, and he arranges the blanket around me that Edward just got. He rocks back and forth calmly, whispering soothing words until I get my out of control breathing back to normal.

Fear is racing through my veins, but apart from that, like an undercurrent, is the completely new realization that I am being held by a father figure. Edward sits close by - I can't hear him, but I can sense his presence.

"I couldn't help but hear what you just said," Carlisle says quietly, rubbing comforting circles on my back. Not half-hearted pats, but strong strokes, giving me more comfort and reassurance than anything else possibly could in this moment.

"You weren't weak, Bella. You were a child. Those are two different things."

Fresh tears burn in my already irritated eyes, and I squeeze them shut. The salty drops roll down my cheek and soak Carlisle's shirt. His hand comes up and I flinch and brace myself, but he only cups the side of my head gently and guides my face to rest in the hollow of his shoulder.

This is so painfully real and at the same time completely surreal, my mind is scrambling to process it all.

"A while ago you learned that what has happened in your past, was not your fault," Carlisle starts, "and you needed time to deal with that. You were the victim, Bella, and you were a child. But even now, when Lauren at school approached you and taunted you, you were the victim. That doesn't make you weak. It means you're in a situation you didn't ask for, and which you can't necessarily get out of easily."

I shake my head against his shoulder. A victim sounds helpless, and I wasn't helpless, was I? I could have done... _Something. _I never even screamed for help.

"Victims aren't helpless, or powerless," he continues as if he heard my train of thought. "They do what they have to in order to survive."

My mind simply can't deal with the fact I might have let it happen in order to survive. I could have said something, done something. Didn't I ask for it simply by not trying to end it?

"You didn't know that what was happening was wrong, and when you learned that, you were made to believe that it was your fault. It will take time for you to really internalize that it wasn't." Carlisle's voice is strangely comforting, his arms around me strangely safe. He exudes no threat at all, simply warm concern. He is holding me like a father would a child.

"You can't blame yourself for being, for lack of a better word, brainwashed to believe certain things. If you tell someone something long enough, often enough, he will start to believe it. It's how the brain works. It is not weakness."

He rocks back and forth, back and forth, the movements calming my body and hypnotizing my mind.

"You would forgive any other child in your situation, wouldn't you?" he says quietly.

I nod into his shirt.

"I think it's time you stop placing the blame on yourself. It's time to start forgiving yourself for what happened. For letting it happen."

A sob, then another, makes my spine protest with the force of it. Forgive myself... I never looked at it that way, but now he puts it like this, I realize it is true. Knowing on a rational level it wasn't my fault is not the same as not resenting myself for letting it happen.

And I couldn't help it, could I?

"It's all right, let it out," he says. "Just cry. I can take it."

I can't smile at his joke but he's here, holding me, giving me the embrace I have never even known in my life. An embrace I didn't know I missed until now.

I clutch his shirt in my fist, holding on to the safe harbor he is providing so unexpectedly.

Warmth on my knee makes me open my eyes and I see Edward kneeling in front of the chair. His eyes are filled with compassion, and he's letting me know he's there.

And I'm an emotional wreck and I can't stop my tears anymore. All the helplessness, the powerlessness I felt comes out, yet underneath it is an anger I have never known, never felt before. I push it down, afraid as I am of its ferocity.

For now, I will be held as I cry.

The neglected, abused little girl inside me curls up in the warmth and sighs.


	71. Chapter 71

**A/N Twilight isn't mine. This plot and any original characters and traits are  
**

_Thanks for your continued support. Thanks to Sherry for beta'ing this beast twice. Thanks to Bob for reading, and thanks to oOoShiny1 for special prereading duties and her honest, wonderful feedback. Aleea, I hope you are well. Thanks for your help, as ever. _**  
**

_This chapter is Carlisle's pov. It's a bit different from what I'd normally do in the sense that I have retold the rocking chair scene completely, but from his pov. I'm normally not a fan of repeating scenes, but this just happened. Enjoy!  
_

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**Carlisle**

There are three things I don't take for granted in my life. Those are the love of my wife, the love of my children, and the happiness of them all. As such, I will always try my hardest to make sure they are happy and loved, and that I give them enough reason to love me in return.

I am but a simple man, content with small things. If my family is in good health and in a good place emotionally, then I am satisfied. Truly, there is not much else that I need.

From what I can tell, my family is happy. Rarely is there any form of tension when I get home, and if there is, it's the result of normal sibling rivalry. Even still, my children get along surprisingly well, especially when I compare my own home to the stories I hear from my colleagues at work.

Shouting matches, thieving, actual physical fighting... My anesthesiologist for example has two teenage boys who fight so much she's getting desperate. And if time outs, grounding and taking away phones and computers no longer work, then what do you do?

I'll admit, I overreacted when she said her husband was tempted to either spank or hit them. She knows my family fosters a severely abused and traumatized girl, so she understood my appalled reaction. Still, even though I would never, ever raise a hand to any of my children, I think I can understand to a certain extent why people would start to wonder if that really would be the last thing that helps.

Not in my house, though. Neither Esme nor I have ever lifted a finger in that way, and I don't ever intend to do so. My wife's gentle and easygoing but steady care, and hopefully my authority, keep my kids in check. Also, I vainly like to believe that balanced parents raise balanced kids, but I'm careful not to voice that opinion out loud. Both my anesthesiologist and her husband are some of the most levelheaded people I know. I guess sometimes kids, like adults, just aren't easy to deal with.

Not that my kids were the sweetest a few years ago. Jasper and Emmett used to get into all kinds of trouble a few years back. Edward mostly tended to stay out of it, but Emmett and Jasper would spur each other on to accept the most bizarre bets. They were testing the limits, I guess, like every child does. They would see how much ruckus they could cause without getting into trouble. Alice and Rosalie acted out in ways of dressing, make-up, and loud music.

We tried to redirect some of the excess energy Jasper and Emmett possessed by sending them to a sports club. Emmett discovered his love for football, and Jasper got interested in martial arts. Especially for Jasper, the quiet meditation that comes with those beautiful Eastern sports, helped him calm down. He enjoyed telling me about the moves, showing me things he learned.

For Emmett, being outside and able to run as much as he liked was the solution. His love for being outside he certainly has from Esme, who would be working in her garden all day, every day if she could. That's one thing I regret about living in Forks; it rains so often. She says it doesn't bother her, though.

Esme focused more on trying to find the girls activities they could lose themselves in. She tried to teach them both the basics of sewing, but Rosalie didn't care for it. Alice did though, and a great hobby was born. It was harder to find Rosalie something she would like. And then, one day, my car needed some general maintenance – things I could easily do myself. Rosalie appeared at the door of the garage, shy at first, and then I saw her eyes light up as I explained to her the basics of what went on under the hood of a car.

She hasn't been tinkering much lately, but I am sure that will come back. I sometimes think that she doesn't want to admit she is passionate about certain things. She doesn't want the attention.

Edward was on the other side of the spectrum. He never acted out in obvious ways, but to Esme and me, it was clear as glass. Being the calmer one of all his siblings, he would not listen to loud music, but he _would_ listen to it until three in the morning. For a fourteen-year-old boy, that is not the best way to catch enough sleep. It was his characteristic and quiet way of asking for more attention.

I started taking him to the beach every so often. We would go on long walks and then, after an hour or so, when the wind had whipped our skin raw, he would start talking about everything that kept his busy mind occupied. He'd talk about life, and death, and how he saw his life unfolding. From when he was young, he has harbored a deep fright of not being able to be useful for society. He wants so much to _help_.

Well, with him following my footsteps, only for children, I'd say he will be doing his good in the world. He will make a terrific doctor, I am sure of that. When I see him with children, it warms my heart. Of course, it's somewhat awkward at moments, but he is only a teenager still. We can't forget that, even though he tends to act like an old man at times.

He seems happy now, though. He finally has Bella, something we hoped would happen for a very long time. He is gentle with her as he would be with a porcelain doll, yet not quite. After all, he does push her in the right direction.

And Bella doesn't cling to him, like I was concerned she would. I was a bit afraid that she might come to see him as her anchor, and let her own personal development and happiness depend on him. But I shouldn't have worried. She's too much used to being on her own, and she's not one to let herself be dependent on others.

I wonder if she will ever be able to let someone truly in. In all honesty, I don't think she is capable of that. She has been hurt too much, too often and too deeply to ever open up again and show people her soul. But she is growing still. She has only been here for seven months. That's not a lot of time and look how far she has come.

And even though she is not able to let someone completely in, she is capable of caring, and, dare I say it, loving. The look in her eyes when she looks at Edward, and when they look at each other, warms me to my core.

I know she still looks at me with secret glances, trying to read my reaction. It saddens me to know that she probably still is expecting me to lash out at her, to turn on her and to disapprove of her being in my house. She sees me as the highest authority, and after all that has happened, she is right to be scared. Words however, will never be enough to tell her that she can stay here as long as she likes. For someone who all her life has been dependent on adult males who have betrayed and hurt her again and again, words won't do a thing.

I so wish she would let me in, though. I don't expect her to tell me her story like she did to Esme. My poor Esme. She was out of sorts for days after Bella had told her everything. Siobhan had given her the number of a colleague, so Esme could unload the burden. It is a harsh realization that no matter how horrible you imagine something is, reality can be worse.

I don't think Edward has gotten the full story yet. I don't think it's necessary, either, for him to know, but that's something Bella and he will have to figure out together in time. For now though, it seems as if they are finding a balance together, and that is a good thing. What I also perceive as a good thing is that they aren't together every single night of the week. They take it slow, and I can only encourage that. Should things not work out for whatever reason, they still live in the same house, and they will have to deal with that.

For me, that is not a reason to stop them. My idea is that trying to stop them will only fuel their desire to be together. But, if they want to act like grownups and have a relationship, they will have to act like grownups as well should things end. Jasper and Alice and Rosalie and Emmett know this goes for them as well. Esme and I both think this is reasonable, and we don't really care what other parents say.

Oh yes, we're looked down at in school at teacher-parent meetings. Not because of my job or our money, but because we allow the not-blood related siblings in our house to have a relationship with each other. I am not even going to explain my arguments as to why I do not keep my children apart. All I have to do is take one look at them and see how happy they are.

It is these thoughts I am entertaining when I decide to end my workday at my home office and go downstairs for some much wanted social time. When I come closer to the stairs however, I hear raised voices. It takes me a long moment to realize, and then believe, that it is Bella shouting.

"Because I'm weak! Because I still feel like I deserve it. Because I can't."

I come to a standstill, frowning. I never would have thought Bella would ever raise her voice, but then again, why not? Just because she is so obedient and demure, doesn't mean she doesn't have a temper. She does have quite a temper, actually. A glass shattered against a wall, a broken wrist and a wrecked room bear testament to that. Still, it's baffling to hear her like this, acting out against someone else.

Who is in her room with her?

"If I fight, I'm no different than they are," she continues in a much softer voice. Since the door of her bedroom is ajar, I can hear every word. "What does that make me?"

"It's not the same," Edward says.

Well, that answers who is in there with her.

"How is it not?" Bella says sharply.

"You would defend yourself." Edward is losing his temper, too. I can hear the edge in his voice. I hope it won't trigger Bella in any way, and I am tempted to go in, but decide against it. They have to be able to fight like any other couple does.

Still, my feet refuse to carry me down the stairs. I want to know if they will be all right.

"That's what they said, too. I caused it, didn't I? It was my fault. They had to react." Bella's voice sounds so broken when she says that, my heart goes out to her.

"You're being unreasonable," Edward says. "You know it's not true what you are saying."

I want to cheer him on for going against her beliefs like that. She needs someone she trusts to help her break through her coping mechanisms, some of those being the crooked logic she uses to make sense of what can't be explained in any rational way.

"Of course it's true," she shouts, shocking me with her sudden ferocity. Such deep hurt she harbors, I think sadly.

"It's not," Edward counters. "You were too young to fight back then, but you sure can now. You don't have to take any shit from anyone. You have to be strong."

Oh Edward, tread carefully, son. But I do know what they are fighting about. The Lauren incident. Jasper told me what he knew about that when he brought me tea after dinner. I should have known it would rattle Bella. I also have to talk to that principal to see if nothing more can be done. Surely, bullying is an unforgivable act.

"Well, maybe I don't want to be strong," Bella cries. "Everybody says I've always been so strong, but I'm not! How could I have let this happen if I'm so strong? I'm weak, Edward. All I've ever been is weak. Too weak to fight, even now, when I want to hurt Lauren in a way she'll never forget. But I can't because that makes me worse than them."

I have to act. I heard about the Lauren incident at school, but also, my father urges are brought to the front by everything she is saying. I will risk rejection if it means I can try to comfort her, finally. I push open the door.

"What is going on over here?"

Bella collapses onto the bed in a fluid motion, hiding her head in her hands. An old instinctual reaction to upcoming violence, clearly.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Oh, the poor thing. I walk up to her, unable to fight the desire to help her, hold her. Maybe the time has come to push through her fear, and to show her who I am and what I can be for her.

"Bella, look at me," I say. She visibly flinches at my voice.

I look around me, thinking quickly. I need to provide safety, and I won't do that while I'm hovering over her. My gaze falls on the rocking chair and the thick quilt that is draped over it.

"Edward, can you take that blanket?"

He does so quickly, and with a silent prayer that I won't send Bella back in a huge regression, I pick her up and cradle her against me.

She weighs absolutely nothing, dammit. She is supposed to be gaining weight, but right now it's hard to believe she has been on a special diet for some time now.

I carry her rigid form to the rocking chair and sit down in it, holding her in my arms. I can only hope that I'm doing the right thing, and that she will understand my intentions.

A whimper escapes her, and I make quiet hushing sounds, hoping to soothe her. So scared, the poor thing. I can feel her trembling in my arms, and her teeth are clattering with the force of her shakes.

Edward places the blanket over Bella and I rearrange it a little, making sure it doesn't come too close to her face so it won't make her feel crowded. Hopefully, the blanket will help her feel shielded from the world. Edward stays close, and he's quiet. He meets my gaze and I can see the pain in his eyes, but also the gratefulness that I'm here.

It's extremely gracious of him to let me interfere. It can't be doing his ego much good, but right now, it's not him I am worrying about. I focus back on Bella.

"I couldn't help but hear what you just said," I start, rubbing circles on her back. I keep my touch clearly present, so she knows where my hands are at all times. "You weren't weak, Bella. You were a child. Those are two different things."

Fresh tears come from her eyes, and she's still holding herself rigidly in my lap. I cup her face, regretting her flinch, and guide her head to rest against my shoulder. I can sense her confusion, but she is not fighting me. I hope this is a sign she is accepting my comfort.

"A while ago you learned that what has happened in your past, was not your fault and you needed time to deal with that. You were the victim, Bella, and you were a child. But even now, when Lauren at school approached you and taunted you, you were the victim. That doesn't make you weak. It means you're in a situation you didn't ask for, and of which you can't necessarily get out easily."

She shakes her head, and I can feel the movement against my shoulder. Of course it would be hard for her to believe she is the victim.

"Victims aren't helpless, or powerless," I continue, hoping to get that message home. "They do what they have to in order to survive."

I continue talking, giving her words I hope will help her understand her past better. I keep my voice gentle and warm, hoping I can convey in that small way how much she really means to me.

Gradually, she relaxes. I rock the chair back and forth, and the movements calm me as well.

There is one more point I have to make, even though I doubt she is processing much at all at this moment. She must be so completely exhausted.

"You would forgive any other child in your situation, wouldn't you?" I say quietly.

She nods. Good.

"I think it's time you stop placing the blame on yourself. It's time to start forgiving yourself for what happened. For letting it happen."

She breaks. Something in her is released and her sobs come from deep down inside her, making her arch as she lets them out. Her hand fists my shirt and I can feel her tremors against my chest.

"It's all right, let it out," I say. "Just cry. I can take it."

She does. I hold her for I think over an hour. Edward sits with us, his hand on Bella's knee in silent support. As horrible as it is, she has to let these tears out. From a very young age she has learned not to cry, not to show any sign of anger. Esme told me that Bella told her what the consequences were if she acted up.

Bella is an expert at keeping a lid on her emotions, but it also means that she is not giving herself any chance to process them. And without processing them, she won't be able to heal. Of course, she can act like nothing's wrong, a skill she has brought to an art, but it's not the solution.

My heart hurts for her though, when she's curled up like this and crying like it won't ever stop. Edward is visibly upset too, but he is staying. I hope he's not forcing himself to endure this because he thinks it is somehow his fault she is crying now. He has to know and understand that fighting is normal, and that having heated words does not have to be alarming.

If anything, I imagine that such a fight can be a liberating experience for Bella. To be able to act up without having to worry about the dire consequences she would have faced in her old life must be very healing.

And I am proud of Edward for standing up and sticking to his opinion. Bella is not helped when she's treated like she's made of glass. We all know she isn't, and she knows it as well. She's hard as a diamond, definitely not unbreakable but certainly durable. She has seen horrors that others would not have come out of as wholesome as she. Sure, there is work to do, but she's better functioning than examples of similar cases I have come across in my years as an emergency surgeon.

Every day I am glad that we were able to accept her in our home. I can't help but wonder how she would have fared in any other foster family, really. I'm sure she would have been met with the same patience and understanding, but I like to think that it is the influence of my lovely children that has drawn her from her shell.

But it is I, right now, who is holding her and giving her the comfort she needs. I'm not sure if she ever had a father figure in her life she could look up to, and who cared for her as he should have. I want to be that person and I told her so when I took her to the hospital on the take your kid to work day.

I understand that she has been keeping me out, but I am unreasonably relieved and happy that I am finally holding her as I have longed to do for months and months. Not having wanted to scare her, I have kept my distance, waiting for her to approach me. But tonight, when I saw her so broken, so lost in her false logic, I couldn't stand back anymore.

Her sobs subside, but she keeps still in my arms. I can't be sure anymore if she's tense, or just sitting very quietly. Edward has moved from his knees to sitting Indian style, and he never once looked away from Bella. His eyes tell a story that can't possibly be caught in words.

"Better?" I ask quietly.

She nods into my chest, and already I can sense her retreating again. This small episode won't make her come to me easily all of a sudden, if she even starts seeking me out at all. Still, I hope that for tonight, I have been able to give her the safe haven she needed.

Within seconds, I realize she is waiting for a sign from me as to what will happen now. Knowing her walls are coming back up, she will become uncomfortable in my arms, but at the same time, I know that she won't make the first move to get off my lap. She is too scared to make her own decisions when it comes to being around adult men, I think.

And yet, even though she is scared, I decided to keep the chair tilted back for a moment longer. Let her know that she is safe with me, and wanted and loved, even when she is not in dire need of comfort. She stiffens briefly, and then on an exhale, lets go of her tension. Her weight in my lap seems to increase as she relaxes.

I rock the chair back and forth, wishing I had more words of comfort to offer.

**~O~**

My work goes on in its usual organized chaos, but I do keep an eye on my children. Finals are approaching rapidly and I know that every year, this is a cause of stress for everyone. Even for Esme, who has to bear temper tantrums, irritated snaps and chagrined faces.

The kids take to studying together, and more than once I see Bella helping out either Alice or Emmett with Trig. I am glad she can help them, but I can't help but worry that she will put their needs in front of her own.

When I tell Esme about my concern, she laughs understandingly. "Don't worry about that. I am willing to bet that Bella will pass all her finals even if she didn't get one other minute of studying in before they start."

I smile back at her and crawl in between the cool satin sheets of our bed. She turns towards me and cups my face in her hands. I close my eyes at her gentle touch.

"I am more worried about Rosalie, though," she says, and her words make me open my eyes again.

"She seems a bit distant lately," I admit. "I figured it might be stress. After this, it will be college for her and Emmett."

My wife frowns fleetingly. "I'm not sure if it's just that. She wears a different look on her face when she's reading information about college life. Something else is bothering her."

"Have you asked her yet?"

Esme shakes her head. "Not yet. I will likely just hear that it is none of my business."

I chuckle at that. When I meet her eyes however, I know we are thinking the same thing: after finals, if she is still carrying the same tension, one of us will take her out for the day and talk with her.

And even if nothing were to bother Rosalie or any other of my children, I am looking forward to their holiday. With my unpredictable schedule, it means there still will be ample opportunity for me to spend some quality time with them. And Rosalie specifically still has her driving experience to go to. I wouldn't want to miss that for the world.

On Saturday, I am in my office when I hear the doorbell ring. I know we were not expecting visitors, but I do know that Esme loves to entertain. I have some paperwork to finish though, so at first, I don't make any move to get up.

That is, until I hear a distinct boy's voice calling, "Bella!" That must be Simon.

I am downstairs in an instant, greeting Saskia with a warm smile.

"I hope it's not inconvenient," she says apologetically. "But Simon was climbing up the walls and, frankly, I don't know many other people here I can go to."

"It's no inconvenience at all," Esme is quick to reassure. "Sit down, would you like some coffee? I'm sure we have some treats in the fridge that Bella made."

Bella, who has been kneeling to hug Simon, looks up and blushes. Then she looks back at Simon, and she takes a deep breath.

"Do you want to go outside? I think Emmett has a ball we can play with if we ask him nicely."

Simon's eyes go as wide as Saskia's when they hear Bella's voice for the first time. And frankly, I am pleasantly surprised as well. I know she doesn't really like to talk yet when too many others are present in the room, and certainly not when relative strangers are involved.

I know she doesn't talk to me yet. Even when she was in my lap earlier this week, she didn't say a word to me. I guess those things take a lot of time. It's a miracle she found her voice again at all.

"You can talk!" Simon exclaims, and Bella smiles, then nods. The boy beams. "Will you read to me? Please?"

"Sure. But let's go outside first. The sun is out."

As Bella takes the little kid outside with her, we catch up with Saskia. I find I can only half focus on the conversation though. My eyes keep wandering to the window, where I can see Bella and Simon together.

Bella is still lost in her mind after the episode earlier this week. She went to see her therapist, but that only did so much to lighten her mood. I am not surprised or overly worried about that. She needs time to process it all, but I hope it doesn't get in the way of school.

She plays with Simon, throwing a ball back and forth with him. When he gets bored with the game, he simply bounces back over to her and holds out his hands so she will hug him. Instead of lifting him up, Bella goes down to her knees and wraps her arms around the little guy.

Within moments of course, he has had enough of it, and when Bella points out something to him, he runs off to explore. She would make a terrific mother one day.

Saskia seems completely at ease with letting Simon go outside with our foster daughter, and I am grateful that she feels she can come here to relax a little. She is certainly more than welcome.

The conversation moves on to how Simon has trouble making friends in school. Saskia asks us how that is for Bella, and Esme explains how she believes the siblings are the biggest part of her social network.

"You're not worried about that?" Saskia asks.

"Simon doesn't seem to be lacking any social skills," I say carefully. "And he isn't violent towards other children. Once he becomes calmer in his head, it will be easier for him to make friends."

"Bella does miss some social skills," Esme continues gently. "Not that she's a complete disaster, but it is clear that she misses certain nuances when it comes to social interaction. But you got Simon out of it at such an early age. He has all the time to learn anything he needs to know."

"And you can come over here for play dates any time," I add. "I'm sure Bella won't mind."

Saskia smiles. "Simon adores her."

At that moment, Simon comes running into the house again, his arms outstretched to his mother. Bella looks lighter after having played with him, but there is a sadness in her eyes as well, of a kind I haven't seen with her before.

I know I can't ask her about it, but there is something in her gaze that tugs at me. Yet, I know she won't accept a hug from my arms. I will have to make do with reassuring gazes and comforting words, if she will listen to me. I wonder what has her looking like that, though.

Edward, who comes in with Emmett to join us for a while, sees it too, I notice. He touches her arm with a worried gaze, the question clear in his eyes. She shakes her head and smiles at him reassuringly.

Those two have found such beautiful ways to communicate silently. I believe they even use sign language to a certain extent. Leave it to Edward to come up with an idea like that.

The boys entertain Simon with their antics for a while. Bella smiles frequently at their funny comments, and I am glad her mood seems to be lifting.

When Bella goes to the kitchen with Esme for a fresh round of drinks, Edward catches her hand as she passes him and holds it for a moment. Bella smiles down at him, shyly, before Edward releases her and focuses back on the conversation again.

It is such a sweet sight to see young love bloom.

After Saskia and Simon have left, I go back to my office to finish that blasted paperwork. It is not long however before a knock on my door pulls me out of my concentration.

"Darling," I say as Esme steps into the room. "What can I do for you?"

I blink when I take her in more closely. She looks completely nonplussed. "Esme?"

"I was going through my mail," she starts, and now I see the thick stack of papers she is holding in her hand. "Aunt Jane passed away."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I say, wondering why she would be so baffled. The woman was quite old, and her health not in the best of shape. Apart from that, the lady was decidedly unkind to us. "My condolences."

"Yes," she says distractedly. She looks down at the papers again. "She left some money."

I am lost in this wandering conversation. "Honey, tell me what got you so off balance."

"She left it to Bella."

My mouth drops open and for a moment I can only blink. If I know anything about Jane Johnsson née Platt, it is that she seemed to have a genuine dislike of the girl we opened our home to. "What?" It's the only thing I can come up with.

Without speaking, Esme gets up and hands me the letter. Printed on heavy stationery is the official announcement that Mrs. Johnsson has passed away and that, while Esme is the sole heir, part of the considerable heritage is to go to Bella Swan as fostered by Esme and Carlisle Cullen.

Enclosed is a copy of a hand written letter from Jane herself, stating that after meeting Bella she changed her mind when she realized what the girl must have been through. Wanting to give her a head start in her second life, she wants to give her a sum of money.

A five-digit sum of money.

When I look back up at my wife, tears are streaming down her face. "This is amazing," she whispers.

Of course, we have set up a trust fund for Bella, so that she won't lack anything in life just like our other kids, but this is a gift that will be hers alone. Maybe it will be even easier for her to accept the money when it's especially dedicated to her.

"When shall we tell her?" I ask.

"Maybe we should wait until after finals," Esme says. "I don't want to keep this news from her, but we can't be sure how the other kids will take it. And Bella has so much on her mind already, I don't want to swamp her with this as well."

She has a point, especially about our other children. Especially during finals, when they need all their energy and focus for studying. Of course, we will add to the trust funds of our other kids with that inheritance, but this gift is for Bella alone.

"I'll call their lawyer and then ours first thing Monday morning," Esme continues. "See how things will proceed from here. The money will be released on Bella's eighteenth birthday."

I nod, my mind racing. "This week seems to be filled with extreme ups and downs," I muse, rubbing my neck. "Are you okay, though?"

"About what?" Esme says, confused. "About aunt Jane? You know I never was close to her, but to see this unexpected act of kindness... It has me rattled, yes. And I missed the funeral, which I regret now."

"You didn't know. Don't blame yourself for that."

Esme gets up and walks into my embrace. I rest my cheek on her abdomen and we hold each other for a long moment.

"Bella won't know how to react," I say with a chuckle.

Esme smiles softly, too. "Maybe she will finally learn she can spend money on herself without guilt."

"As long as she doesn't throw it all away on useless things."

This makes Esme laugh fully. "Bella and irresponsible behavior? Carlisle, those two things don't go in one sentence in this universe."

She is right, as usual.

**~O~**

While Esme takes care of the legal proceedings, we try to find the right moment to tell Bella. We have decided that Sunday morning after the last of finals will be a good moment. The others will be still in bed then, and Bella is usually up early.

But when Esme and I come downstairs that day, we don't find just Bella in the kitchen. Rosalie is there as well, and she looks so distressed that I immediately reach out to her.

"What's going on? What's wrong, honey?"

"Nothing," Rosalie replies, but her eyes are red and puffy and I don't think she has slept at all during the past night.

I glance at Esme to see that she doesn't buy it, either, and almost miss the way Bella nudges Rose as if she is encouraging her. A look of fear crosses Rosalie's face before she takes a deep breath and seems to collect herself.

"Mom, dad... I- I think I need to tell you something."

My immediate thought is that she is pregnant or something along those lines. Esme however doesn't seem to be making any assumptions and goes into mother mode right away.

"Sure, honey. Let's make some tea first and then we can talk. You know you can tell us anything."

While she sets water to boil, I look at Rosalie and Bella. Bella is aware of whatever Rosalie wants to tell us, that much is clear. A little lost, and, to be honest, more than a little worried, I go into the living room to wait for them to join me.

It doesn't take long. Esme sits down next to me on the couch, placing a tray with things for tea on the table. Although I appreciate the gesture, I doubt any of the beverage will be touched this morning.

Rosalie sits down in the winged chair, likely because it's the piece of furniture that is farthest away from the couch. Bella perches on the armrest, close to Rose but not touching her. The support she is providing however is clear, and when Rosalie reaches for Bella's hand, Bella doesn't hesitate to answer the request.

"Okay, so... Please don't be angry, okay?"

My first instinct is to tell her it depends on what she's going to tell, but I push it down immediately. She clearly either feels or knows she has made a serious mistake, and the fact that she wants to tell us about it is a huge step. Seeing her so upset cancels out any possibility that I could be angry with her.

"Of course not," Esme says, scooting closer to the edge of the couch so she can touch Rosalie's knee in support. "Tell us why you're so upset, sweetheart."

At first, she only cries. Bella keeps close as a silent sentinel, producing tissues from out of nowhere and holding on to Rosalie's hand.

"It's okay," I say. "Just tell us. You'll feel better when it's out." I'm not sure how _I_ will feel, but in parenthood, my emotions no longer come first.

And then, with a lot of effort, slowly, a story starts to unfold. I remember the night she is talking about, now about three years ago. Remember the silver dress she wanted to wear to that party. How Emmett had been too ill to come along, so she'd gone alone.

I remember telling her the dress was too sexy for my taste. She'd called me ancient and said she refused to go to a party dressed like a nun. So, she'd left.

And now she is telling me how she was harassed by a group of men that night. Touched inappropriately. Not raped, thank God. I do press though, wanting to be sure she is not holding anything back anymore.

Red tinges my vision, my spine going hard and my fists clenching at my fury.

I stand up, anger coursing through me at the injustice, at those anonymous men who touched _my _daughter, who committed a crime just because she was alone in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Bella gets up in a fluid move as well, and in my angered thoughts I don't recognize immediately what she is doing. But her stance is rigid, her face hard, and she is standing in front of Rosalie, her arms slightly out, ready to defend.

Fear is rolling off her, and yet she steps in between Rosalie and me. Afraid as she might be of me, she jumps in between. She thinks I am angry with Rose, and she is clearly willing and ready to defend her.

"No, Bella, I'm not angry with Rosalie," I say, forcing my voice to be calm. "Please don't think that. I am angry with the men who did it."

Bella doesn't move, even though I can see her shaking. Her eyes never leave me. It's the first time I think she actually is anything less than compliant in my presence. Does she not realize the sharp contrast in how she refuses to fight for herself, but is willing to risk violence when someone she cares about is concerned?

My mind is quickly losing all logic, and I can't think straight anymore. I want to go to Rosalie, who is crying, but Bella is in the way. Pushing Bella aside right now is not the way to go, but I can't think of anything else anymore than that my daughter was violated. My innocent little girl…

Thankfully, Esme still has the strength to think clearly. She gets up as well and kneels before Rosalie, grasping her hands.

I just want to break something, preferably the faces of those men.

To think there's even a chance I have had them in my ER... No, I can't think about that. I mustn't if I want to keep my sanity.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Esme says. "You know you could have told us."

"I was so scared you would be angry," she says, crying. "You told me I shouldn't have gone out in that dress... It was all my own fault."

Oh God, oh no. How can she even think that? In an instant, I am in front of her as well, wanting to be closer to her. Bella steps up to me, blocking my path.

I have to admire her courage even though it is misplaced in this situation. She stands closer to me than she ever has, her eyes scanning my face for any sign of anger, I know.

I have no time to reassure her. My acts will have to speak for themselves. "Step aside, please."

She doesn't budge. Her eyes are wide, adrenalin likely giving her the courage to stand her ground. From around her Rosalie looks up at me.

"It's okay, Bella."

Bella looks over her shoulder for the briefest moments, meeting Rosalie's gaze, before she looks back at me. It is only when Rosalie gently pushes Bella away that she steps aside.

I fall to my knees in front of her.

"Rosie, no matter what you would have worn that night, this would have happened I'm afraid. Don't blame yourself for that. And I'm so angry with myself right now for saying that to you. You didn't ask for that to happen, no matter what sort of dress you were wearing."

Tears roll down her cheeks and her eyes move back and forth between mine, wanting to believe me. My heart feels like it's being squeezed in an iron fist. To think that she has walked around with this secret for all these years, afraid to tell us... I feel like I have failed her as a parent.

"Come here," I say, holding out my arms. I need to hold her for a moment, need to know that she will be okay. She answers my invitation and hugs me back, her body still shaking with her sobs.

Once she has calmed down a little, Bella moves to the kitchen to throw away the now cold, untouched tea and make a fresh pot. We coax more details out of Rosalie, who is now sitting in between us on the couch. Now she realizes we truly aren't angry, more details come out. She knows the name of one of the guys, Lonnie, and she remembers what they looked like.

We agree to go to the police station in Port Angeles to press charges. She wants them caught but realizes chances are slim they will be found. Still, I am glad that she is willing to file a report. And just as Bella has helped Rosalie to tell her story to us, maybe Rosalie can be an example for Bella to get the legal things going to put Stefan behind bars. How that weasel of a foster parent got away with what he did, is incomprehensible to me.

Around noon, Emmett comes downstairs and finds us all in the living room still. One look at Rosalie has him striding over with big steps. She gets up and he enfolds her in his embrace.

"What's wrong, babe? Are you okay?"

"I am now," she says quietly into his chest. "I told mom and dad everything."

Emmett's gaze flies up to us, and I realize at that moment that of course he knew what happened to her. And he has kept that secret as well, probably because she made him promise that.

I nod at him, hoping to convey that we are not angry, and he focuses back on Rosalie again, hiding his face in her hair and holding on tight to her. His fiercely protective streak comes from both Esme and me. My wife and I have often talked about how Emmett and Edward will walk through fire if it means they can protect someone else from harm. Alice is a little less fierce, but not less caring. For a tiny pixie, she has the biggest heart.

Rosalie and Emmett go out in the afternoon for some fresh air, and Esme asks me if I want to go to the beach with her for a walk. She needs time to process everything too, and the redness of her eyes tells me that she has been fighting back tears for a while now.

I drive us down to First Beach and we walk for hours. At first we talk, purging our anger, our fear, our regret that we feel at having failed as parents. We didn't know, and we didn't notice. Rosalie told us she had a head wound after what happened, and I never even noticed it. What kind of a doctor, and father, does that make me?

Esme and I forgive each other for not seeing the signs, but I know that it will be some time before we can forgive ourselves. Just like Bella, we have to accept that it happened and that there was nothing we could've done.

Later that night, when Esme has finally fallen asleep, I am still wide awake. Knowing I have only two hours left before I have to go into work anyway, I get out of bed and into my clothes. Not really thinking of where I am going, I find myself in the garage, opening the door of my Mercedes.

I drive around aimlessly for a while, until my foot presses down more and more on the gas pedal. I leave town and race through the deserted forest, the roads gently winding through the trees.

I can't cry, but my anger is making me hurt physically. My daughter, my pure and innocent daughter... Just as I thought I had come to terms with what happened to Bella, it seems that I truly can't deal with learning what happened to Rosalie. It's tearing me apart inside, and I push the car to drive faster, to take me away from the anger and the pain.

I am running from the ferocity of my emotions, and suddenly I understand a little better why Bella is so adamant at keeping everything buried inside.

Blue flashing lights behind me drag my thoughts back to the present. Police. Great. It would be the perfect end of a perfect day to lose my license now, even though I know I have brought it onto myself if I do.

I pull over to the shoulder of the road and open my window, waiting for the police officer to approach me.

The cop shines his flashlight into my car and then lowers it, and I recognize Chief Swan.

"In a hurry, doc Cullen?" he asks, clearly surprised to see me here.

"I'm sorry, Charlie. I needed to relieve some anger. I got some... bad news today."

"Nothing too serious I hope?"

"I can't really talk about it."

Charlie nods. "That's okay. But you were driving like a maniac."

I exhale, my energy seeping out of me like a deflating balloon. 'I know. I'm sorry. It's why I was here and not in town. I didn't mean to endanger anyone."

He crosses his arms. "I'll have to give you a ticket though."

It's better than losing my license. "Anything."

"Very well. Papers, please."

I hand them to him, and as he goes through the administration, I know I have to get my mind to focus on the day ahead of me. I already know I will be handing over some of my cases though.

Charlie hands me the paperwork. "What time are you off work today?"

"Five pm, unless an emergency comes in."

The Chief nods. "Come see me after work. I'll be at the office till ten tonight."

It's not an invitation, I know. He's letting me off this time, but I know it means he wants me to come in and explain what the hell I thought I was doing out here.

"I will, Charlie. Thanks."

He frowns. "Never thank me for doing my job." Then his gaze softens. "Are you okay though? You look completely rattled."

"Yeah," I say vaguely. "Listen, I have to go home to prepare for my shift."

"Sure. Drive carefully, all right?"

I nod at him and take off again, this time keeping to the speed limit perfectly. I don't know what I was thinking to be driving like that. I know Edward tends to do it at times, even though he will never admit it. Maybe he gets it from me, after all.

Back home, I get my things to start my shift, and try to ignore the nagging feeling that even though I will be out there saving lives, I failed to save my daughter when she needed me most.

* * *

_So Rose's story is out... And I managed to make an actual time jump in the story. See you soon!_


	72. Chapter 72

**A/N Twilight isn't mine**_  
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_Hi all! So sorry for the delay! I couldn't get this chapter right, and I still don't like it, but I can't make you wait any longer. Thanks for your continued support!_**  
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_Thanks to Sherry for reading, oh, fifteen versions of this chapter, and to Bob, Aleea and oOoShiny1 for prereading it for me.  
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* * *

**Bella**_  
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_I recognize the smell before I open my eyes. It is Laurent's house. I don't know what day it is, but I know my mommy left me three sleeps ago. _

_My hand hurts, and my tummy, too. I haven't eaten anything but some candy I found since mommy left. Laurent says I have to cook, but I don't know how to get the stove warm. I can't ask him. I tried to ask, but no words came out of my mouth. _

_I think my mommy took my voice with me when she left. She told me not to talk about it and now I can't talk anymore. _

_I'm scared. _

_Miss Nan asked me today at school if everything was all right with me. Maybe it was because I have been wearing the same things since mommy left. All my other clothes are dirty or wet. _

_I tried to use the washer yesterday, but I did it wrong. Laurent spanked me for being too stupid to know how the washer works. It really hurt and now I can't sit down. And the clothes I tried to wash are now wet and I don't know how to get them dry. _

_I wish mommy were here. _

**~O~**

I wake up with an effort, prying my eyes open and forcing myself to see the room that has been mine for the past months. White, clean, and with a whole lot of green visible through the windows. I left the curtains open last night, hoping that the light would help keep the dreams away.

Lately, it's like every night brings back a new memory, and I don't like it at all.

At least finals are over. It's the first Monday of the holiday and I think it's past nine already. Forks High, being a small school, apparently does things a bit differently than other schools. As such, both Juniors and Seniors end on the same day.

Nobody seems to mind.

Rosalie and Emmett will graduate later this week, and they're both glowing about it. Rosalie could have skipped her finals had she wanted to, seeing as she's a good student, but Emmett had to do them, and she tagged along with him for support.

I admire that. If you observe them at first, it's hard to see how close they really are. But maybe I am more sensitive to it now as well, and I can see their connection clearly. Rosalie's stand-offish attitude is only a way of keeping strangers away. Once you get on her good side. She's amazingly protective and warm.

I should know. She didn't exactly give me the warmest welcome when I first arrived here. Yet, I feel closer to Rosalie than to Alice now. Rosalie never coddled me, and I am grateful for that.

Turning to my other side in the bed, I stretch, my muscles trembling with the sudden activity. Who knew I would ever sleep in just because I felt like it.

Who knew that the idea of summer holiday could be something I would actually look forward to.

I wonder how Rosalie is doing. I was so hard for her to talk to her parents about what had happened. And however much I wished to, I couldn't promise her they wouldn't be angry with her. Even though my rational side said they would likely not blame her, my irrational side said it might just happen. Rosalie pushed through, without my promise everything would be all right, and I admire her so much for that.

Carlisle and Esme weren't angry though. Upset, yes, and hurt and alarmed. But they were nothing but supportive, at least I thought so, until Carlisle had flown out of his seat in a rage. That's when I stepped in between him and Rosalie, even before I had fully registered what I was doing. But he looked so angry - I couldn't let him hurt her. I would have fought back if he had tried to harm her. She wasn't to blame for what happened.

When I stepped back, after much coaxing from Rosalie, I got some mental distance from the situation as well. I finally saw he wasn't angry at her, but at the men who hurt her. At the situation, too. My mind can't even comprehend what it must me like to be cornered by several men. At least when there's one, it's somewhat predictable. I shudder when I think what it must be like to have more than two hands on you.

God.

I force my mind away from the idea and focus back on the events. They forgave her and talked to her for a long time, even after I had left her alone with her parents to give them some privacy.

And then Emmett had come up to me later to thank me for helping her. Stunned, I just looked at him until he realized I wasn't going to say anything, and then he left.

A yawn escapes me, erasing Emmett's face from my mind's eye. I am still a bit tired, but I know I'm not the only one who slept poorly. Last night, when I was awake after my third - fourth? - nightmare, I heard Carlisle get out of bed. Minutes later, he left by car. I don't know where he went, only that he came back ninety minutes later, spent some time in the house, and then left again. He's at work now, I know.

I guess he must have had a hard time falling asleep after all he heard. Maybe he needed some fresh air.

I wonder how he and Esme feel now that they know what happened to Rosalie. It must be different than with me, because I am not their child. Well, technically, Rosalie isn't either, but she's been in this house longer and she was already here when it happened. I imagine they feel powerless and angry and sad at the same time. It's what I felt when I heard her story, anyway, and she's not even my kin.

I know I should try to project those feelings on my own situation, but it's hard to do so. I would much prefer to think less about it, but Siobhan is urging me on to sift through the emotions, so I can process them. Decompartmentalize, as it were. Lose the dissociation I tend to regard the world with.

It's just that I am scared of the anger that bubbles underneath the surface. It comes out at the weirdest moments, and even Esme has noticed. Last week even, when I closed a cabinet too forcefully and placed a glass on the counter too harshly, she said, "If you want to release some angry energy, please do it outside my house."

And that was it. No reprimands, no threats, just the simple message that I had to go outside. It was such a sharp contrast with my old life, I was momentarily stunned.

I didn't go out and attack a tree, though. But the idea of finding a way to get rid of some energy sounds nice. Siobhan proposed much the same thing in therapy last week, and I have to tell her tomorrow what ideas I have come up with. After tomorrow, she'll be on holiday for a crazy long time, so I have to make the most out of that session.

To stop my mind from getting into a tailspin, I get out of bed, shower, and dress.

Esme is at breakfast with Alice and Jasper, the delicious scent of coffee and waffles drifting into the room. Alice bounces up when she sees me.

"Want some waffles for breakfast? I made them myself."

"And they're only slightly burned," Jasper says with a smirk.

"Ugh," Alice complaints, but she turns back to me with a hopeful look in her eye.

"Sure," I say, my voice still rough from sleep and from the effort of speaking in public.

Once I am settled with a stack of waffles I can't possibly finish on my own, and I have assured Alice that they are in fact very tasty, Jasper pushes forward a brochure on the table. Esme picks it up and reads.

"I want to go there," Jasper states.

On the back of the brochure, I can read 'Sol Duc Hot Springs.'

"Oh yes Jazzy, can we go?" Alice says.

"No overnight stay," Esme decrees immediately. "You can drive up and back in a day."

"But mom," Alice starts, but a stern look from Esme makes her shut her mouth.

"When you're eighteen you can rent cabins all you like. Until that time, the only place where you can share the night is in this house."

"God, seriously," Alice says with a frown. "You can get married at seventeen here and nobody thinks anything of it, but when one of two in a couple is adult, all alarms go off."

"Just a little while longer," Jasper says, tucking a lock of her short hair behind her ear.

"Unless we marry now," Alice says with a sparkle in her eyes.

"Don't you even think about it," Esme says without looking up from the brochure. "And the hot springs sound nice. Maybe the others want to go, too."

"So much for private time," Jasper murmurs, sipping his drink.

Esme laughs. "Do you realize how crowded those springs will be in the summer holiday?"

Alice rolls her eyes, and Jasper shrugs, conceding. Then he gets up to put his plate away and disappears from the room, saying he's going to see if Emmett is up yet.

Alice looks over at me. "Would you want to go?"

I look at her in shock. Go to the hot springs? Is she serious?

"Don't look at me like that," she says, scowling. "It's just a question."

I shake my head. "No." I look away, uncomfortable with the idea alone. "Bathing suits."

"Because of your scars?" Alice asks me directly.

"Alice," Esme warns, looking at me carefully.

"Yes," I mouth, appreciating Alice's confrontation for some reason. I also don't want to wear a bathing suit because it conceals _nothing_, but I can't form the words.

"And if it was just the girls?" she asks next.

I shake my head and manage to smile in the hopes of placating her. "You go. I'm sure it's nice."

She nibbles on her lower lip and nods. "We do have to go shopping though. I need a new bathing suit, and you need summer clothes."

I shake my head immediately. No, I don't.

"Yes, you do," Esme replies my unvoiced answer, her tone leaving no room for discussion.

I want to growl at her, and I am completely shocked by it. Where did that come from? Perplexed by my own reaction, I bring my plate to the dishwasher and walk into the garden. I need some air.

I walk through the yard, hiding behind the greenhouse mostly so I am unseen by the people in the main house. Of all things, I never expected to feel any anger at Esme. I have the crazy need to apologize to her, when I didn't even say or do anything.

Just this anger that boils under the surface of my calm.

How can I want to lash out at her when she never did anything to deserve my anger? She's only ever been nice, and I only want to feel gratefulness at her acts. Apart from that she's right, too. I do need clothes. I just hate shopping so much.

Maybe it's being told what to do I don't like. All my life I've been commanded around. Yet, that explanation doesn't work, either. I know full well I function better when I'm told explicitly what to do.

I have to be careful. The fight I had with Edward a few weeks ago still bothers me. He says he understands and that he doesn't blame me for shouting at him, but I don't know where it came from. I'm docile; not one to act out. Well, okay, I used to, sometimes, just to frustrate either Laurent of Stefan, to get a reaction out of them, because I was so sick of the threats and their games.

But not here. I've been careful to follow the rules here. Yet, all I want to do lately is kick against everything, literally and figuratively. What did Edward say again? _"You were angry with me because you trust me enough to do so." _

I didn't understand what he meant then, but I think I do now. I trust him enough to know I can get upset with him, raise my voice, without it having irrevocable consequences. I wouldn't shout at Carlisle like I did to Edward, for fear of him turning against me. I don't want to trigger him. Do I really trust Edward that much then?

Well, that's something to mull over. In a strange sort of good way, I mean.

But this anger… Oh man. I don't like it. It buzzes underneath my skin, making me itch. My gaze falls on the long driveway, and before I have fully decided what I am doing, my legs are already moving. I'm walking, then jogging towards the mile long dirt road. Once I'm there, my legs start to pump faster and I'm running as fast as I can.

Within seconds, my muscles are burning, but I don't care. I am out of breath not long later, but I like how it hurts in my throat, my windpipe. I push on, forcing myself to run farther, move faster, enjoying the strain on my muscles I feel and the coolness of the wind against my face.

Before I'm even halfway down the driveway, I'm so far out of breath I have to stop. I gasp for air, my heart beating so quickly it's almost a hum in my ears. My legs are burning, cramping up after the sudden strain, but I don't care. It feels _good._

The short but explosive run has drained me of the excess energy that has been making me so restless, leaving my head at least somewhat calmer. After I've caught my breath and I feel like my legs are able to move again, I walk back to the house.

I stay hidden behind the greenhouse for a while longer, enjoying being outside now that my mind is quieter. Maybe I should ask Esme about a driver's license after all. It would be nice to be able to go out on my own.

A fluttering butterfly catches my attention, and I follow it with my eyes. Simon chased a butterfly in this garden only two days ago. His innocence as he ran after it was endearing. He has already healed so much from the abuse he has suffered.

As he ran up to me for a hug and then bounced off again, I realized that he has what I will never have: a true chance to heal. I know that no matter what I do, I will never be able to completely shed the shadows of my past. He can, because he is so young still.

But that wasn't what made me so sad, even though it took me a while to figure out what the actual cause was. I like children. A lot. I like their innocence, I like how they never judge me and how they never expect you to judge them. I like how they perceive the world as one big wonder.

I'd love to have kids one day, but I know that won't ever happen. I couldn't possibly be fit to be a mother, not with what I have been through. And even if, I just don't think I could ever trust a man enough to let him be a father of my child.

Not even Edward, my dark mind whispers nastily, and the thought is depressing.

I'll have to ease my mind with the knowledge that I don't have to decide right now. I need to fix my own life first before I can even consider putting a new life in this world.

Of course, getting pregnant usually involves having sex, and, just... no. Ew.

Even with Edward.

...

Right?

Um.

"Bella."

I whip around so quickly I nearly lose my balance to see Edward behind me. Seeing him just after I thought about something... else... makes my blush explode, and I bring up my hands to my face to hide my mortification.

He laughs, confused. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head, not showing him my face as I look through my fingers at him.

He pries my hands away to uncover my face. "Right."

I meet his gaze, and conjured images of him touching me flood my brain. I blink a few times to focus back on the now. "It's nothing."

He smiles brightly. "And here I was thinking I caught you thinking about kissing me," he says teasingly. Then he steps a little closer. "Because that sure as hell is what I've been thinking about."

He cups my face ever so gently, making sure I can see his hands as they come up. It's one of the many tiny things he does that show how considerate he really is. I still can't believe we're actually _dating._ And that he's touching me like this and I _like_ it.

He leans in, and I tilt my face up to let him know I am all for the idea of some kisses. We haven't done it very often since that first time in the meadow. He seems content to take things slowly, and I am certainly not going to complain about that.

I am also happy with him taking the lead. If he goes too fast to my liking, I can tell him, and he always immediately stops. Always. I don't even have to use the safeword we agreed on. The moment I hesitate, he pulls back to reassess. It helps.

My thoughts stop immediately when Edward's lips touch mine. His chest brushes against me as he steps closer, and I don't feel crowded. Instead, I have this sudden, strange urge to be closer to him, and my body moves forward before I have thought it through.

In response, Edward's arms come around me and he hugs me closer as he opens his mouth against mine. No tongue, just tentative, seeking kisses. After a moment of fear and tension, I relax in his arms and let him lead. I open my eyes for a moment and see that his are closed. His brow, so often slightly furrowed with this worry or that, is fully relaxed. I close my eyes again and allow myself to just feel.

After an instant, or a few hours — I don't know — he pulls back and hums a happy sigh. I nearly squeal when he suddenly picks me up and twirls me around. My hands lay on his shoulders and I suspect my smile is as bright as his.

"I'm so glad I found you," he says when he puts me back down again, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"You just waited until I showed up at your door," I tease, and he throws his head back and laughs. I love making him laugh like that.

He leans in and kisses me again, then pulls back. "Want to watch a movie?"

I look at him. "It's Monday morning."

He smiles happily and shrugs. "So? It's summer holiday. We can do whatever we like. Besides, rain is coming."

He nods at the sky over my shoulder and when I follow his gaze, I can see the clouds rolling in.

I don't think I will ever get used to the weather here. Ever.

"What movie?" I ask, and Edward smiles.

"I'm sure we can find something we'd both like." As we start waking to the house, he changes tack. "Why were you outside, anyway?"

My mood blackens in an instant. "Nothing."

"You're a bad liar."

"Nothing I want to talk about," I clarify, trying to make my voice sound less harsh.

He thinks for a moment. "Something you can talk to Siobhan about?"

I nod.

"Okay," he says. "But don't look so sad."

"I'm sorry," I say automatically.

"That's not what I was aiming for."

"I'm sorry."

He stops just short of the front porch of the house to look at me. "Hey."

And just like that, he pulls me back, anchoring me again. I try to smile, and he touches my arm.

"I vote for a comedy," he says.

We walk upstairs, but when I start for the third floor, he stops me. "Where are you going?"

"To your room?" I ask, confused.

He shakes his head. "My room is a mess."

"Mine doesn't have a couch."

He quirks a brow as if to challenge me. "So? It has a bed."

My heart forgets to continue beating a moment as I realize what he means. He smiles and holds out his hand. "Come on, little worrier."

Minutes later, we're settled in my room. The door is closed, since Rosalie is apparently still sleeping. She must be exhausted after yesterday.

And I am fully aware that it's a shit excuse to close the door, since she's a floor above me.

Edward is lying back on my bed, his head against the headboard. I am still half-sitting, not really sure if I should lie down or not. It feels all too real, too suddenly. I think I want this, but at the same time everything in me seems to fight it. Is it normal to feel this conflict?

He looks over at me and shakes his head at my tense form. He starts the movie, but then gets up off the bed and walks to the end of it. Before I realize what he's going to do, he has grasped my ankles and pulled me down so I am lying flat on my back.

I gasp at his sudden action, my heart somersaulting nearly out of my chest. Edward smirks and comes back to the side of the bed, then sits down on the edge of the mattress. I look up at him, feeling like a puppy; belly up, throat exposed. Vulnerable.

Edward reaches out and takes my hand in his, squeezing it. "If you'd rather sit up, we can do that."

_I don't want to be scared_, I think, and belatedly I realize that I have whispered the words.

He smiles faintly. "Can I lie down with you?"

I swallow, then nod. After all, it's not completely new. We've done it before. He slept against me, then. I really liked that, but not the ending of that experience. Yes, I knew on a baser level that he couldn't help his bodily reactions, but to me it was all too confronting. Of course, he's a human being, a man, and that's how things work.

Doesn't mean I have to like it.

"You're tailspinning again," he reprimands me as he lies down, no doubt noticing the way I am following his every movement with my eyes. He caresses my hair, the soft gesture soothing me.

I turn to my side so I can face him better. Behind us, the movie has started, but I don't care. Tentatively, I bring up my hand to cup his pretty face, and his eyes close a little at my touch. My fingertips caress his cheek and then his hair, and the corner of his mouth tugs up in a half smile. Then he turns his face so he can press a kiss to the palm of my hand.

"Come here," he says softly, holding open his arms in an unmistakable invitation.

I move closer to him tentatively, and then his arms come around me and I'm completely enveloped in his embrace. A low hum of pleasure escapes me when our legs intertwine as if this the thousandth time we've done this. My head fits perfectly underneath Edward's chin, and his strong arms pull me closer. I breathe in his scent, and hear his steady heartbeat in his chest, and all I can think is, _oh, god._

One of his hands disappears into my hair, and the sensation sends goosebumps racing down my spine. I suppress a giggle at the feeling, but Edward notices anyway.

"What? Ticklish?"

I shake my head and burrow closer. For now, I just want to forget the world for a moment, and lay in his arms like this. I never thought it could feel so good, so calming.

We lay like this for several long minutes, and from the strain in my arms I can tell I am holding Edward as tightly as he is holding me. The unspoken sense of _finally_ hangs heavily in the air.

When the movie starts to get up to speed, I finally turn a little so I can look over my shoulder at the screen. It's a movie I've seen before, I realize. No wonder it sounded familiar.

"Let's watch it," he says quietly, pushing gently against my shoulder so I will turn to my other side.

I have to fight my natural defensive urge to never, ever turn my back to anyone, and roll over. Edward slides closer to me and spoons me without a word, pushing my legs up with his and wrapping his arm around my waist. He leans his face on his bicep, so that he can see the TV over my shoulder.

For the first twenty minutes or so, I don't register anything of the movie. Edward is so close to me, I can feel his body heat through my clothes. He seems to be relaxed, and I wonder how he does that. I can't seem to shake the nerves that wreak havoc in my abdomen.

After taking a deep breath in the hopes of releasing some tension, I am mortified when it comes out shuddering, betraying my state of mind.

Edward chuckles. "I'm nervous, too, you know."

"You don't seem so tense," I say quietly.

"Don't get me wrong, but I think that's because I know nothing will happen. And you fear something will."

He's right, and we both know it. Yet, his statement helps me to relax a bit more. He's not planning on anything, but he's not expecting anything either. That's good, right?

"Hmmm," he hums, hugging me closer. "That's more like it."

I want to ask him if he won't be disappointed if nothing happens, whatever 'nothing' will mean in this context, but I find I can't ask him when he is so close. Instead, I try to focus on the movie.

All I am aware of, however, is his body behind mine, and the unexpected feeling of safety it brings to be spooned like this. His body seems to fit around mine quite perfectly, and when he shifts a little so he is closer still, I close my eyes in enjoyment.

Finally, I am able to appreciate the miracle of this situation. I've dreamed of being held like this, but never did I dare to believe I could enjoy it, let alone that it would actually happen to me. For so long, I've believed myself to be ugly, dirty, and not worth a look. Now, Edward is lying behind me, holding me in a way that I can only describe as affectionate.

And I like it.

I don't know how we will move on from here, but for now, this is definitely enough.

I would think he was sleeping, were it not for the occasional chuckle he lets out in response to the movie. His arm is tucked around my waist, and I place my hand over his, enjoying the warmth of his skin.

To the sounds of the mechanic sounding opera concert, enveloped by warmth and comfort, my eyes slip closed and I drift.

A soft nuzzling against my neck pulls me back to consciousness. I take a deep breath, my body still heavy from sleep. Slowly, as if in slow motion, I become aware of my surroundings.

I slept, and the realization is as scary as it is exciting.

The movie has finished, and the menu is playing over and over. Outside, it's still light, but the rain Edward had predicted is pouring down, coating the windows. I'm a bit cold after having been lying still for a while, but decide to ignore it.

Edward is still behind me, his body folded around mine. His nose rubs against my nape softly, and his thumb makes circles against my ribs. Then his hand moves, coming to rest on my waist. With gentle pressure, he guides me so that I will turn to my back.

Slowly, my body still heavy from the nap, I follow his request. My heart steadily picks up speed, then seems to skip a beat when I see Edward's gaze. His eyes are more intense than I've ever seen them.

He is propped up on an elbow, and the hand of the arm he is leaning on starts playing with my hair. The caress is soothing, and I relax into the mattress, looking up at his handsome face.

He licks his lips, his other hand warm on my waist, and then he leans in. I panic for a second, but he pauses as if he senses my distress. He looks into my eyes, and just as I think I should nod to let him know I'm okay, he continues his movement toward my mouth.

His lips are warm and velvety soft, hesitant almost as he kisses me. My hand comes up almost as if on its own and lands on his chest. I hesitate, wondering if he is okay with me touching him, but he places his hand over mine and presses it closer, answering any question about that efficiently.

Underneath his thin sweater, I can feel his heart beating, and it's beating as frantically as mine. For some reason, it relieves me immensely that he is not unaffected by this all. I know it's new to me, but to know he is nervous as well puts me at ease.

His hand leaves mine to come back to rest on my waist as he opens his mouth carefully, coaxing me with his lips to do the same. I fist his sweater in surprise when his tongue ghosts against mine, and I pull back, startled.

He looks at me for a long moment, his eyes moving back and forth between mine. He doesn't speak, and I'm glad he isn't. Then, after what feels like an eternity, he swallows and leans in again. This time when his lips touch mine, I am better prepared.

An unexpected zing of electricity seems to shoot through my body when Edward deepens the kiss again. My body feels heavier against the bed as his tongue strokes mine, carefully but still confidently, for lack of a better word. He knows what he's doing.

And it feels good.

His clean scent surrounds me, easing my frazzled nerves. His hands stay tender, never gripping or pushing, and his body, even though curled around mine, is not pressing me down into the bed. He's close, but not oppressing.

A mortifying sort of whimper escapes me, a curious mixture between fear and excitement that forces its way out through my vocal chords. Edward hugs me against him in response, but pulls back a second later to check if I'm all right.

I know my eyes are wide and my cheeks are flushed, and his eyes hold a sparkle I haven't seen before. My breathing is rapid, but so is his. My fist is still clutching his sweater, but I don't care. It gives me leverage to pull him back to me, and I see a flash of his brilliant smile just before I feel his mouth touch mine again.

It's a make-out session I have read about in books, only maybe calmer. I'm not sure how long it lasts, only that I gradually lose my tension over time and I feel like the mattress is surrounding me. For me it's not the French kissing that's terribly exciting, but the intimacy of it. The trust I think it entails.

When Edward finally pulls back, his lips are redder than usual. I can only imagine mine must look about the same. My chin feels a bit raw from the scratch of his whiskers. He smiles, and he looks deliriously happy. Then he bites his lip, and at my waist, I feel how his hand carefully seeks out the hem of my sweater, sliding underneath the fabric.

I want to stop him and I don't. I want the contact and I don't. I want him to touch me and I don't. My breath hitches, and Edward looks into my eyes for permission. When I don't refuse him, his hand, blazingly warm, works its way underneath the layers of fabric I'm wearing and comes to rest on the skin of my waist.

For a split second, it feels amazing. But then I tense up immediately and completely, sudden memories forcing their way to the forefront of my brain. Of Laurent's ice cold hands, roughly finding their way underneath my clothes. Squeezing, pinching. He always gave me bruises. Stefan's hands were clammy and they sometimes traveled slower as if he was actually caring.

Bile rises in my throat. Apparently new memories can bubble up during the day now, too.

"Bella."

I squirm to get away from the touch, but it's as if my skin is burned. I can still feel it, feel the unstoppable groping, the raw pain that always ensued.

"_Bella."_

Edward's voice his quite firm and I open my eyes, blinking to focus. Immediately I can tell his hand is gone and my sweater tucked back in place.

"There you are." He smiles faintly.

I frown. "What happened?"

"You tell me. You stopped reacting to anything for a minute."

I rub my face as I sit up, trying to erase the sickening flashback of feeling the wrong hands on me. I squeeze my eyes shut behind my hands in the hopes of forcing my tears back down. When I look down at Edward again, he looks crestfallen.

"I'm so sorry Bella. I obviously triggered something and I'm so sorry."

"You didn't know," I say, my voice soft. "Hell, I didn't even know either."

He looks confused as he sits up as well. "What do you mean?"

"It's just..." I chew on my lip, buying some time. "It seems as if new memories pop up every day. I didn't even know I'd forgotten stuff."

"Maybe not forgotten," he says quietly. He leans in and nestles his face in the hollow of my neck. His arms encircle my waist and back, a safety bar against the waves of the past that are trying to wash over me. My breath catches, in a good way, when he tightens his grip for a moment.

"Maybe you suppressed them because they were too bad," he continues. "I've heard of that happening."

"They're not the worst memories, that's the weird thing. Just random flashes of images."

"Like when I touched your skin," he says, his voice raw.

"I'm sorry."

"God, don't be," he says, hugging me tighter for a moment. "I just never want to send you into your head like that. We need to find a way to prevent that. That is, if you want to move forward."

I look at the ceiling of my room, counting the three halogen bulbs in the lamp. "I want to. But I'm scared."

"What are you afraid of?"

"What not," I counter.

"You know I would never hurt you," he says after a moment of hesitation. "Right?"

"It's not just that," I try to explain. "But I'm not sure I can put it in words."

"Try me," he says after a minute of silence.

I think for a long time, and then it all comes pouring out. The fear I have of moving to fast, of finding out I don't like it, of him finding out he doesn't like me. The deep fear I have that I won't be able to feel anything, ever, or that I won't be able to enjoy normal touch. Edward doesn't interrupt, but lets me talk. He holds me tightly as I try to tell him how it used to feel when I was touched without my permission, the feeling of ants crawling under my skin, the burning itch I couldn't scratch.

How suffocating it would be, knowing what was going to happen and being unable to stop it. My voice breaks when I tell him of the nights I was sent to my room early so I had hours and hours to anticipate what was going to happen.

I never got used to it.

He moans as if in pain when more details are disclosed, hiding his face in my neck when I tell him about the mind games.

"No wonder you feel like you can't ever do it right," he says quietly. "You were set up to lose so many times when you were young."

"I want to change, Edward," I say, trying to find the right words. "I want to give you what you deserve. But I'm so scared it won't work out."

He pulls back so he can look into my eyes. "It will," he says, determination clear in his voice. "Because we are going to _make_ it work."

I smile at his conviction, and it is as if something shifts between us, clicking into place. He leans into kiss me again, and this time my hands come up to weave through his hair. He hums in pleasure and leans his forehead against mine.

"I'm so sorry for what happened to you. I so wish I could change it."

I can't think of any reply that's not cheesy or obvious, so I just look into his eyes and stay silent. After all, sometimes, more is being said without any words.

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_Reviews, my dear reader, are love._


	73. Chapter 73

**A/N Torn is mine. Twilight is not. Do not copy this story and use it as your own.**

_Your reviews make me glow! You keep me going with this story, and for that I am grateful. _

_Thanks as ever to my beta Sherryola, and to my readers Aleea and Bob. This chapter is unbeta'ed, as Sherry, and we all, have been so saddened by the horrible drama that took place in Connecticut. _

_As for this chapter, I'm not completely happy with it, but I couldn't get it any better than this. The plot of this story has been set in stone since day one, as have the events in this chapter. Some of you guessed or proposed correctly, though :)_

_Look out for an outtake I'll be posting soon in Shreds. Enjoy!_

* * *

It's Tuesday, and this morning it finally stopped raining. I am deliciously bored, since Esme has banned me from all household activities even though my wrist is fully functioning again. She even stopped me from doing my own laundry, and told me to 'go read in the living room or something.'

Carlisle heard that, and he promptly gave me a stack of magazines on psychology he thought I might like.

So now I am nestled on the couch, with the radio playing in the background, and I find one interesting article after the other I want to read.

"Bella, do you have therapy today?" Emmett asks as he walks into the room.

I look up at him in surprise and nod.

"Good. I'm taking you there. Can you leave at two?"

I'm taken aback by his words. "Therapy isn't until four."

"I know," he simply says. "So, two?"

I frown, but nod. I'm not sure what he wants, but he's obviously not telling me, and I am not one to press. Apparently, he has a plan. So after a late lunch, we drive to Port Angeles together.

Emmett's car is huge, and there's a lot of space between the two front seats. I stopped being wary around Emmett a while ago, but still it relieves me to see he is keeping both hands on the wheel.

He drives through the town, past the place where Edward normally parks, and finally stops in the parking lot of a hotel. Once the engine is turned off, he looks at me and grins. "Come on."

We walk a short distance and come to a road that's very close to the bay. Rocks line the small strip of beach, but Emmett walks us along the road until we come to a place where we can sit down.

I wonder why he is taking me here. I can't really read his face, but he seems calm. I sit down next to him, looking at his profile as he leans his elbows on his knees.

Just when I am considering asking him about graduation, he speaks.

"I wanted to thank you again for being there for Rosalie when she needed you," he says, looking out over the water. "She told me what a support you've been."

"'S all right," I mumble, uncomfortable. Being there for someone else when they need you shouldn't be thanked. It should be a given.

"Mom and dad took it well, thankfully," he continues. "She was so scared they would be angry."

"She was scared they would think it was her own fault," I say.

"Like you," he replies. I'm glad he's still not looking at me. I shift, self-conscious, but he seems to let it go.

Silence stretches between us, but it's not an uncomfortable one. I guess Emmett is Edward's brother in more than just looks. I didn't expect the boisterous Emmett to be able to be quiet like this, so calm. Comforting.

"I saw you running yesterday," he says out of the blue. At my alarmed look, he clarifies. "I saw you from my bedroom window. Your movement got my attention. I've never seen you run before," he adds a bit sheepishly.

"I sucked," I reply, needing to give him something back for his effort even if it's only some words. "I didn't get far."

"That can be trained," he says with a shrug. "Even marathon runners start with just a few minutes at first." He pauses, and looks over the water again before he looks at his hands. "I imagine you're angry sometimes."

Shocked by his words, I blink at the horizon. What can I tell him? That it's true? But what does he have to do with that? And why would I talk to him about it?

"No." It's out of my mouth before I can stop it, even though it's a lie. But he doesn't have to know about my inner battle. Certainly not.

He smiles understandingly, as if he's caught the lie as easily as I feared he would. "It's not the easiest thing to admit, I know. It's just that I know Rosie struggled with it, and I did, too, actually, and I thought, that's where I can help."

The "finally" is not said out loud, but clearly implied. I stay silent, willing to see where Emmett is going with this.

"I know that for me, it helped to find an outlet. I was so pissed at those guys who touched her, but I knew I would never be able to make them pay."

He's retreating in his mind, and his face turns hard and sad as he remembers the awful event. Then he composes himself. "So I started putting more energy into my sport. Running helped to get rid of that restless energy. And I followed some lessons in kickboxing as well."

"Okay," I say, my voice rough from the stress of speaking. I'm not sure where he is going with this, though he has a point about being angry and not being able to live it out on the people you're actually angry with. And he's right - running helps with letting go of that restless energy, even though my legs are sore from the sudden strain yesterday.

Emmett is still speaking, and I wrench my mind back to his words. "You see, hitting a punching ball is somewhat safer for your wrists."

His words hit me where it hurts. I know it wasn't wise to live out my anger on that wall, but I will die before I admit that the pain it brought felt somewhat good. It helped me to let the excess energy float away.

"I took Rosalie along with me to the gym before she started hurting herself," he continues, unaware of my train of thought but scarily in sync with it. "She has a mean punch. Her confidence grew exponentially as she got stronger and more skilled."

He lets the silence grow, and I feel the cool wind from the bay on my face. A gull cries overhead, the sound cutting through the constant background noise of the water.

"Listen, maybe I'm not the right person to talk to you about this, but I just want to help. I know you felt you weren't able to fight back when Lauren attacked you at school - no, hear me out please," he says when he sees me shift. "I'm just saying there are ways to get more comfortable with… stuff."

I toy with a thread on the sleeve of my coat. I don't know what to say, really. I don't know how letting out angry energy can help in situations like I had with Lauren.

"So, anyway, my point is, I'd like to take you to the gym Jasper and I always go to over the summer. Give you a way to build some strength, let out some anger."

I-… "What?"

He looks at me now, his eyes searching. "Or are you telling me you don't get upset at times?"

I frown. "I do."

"So it might be a good thing to start finding ways for you to let it out, right?"

I wrap my arms around my waist protectively. Yes, I've been struggling with this anger I feel, but I don't want others to witness it. I don't want to have it inside me, period.

"Think about it," he says, getting up. He holds out his hand to help me to my feet, but I ignore it and choose to get up by myself. I'm not sure whether to be grateful for his offer or be annoyed by it. Sure he means well, but what does he know? Who does he think he is, meddling with my thoughts like that? Is this the reason he wanted to come here early with me?

He thinks he knows me so well.

In a sudden wave of annoyance that I don't recognize as part of my personality, I go past him, fully intending on walking to Siobhan's office from here. I'll see how I get home later on. But Emmett simply steps in front of me so I can't continue. When I try to step around him, he touches my shoulder.

I recoil, but he ignores it and looks at me steadily.

"It's not me you have to blame for this," he says simply. Then he leads the way to his car, and I realize with a shock that he's right.

For some reason, it annoys me even more.

Siobahn notices I am distracted during the session and calls me out on it.

"Emmett is being smart," I mutter, looking out the window at the harbor. A perfect little fisher's boat comes sailing in. It must be a preserved thing. I can't possibly imagine such a cute boat still being in use for real fishing.

"How so?" Siobhan asks, preventing my thoughts to steer clear conveniently from the painful subject.

I glower at the boat. "He says I should release my anger through sports."

"So you meant 'smart' in the literal sense of the word."

I nod once, curtly. I still don't like answering obvious questions.

"We've talked about that too, last week," she says.

Her tone is so gentle and quiet, and it rubs me the wrong way completely. Letting out anger is _not_ going to solve any problem I have with the likes of Lauren, or with the scary desire I have to hurt myself in order to let the emotional pain flow away.

I fight the feeling of being lost, and use the anger to keep myself together. "Your point?"

I don't care I come across as a brat right now. I just want to hide, except I don't want to be alone. I want rid of the itch I feel underneath my skin, but I am scared to scratch it, as it were. And I am a bit fed up with everybody's well-meant advice. If everybody seems to know everything so much better than I do, why not just tell me instead of making me guess?

"I think his idea is a good one."

"Hitting a punching bag won't make me feel better," I say. It'll only mortify me, likely, but I don't say that out loud. It certainly won't help me with girls like Lauren.

"Have you tried it?"

I shake my head. I haven't. Well, unless you count a certain wall incident but I don't think that is what she means. And the thing is, punching the wall _did_ help. Only not in a way she knows, and I certainly am not going to tell her.

The running did feel good though, but I wonder for how long that will be enough. Maybe I can try to go again when I'm back home. My legs actually hurt from the exertion yesterday, but it feels good for once to be hurting for something I did myself.

Siobhan is silent for a long time, and I look at my hands in my lap. The scar of the glass cut is already starting to fade, although I'm not sure if it will ever disappear completely. Oh, well. What's another scar on a ruined body anyway.

"What are you thinking right now?"

Instead of snapping at her, which I am tempted to do for god knows what reason, I shrug.

"You don't want to say?"

Obviously not.

"That's okay," she says. "Whenever you're ready, you know that."

"Whatever," I mutter.

She smiles unexpectedly. "You're hitting puberty."

I blink at her. "Excuse me?"

She chuckles now, mirth in her eyes. "You heard me."

"I am not," I say, indignant.

"You are. You're starting to act out, and that's a very good thing. Do you snap at everyone, or just at me?"

As much as I don't want to admit it, she's right. Shame floods me as I confess. "Sometimes at Edward. I wanted to be nasty with Esme but I ran before I could. Maybe I wasn't nice to Emmett just now."

"It's irrevocable," she says, no judgment in her voice at all. "You've been forcing yourself to be calm for such a long time. Now you're in safe waters, you're going to test your limits. Other teenagers will do that at a younger age, but you just had to wait until you were in a house where you could do it."

"But I don't want to do it. I'm scared of the anger I feel."

"Which is why you need an outlet. If you can relieve that anger in a safe place, you will see won't bubble up as easily in other situations. You have every right to be angry, but it would be desirable for you not to live it out on those closest to you. They don't deserve that."

I sigh unhappily, knowing the truth in her words. "More memories come up every day."

"How so? Tell me more."

For a moment, her words remind me of Renee so much I feel a wave of nostalgia. And then I remember I still have to tell Carlisle and Esme I got an invitation for her wedding. But that's not important right now.

"Edward… touched me, yesterday. And I just disappeared inside my head."

"What happened?"

"Just memories. Things I thought I had forgotten. But they're not worse than other things that happened. I don't get it."

Siobhan thinks for a moment. "Were your memories triggered by Edward's touch specifically?"

I nod. "I don't want that. He freaked out more than I did."

"But you talked about it?"

I nod again.

"That's good. Keep up that communication."

"It's hard. I wish it wouldn't be necessary."

"I think we all wish certain things had never happened sometimes. But I want you to focus on the good parts of this. Apparently you're so at ease with Edward that he can touch you."

I blush unexpectedly. "Yeah." I wish I could tell her about the conflicting things I feel when he's close, but I find that words elude me once more.

"Just take it slow," she says as if she heard my thoughts. "See if you can ask him to touch you in the same way, and talk to him about what happens. Then you can repeat it until the trigger doesn't work anymore. And keep communicating. Edward sounds like a nice guy, a patient guy. He'll understand when you need to catch your breath."

I smile faintly. "I don't."

She laughs a little. "Stop expecting yourself to be someone you're not."

There's no need to tell her I wish things were different, because we both know they're not. But still… "How can it be getting worse? I thought that wasn't part of the deal."

Siobhan smiles understandingly. "Our brain is a curious apparatus. Once it knows it is in a safe place, it will release things it has been suppressing for a long time."

"So it's getting worse because I feel safe?"

She nods. "That's exactly it. It's a well known phenomenon that abuse survivors sometimes get the biggest issues with intimacy, for example, years and years into a relationship. It's starting sooner with you, because your mind knows it has nothing to fear anymore."

I feel like the earth is shifting underneath my feet, pulling me off balance, when I realize that intimacy won't be a single hurdle to overcome once. It's going to be a battle that has to be fought again and again for the rest of my life.

If it'll be even possible for me to be intimate at all.

If I even want it, ever.

God.

"So many thoughts in that head of yours," she says, using her usual prompt to invite me to tell her what I am thinking about.

"Sometimes I think things are better, and then another thing comes along, hitting me in the gut."

Understanding shows clearly in her eyes. "Baby steps. One step forward, and sometimes two steps back. But you're getting there."

I don't have to tell her about the frustration I feel. She knows.

"Stay true to yourself, Bella. Stop to think every once in a while, and try to figure out what it is you want and need, not what you think you should want and need."

It's with that advice that my last session before the holiday is concluded. Siobhan gives me her cell phone number to use in case of emergency, and we agree to meet again in September. At that first meeting, we will determine together how the rest of the treatment will go.

She also gives me a book to read about Rational Emotive Therapy, because she wants me to know more about that. But I promise her to look into it, and then say goodbye to her in the doorway.

"You must be Emmett," Siobhan says when he gets up leave with me.

"Yes ma'am. Bella's big brother bear," he adds with a smirk.

"Good to meet you," she says as she shakes his hand. "Do you have any plans for the summer holiday?"

He shrugs. "Not much. Maybe go away for a few days with my Rosie if she wants to. Have a ton of birthdays."

I gasp a laugh. He's right. There are a lot of birthdays coming up in the next few months.

"Excellent. Have a great holiday then," she says.

"Are you gong anywhere?" Emmett asks, and I want to slap my own forehead. It never even occurred to me to ask her about her own summer holiday. God, if I thought I were a brat before, now I truly qualify as one.

"Maybe I'll go hiking after summer school."

"Summer school?"

Siobhan smiles and nods. "Have to keep my knowledge up to date, you know."

He nods, and we say goodbye.

"So are we going to the gym tomorrow?" Emmett asks on the drive home.

"No shoes," I blurt out. I really, really don't want to go to a gym and make an ass out of myself.

He cocks an eyebrow in surprise, but nods. "Buy shoes and clothes, and then we can go. Trust me, you'll enjoy it."

I fail to see I will.

**~O~**

Dressed in black, formless sweats, black shoes and a wide black longsleeve under which I am wearing two grey tanktops, all courtesy to Alice, I find myself in front of the gym in Forks.

Yes, Forks actually has a gym.

Around me are Rosalie, Jasper and Emmett. Edward isn't here, because he hates working out, he says, but Emmett muttered that Edward had to 'decompress.' Alice was too busy with her new clothes after she'd been shopping during the morning.

Apart from sports clothes, Alice brought me a few other things too, summer clothes that will still cover me up nicely as well as some basic toiletries and other necessary stuff. I hugged her on impulse for her sweet gesture. She saved me a much hated shopping trip.

Rosalie and I are in our sports clothes already. Jasper and Emmett opted to change at the gym, and they move to the locker rooms as Rosalie helps me get a day pass. I can get a membership if I like it here, she says.

I am relieved I can try it out, no strings attached. But I am nervous. Though it's quiet, there are strangers in this gym, both men and women alike.

The man behind the counter doesn't seem to notice my unease and he gives me a quick tour of the space. Rosalie follows me, and I am glad she's not letting me out of her sight.

"So what do you want to do?" the man asks as he turns around to me.

I look at Rosalie for help. I can't speak right now, and she handles it wonderfully.

"Endurance and a bit of strength."

The trainer looks from me to her, back to me. "Right. Do you have a basic level of fitness?"

"I appreciate your efforts, but we can take it from here," Rosalie says firmly. "If we have any questions, we will ask you."

The man is not at all convinced, but backs off. "Very well. If you have any questions, I'll be close. Just start out slow."

Rosalie nods and thanks him, and right at that moment, Emmett and Jasper walk into the room. Emmett looks huge in a tight fitting black shirt. Jasper is smaller built, but for some reason not weaker looking.

"All right, Bellabella," Emmett says as he comes up to me. "What do you want to do?"

Feeling utterly lost, I shrug. Emmett is not put out however, and he directs me to the treadmill, where he orders me to walk for fifteen minutes.

"Warm up," he explains when he sees my puzzled gaze.

Rosalie takes the treadmill right to mine, and Jasper the one to my left. Emmett stays in my line of sight, rope jumping in front of a huge mirror. I am guarded on all sides by my siblings, and I can't help but feel grateful for the way they are supporting me without making a fuss about it.

After walking, Emmett takes me to a punching bag, giving me some sort of wrap to place around my palms. He shows me a combination of punches, and tells me to repeat them.

I do.

He cocks an eyebrow at me. "You can't actually _hurt_ the bag, you know. Try again, harder this time."

I do so, feeling silly. Emmett isn't pleased.

"Harder."

After two more tries, it's still not good enough to his taste apparently, and I look at him, trying to hide my glare but wondering what on earth he wants.

"Getting angry yet? Good." He points at the bag. "Use it."

I punch again, and again and again, and maybe I'm not angry for the right reasons, but it still helps with keeping my focus. I get lost in the rhythm of pounding against the bag, even forgetting for a moment how ridiculous I must look. My heart rate increases steadily, and warmth blooms as I work myself, slowly but surely, into a sweat. Emmett stands guard, arms crossed, giving me pointers as to how to improve.

"How's it going over here?"

The sudden voice has me turning so quickly I lose my balance and I have to hold on to the bag to prevent myself from spinning to the ground. It's the man who gave me the tour and he's too close, too suddenly.

Hyperventilation sets in before I can actually take a deep breath. I let down my guard. I didn't notice him coming up behind me. What a failure.

The man looks over at me. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. You okay?"

I just look at him, dumb struck, and I can't even nod to answer his question and get him to move on.

"Sure she is," Emmett says in a tone that I can't really place.

The man nods and walks away again, thankfully, and Emmett's face comes into my line of sight. "Bella, take a deep breath. He didn't mean to scare you and nothing happened, all right? Don't freak out now. Edward will have my hide. And mom, too."

I force myself to hold my breath for a moment, and then release it slowly. Once I have the worst of the hyperventilation under control, I meet his eyes and make the sign for 'sorry' against my chest.

Emmett shakes his head, dismissing my apology. "You back now?"

I nod, and he smiles, dimples showing. Then Jasper and Rosalie walk up to us. Rosalie wraps up her hands in the same stuff as I did, and she nods at Emmett. Jasper clears his throat and looks at me.

"We were thinking some self defense might be handy for you. I know some moves I'd love to teach you," he says. "I know I'm a guy and scary because of it, and I know you're scared of me, but Rose is here too, and nothing will happen."

He looks almost shy as he explains his motivation, but combined with his frank words it makes him less threatening, for sure. Even though I know on a rational level that he won't hurt me, it's that lingering fear I can't seem to shake, no matter who is in front of me.

It's sad I still have it most with Jasper. Maybe it's because I haven't spent much time with him. And maybe this is a chance to change that. He did make me the picture album, after all.

As Jasper waits for my reaction, and my mind goes a mile a minute, I see how Rosalie and Emmett have started sparring, if that's the word for it. Emmett is holding up pads and Rosalie is punching them in a smooth choreography, moving lightly on her feet. She doesn't seem to be scared that Emmett won't hold her swings, and even when she lifts her foot and kicks one, he moves with her to block.

"Bella?" Jasper asks carefully. I look back at him again. "You can do that too, if you want."

I shake my head quickly. Too close, and too personal. Too violent, too.

Jasper looks at me for a moment, then holds out his arm. "Let's sit down over there."

I follow him to a corner of the room and do as I'm told. I feel uncomfortable in this wide open space, even more so when a random guy walks in and starts lifting weights.

"Look at me," Jasper says, and with effort, I do. "I know this isn't the ideal place for you, but we need the soft underground for this. Later, if you know some moves, you can practice at home, maybe on the grass in the yard, all right?"

I nod numbly. I hope he doesn't expect me to speak.

"Self-defense is an important skill to have," he continues, and I feel this is the beginning of a short lecture I have no interest in whatsoever. But then he says something that catches my attention, whether I like it or not. "It isn't violence. It's a safe way of protecting yourself. You can choose the extent of force you use against your opponent. You can simply disarm, or you can break the arm."

He continues talking, hammering home the point that I would be protecting myself. It's not an act of violence for the sake of violence, it's a way to keep myself safe when I am attacked. I wince at the word, and he looks sympathetic.

Then he gets up to show me some basic moves. "No touching," he says when he sees my hesitation.

A harsh sigh escapes me unexpectedly. I hate that everybody has to go to such great lengths to accommodate me. I hate that I can't just let Jasper show me how to work him to the ground should he attack me from behind. But I think he knows as well as I do that should he touch my back unexpectedly, I'd shut down completely.

And what an excellent mechanism would that be to protect myself from harm.

"It's okay," Jasper says. "We'll get there, eventually. All self-defense lessons start out solo."

I'm not sure if he's telling the truth, but I decide to try and focus on his explanations. He's doing this for me, and I have to appreciate it.

He shows me some basic moves, things I can do if someone comes up in front of me, or to my side. I feel like an idiot, but through Jasper's clear words and examples, I can envision how I would push someone away with a certain move.

After a while however, my brain is in overload and I can't process anything anymore. Jasper tells me to practice the moves, which I didn't really do in the gym, at home so I can get familiar with them.

"Try them on Edward," Emmett says with a grin.

"Try them on Emmett," Rosalie counters, and Emmett's smile widens.

"That would actually be a good idea. If you can work me to the ground, you don't have to fear anything anymore. Certainly not the likes of Lauren," he says, wrinkling his nose.

I want to tell him that I am not afraid of people like Lauren. It's a mental block I have against any form of violence. Too bad I forgot to ask Siobhan about that.

And by forgetting I mean a very loose interpretation of the word.

Once we're back home, Edward comes out of his father's office and he greets me with a smile. He looks lighter than before I left, and I realize he must have been talking to Carlisle.

Of course, I threw my story on him without any warning whatsoever, and as much as I need some time to myself after talking about him, I can guess that he needed to process things, too. That's what Emmett must have meant when he said that Edward needed to decompress.

Edward steps up to me and takes my hands in his. "How was it at the gym?"

"All right," I say quietly. "Jasper taught me some moves."

His smile is bright. "So do I need to fear you now?"

"Oh, be afraid, be very afraid," Emmett says lowly as he walks past. "Jasper only just started showing her, and those were the innocent tricks."

"And how does it feel?" Edward asks when he has glared Emmett out of the room.

I shrug. It's hard to explain how any form of fighting or violence just makes my mind convulse. It's harder even to tell Edward, especially since our first fight was about that exact subject.

Edward smiles softly. "It's hard for you, isn't it."

"Yes," I breathe, glad he understands.

He starts to reach out, then hesitates and looks into my eyes for permission before he wraps his arms around me in a hug. "You'll probably take this the wrong way, but I'm damn proud of you for what you did today."

I pull back in surprise. "You are?"

He nods. "Of course. A few weeks ago it wouldn't even have been an option to do this. And look at you now."

"Doesn't feel like something to crow over," I say, frowning.

He cups my face in his warm hands. "That's why I will do it for you." He leans in slowly and brushes the lightest kiss against my lips.

For a moment, I forget completely I am in the middle of the living room, with a whole lot of other family members in the house.

When he pulls back, my inhale is a shuddering one, and I can see the smile in his eyes. "My girl," he says quietly. "You so are my girl."

His words float into my brain and a warmth I have never felt before sets up shop in my gut. He is proud of me, he really is. In his eyes, I can tell he is seeing something in my gaze, and another layer is added to the bond we are building together.

It means the world to me that he is happy with what I do. I've never gotten anyone's approval like this, and I never could have guessed how it feels.

But I am lost for words to give him back, so instead I just look at him, taking in the lines of his gorgeous face.

"What are you looking at?" he asks after a moment.

I blush. "You. You're handsome." Okay, and now I'm tomato red, for sure.

I smile widely when I see the tips of his ears turn red. But he smirks back at me playfully while he looks down at me. "I'm glad you think so. I happen to think you're beautiful, too."

Oh god, I so totally am not, but I don't have the heart right now to tell him.

Just as I'm about to do something, anything to change the subject, Carlisle and Esme walk into the room.

"Ah, Bella, we were just looking for you. Do you mind coming up to my office for a moment?"

Immediately alarmed, I look at Esme for reassurance. She just smiles at me, and her smile tells me I am probably not in trouble. Still, being asked to come up for a private chat is always scary.

Edward squeezes my hand before he lets go, nudging me to go up with his parents. "I heard it should be good news, but dad wouldn't tell me what it was," he whispers in my ear before he steps back.

Oookay. I go up with Carlisle and Esme. The sound of the door of Carlisle's office closing strikes me as ominous. Yet, their faces hold no tension.

"Right," Carlisle says as he sits down. "We have some good news for you, honey."

A thousand sparks of thoughts flit through my mind instantly, with underneath the sudden fear that 'good news' in their book might not be good news in mine.

"An aunt of mine passed away," Esme says, making me look to my right. "She left us quite a bit of money."

Right. That would be good news for them. The money, I mean. "I'm sorry for your loss," I whisper.

"She also left money to you specifically."

I cock my head, not sure what I am hearing.

Esme smiles at my obvious confusion. "She was impressed by your character, basically. She left a letter to explain it."

Carlisle reaches into a desk drawer and hands me a letter, written by a Jane. I lose my grip on the heavy stationery when I see the amount of money specified.

"Can't accept that," I stammer, even though it's clear in the letter that the money is willed expressly to me.

"Sure you can," Esme said, "It's in a fund until you turn eighteen, but after that, you can do with it what you want."

Of course, my mind is reeling with the possibilities. I can pay myself through college with this money. Rent a tiny place somewhere when I graduate. Donate to charity.

I can build a life with this.

Except I can't.

"Keep it," I say, thrusting the letter at Esme.

She looks surprised. "What for? It's yours."

"For all you did," I force out. Damn it's hard to talk with Carlisle in the room. I can't even look at him. "For taking me in. I can pay you back now, right?"

"No," Esme says, refusing to take the letter from my outstretched hand. "We took you in without any conditions. This money is yours to do with as you want."

This makes me wildly uncomfortable.

"Think of what you could do with this money," Carlisle encourages me. "What would you do with it?"

"The others?" I ask carefully. I won't accept this money if the others don't get any.

"They are getting a fair share, too." Esme smiles gently. "I know it's hard to accept, honey, but this money really is yours. No conditions."

"University," I whisper hoarsely. I can go to university if I can't get a scholarship.

"No, that's covered," Esme says.

My eyes pop. _What?_ I mouth, my voice now lost completely.

"We let all our children pursue education. You don't have to fend for yourself."

Their generosity knows absolutely no bounds. In a sudden rush of extreme gratitude, I embrace Esme with all I have to give. She chuckles, but hugs me back just as tightly, rubbing my back with strong, comforting strokes.

"Thank you," I whisper, overcome with emotion, with finally, finally the realization that I am safe here, one of the family, and that they won't take their love back.

I hug her even tighter, forcing my sobs down, not wanting to become completely overwhelmed by emotion in this moment.

"We love you," Esme whispers into my hair, and for the first time, I actually believe her.

Though I can't say the words yet, because I'm not sure if I am capable of the emotion, I think them back at her.

_I love you, too. _


	74. Chapter 74

**A/N I don't own Twilight.  
**

_Sorry for the wait, and thanks so much for your continued support! Sadly, we are preparing to say goodbye to a terminally ill in-law so my priorities are lying elsewhere. I won't abandon the story, but I can't promise anything right now, either._**  
**

_Thanks SO much for helping this story reach the 12k mark in reviews! _

_You guys rock!__As ever thanks to Sherry for beta duties, and to Aleea for being honest, always. Bob, get your phone fixed. Life's boring when your alerts aren't working!  
_

_I edited this on-the-go minutes before I posted, so any weird constructions and mistakes are mine. I also used some creative license as I had no energy to do a lot of research. It's very likely your high school has different protocols.  
_

* * *

The day after we go to the gym, I can barely lift my arms. Knowing sore muscles are always worse on the second day, I guess I know what I'm in for. Still, I don't really mind. It's proof that I've been active, that I actually did something, and even though my body feels heavy, my head feels light.

Still, walking is a challenge when Edward, Alice and I go to the mall in Port Angeles to buy gifts for Rosalie and Emmett's graduation. Alice is a big help, having started to compile a list of gift ideas back in April, so we have plenty to choose from.

It also makes sure we are done pretty quickly, allowing for us to have a drink in a cozy diner before we go back home. Edward asks me if I should look for clothes, but Alice says I don't have to, which makes me suspect she has a plan. As much as I don't like playing dress up, I have to admit I love that she is taking care of me in her own way. And the clothes she buys are things I would choose myself, maybe.

Back at home, Emmett finds me at the kitchen table not much later. He already has shown me some boxing moves I can practice at home, without a punching bag, and now hands me a print of a schedule I can use if I want to start running. 'Gateway to 5k' it says, and it promises the runner to be able to run three miles, or five kilometers in three months, provided you go three times a week.

Against Emmett's and the schedule's advice however, I don't take days off in between. Using the shielded and empty driveway to the Cullen mansion as my track, I start with the ridiculously easy first week of training. Since it doesn't feel like I'm achieving anything at all, I run for a tiny bit longer than the schedule states, and then revel in the exhaustion I feel when I get back home. I am _doing_ something, building it up all on my own. The burning in my muscles feels good, I won't deny it, but it feels good as well because I am working to achieve something, however small. Driving myself that bit further than what I have to do provides a satisfaction I haven't known before.

Esme smiles at me when I step into the kitchen on Friday morning and drink two big glasses of water in one go. "If running is something you seriously want to pick up, you might think about investing in some good quality clothing," she says. "And some shoes. I hear you have to have decent shoes for running to prevent injury."

"All commercial talk," I tell her. "They just want to sell."

"Well, let's not take the risk, all right? It would be a shame if you had to stop because of shin splints or something scary like that."

I nod in acceptance at her words. I've read about shin splints, just like I've been reading about running techniques. Every website I have seen seems to stress how much fun running is, and how good it feels to be doing it. You just have to be careful for injuries.

To be honest, right now I can't even run for two minutes straight yet, so it doesn't feel like what I am doing is special. But I want to build up some strength, and it feels good to be out of the house, alone, if even for a few minutes. And in time, I will be able to run faster, and farther. Esme and Carlisle are totally okay with it, of course. I can't believe I haven't been going out more before. Maybe I should find more activities I can do by myself.

After taking a quick shower, I join the others for lunch. The atmosphere at the table is elated, since Rosalie and Emmett are graduating this afternoon. We're going to go to the high school early though, since Alice, Jasper, Edward and I will be able to check our grades as well, to see if we passed.

When I've helped Esme clear away the dishes, I go to my room in order to try and find something to wear.

I know everybody expects me to come along, and while I would like to dress up for the occasion, just like everybody else is doing, at the same time it's so hard to let go of the sense of protection baggy clothes provide.

Alice proves herself to me an angel in disguise yet again. She knocks on my bedroom door and when I open it to let her in, she's holding two big bags of clothes. Some are Rosalie's, she says. Others she bought for me.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist. And since you hate shopping and I'm not really allowed to buy anything for myself this month..." Her smile is bashful but changes to radiant when she sees mine.

To do her a favor, and to force myself to step away from my comfort zone, I change into several outfits she assembles for me. In the end we both feel that a grey suit with a very subtle pinstripe is the best choice. A thin, pale pink turtle neck underneath it finishes the ensemble, and when I go check myself in Alice's big mirror, I have to say I quite like it. The jacket is tailored but not too much, and long enough to cover my rear in the snug slacks.

I think everybody does a double take when I walk into the living room, where we are gathering before we go off to the school. Rosalie, in traditional robe but without preposterous hat yet, comes up to me and bumps my shoulder with hers.

"Who you trying to impress, sister?" she asks with a wink.

"Just wanted to look nice on your special day," I say quietly. "Congratulations."

She smiles with the air of someone getting credit for something that wasn't a big deal. Emmett, however, is positively beaming. He had to work harder to pass his finals, but he did just fine. Sometime during the summer, they'll move to their university, and for the first time I realize that the house will be much quieter without them around.

Hell, I think I'll miss them.

During the ride to the school, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation settles in my gut. I am confident I passed all my finals, but not knowing for sure yet always makes me nervous. I wait in the background with Carlisle, Esme, Rosalie and Emmett as Jasper, Alice and Edward face the throng of other students who want to check their grades on the lists they have put on the message boards.

Alice comes back first, grinning widely. "We all passed," she announces. "And I had a B in Trig!"

Esme kisses Alice's cheek to congratulate her, and then Alice turns to me. "You got all A's. Unbelievable."

"Well done," Esme says, squeezing me for a moment. "All of you, well done," she continues when Edward and Jasper come back as well.

"Finally, holiday can really start," Jasper says happily. "Now, let's watch Rose and Em graduate."

The graduation ceremony is much like I expected it to be. There aren't many of my classmates around, only the few that apparently have someone they want to see graduate today. I find myself scanning the crowd for the likes of Lauren and Jessica, and when I can't find them, I am more relieved than I want to admit.

There is a valedictorian speech, given by someone I don't know, but I have to say that the girl took great efforts to make it not yet another standard talk about futures, choices and freedom. She actually manages to make us laugh a few times. I am in awe of this stranger's ease to speak in front of a crowd.

Esme and Carlisle are nearly bursting with pride when first Emmett and then Rosalie are called up to the stage to receive their diploma. Jasper takes pictures both of them and of us, capturing our reactions as only he can. He also snaps a shot of the two huge bouquets of flowers that are lying at Esme's feet, waiting to be given to her eldest children.

Alice sighs happily when Emmett shakes hands with the principal.

"I can't wait until I'm up there next year," she says dreamily.

"This upcoming year can last forever, if I have any say in it," Esme murmurs. "In a little over a year, you'll all be out of the house. It'll be so quiet."

Alice reaches over my lap to grasp Esme's hand in comfort. "But Rose and Em are staying close. And we'll visit often."

Esme smiles, a motherly, resigned smile. "I know, sweetie. I do."

Then the name calling is finally finished and after a final speech from the principal, everybody explodes in loud applause and cheering. A lot of hats are thrown into the air, and I jump at the sudden onslaught of sound and movement. The freshly graduated students linger near the stage, congratulating each other. The atmosphere is elated, and I look on, wondering if I will be like that next year, able to celebrate like these people are.

Next year, when I'll be long eighteen and still with the Cullens, because I am allowed to stay. The thought makes me smile, even though I'm in a crowd full of strangers.

While we wait for Rosalie and Emmett to come to us so we can finally congratulate them, Carlisle and Esme talk with us about our own plans for the future. Of course, this summer is the time we will have to start applying for colleges, and to think of what we want to be when we grow up.

I still don't know. Edward, I know, wants to be a pediatrician. Jasper, I hear now, is still trying to decide if he wants to do something with photography and graphic design, or something with economics. The two topics of interest are so far apart it's hard to compromise. I was aware of his love for photography, but didn't know he was interested in economics at all.

"He recently discovered his love for finance," Edward clarifies for me. "He told me only a few weeks ago."

I nod in understanding. Carlisle tries to convince Jasper to make the right decision, being finance in his eyes, but he mostly tells Jasper to do what feels right. Of course, being richer than God, any child of this family doesn't ever have to worry about finding a job, or getting an education that will make it easier to find a decent job. Still, Carlisle and Esme want everyone to make well-thought out choices for their education, and they encourage us to make our own money later on.

Alice, of course, wants to go into fashion. She tells us with sparkling eyes about the ideas she has, the things she feels she can do.

"I think I'll do a minor in Business, though," she adds. "So I can really start my own thing."

Carlisle nods approvingly.

"Jasper can be your accountant," Edward says with a grin.

Just when Esme is about to ask me about my own future plans, Emmett and Rosalie come walking up. They have two friends with them, who I didn't see when we were watching the ceremony. James and Victoria, over from Seattle for the party.

Victoria is even skinnier than the last time I saw her, and her hair seems to be even redder than before. James is looking casual, but I move closer to Esme just in case. I still don't like him at all. Esme seems to pick up on my insecurity and wraps an arm around my waist, supporting me silently.

Both Emmett and Rosalie are congratulated in abundance, and Edward and Alice both have small presents they hand out immediately. My custom made marzipan treats are waiting in the fridge at home, as are my other presents, so I am empty handed right now. Jasper tells them that his gift is waiting for them back home as well.

We stay around for a while longer, mingling with the other graduates and their families and friends. I stay close to Esme, and see how Carlisle is approached countless times. Sometimes it really is just to ask him how he is, but not everybody seems to be without ulterior motive. More than once, the conversation is steered towards internships and possibilities at the Forks hospital. Seems that Edward isn't the only one who wants to go into medicine, and it also seems that some people think they can get their kids a place by sucking up to Carlisle.

My thoughts come to a halt when I see my Trig teacher walk up to us. "Bella," he says pleasantly in greeting. "Mrs. Cullen. Congratulations on your two eldest."

"Thank you," Esme replies. "They have done so well."

"Yes," my teacher says. "Especially Emmett showed an amazing improvement in his trigonometry work since the new year."

Esme smiles. "Bella here has been tutoring him."

Man, I want to leave. He's going to ask Esme about the letter I was supposed to have given them, and I never did. I postponed it until I forgot about it, and now it's too late.

"No, we haven't talked about advanced classes yet," I hear Esme say, saving my blunt mistake gracefully. "We will surely let you know though."

Once the teacher has stepped away again, Esme turns to look at me. "For now I am going to assume you forgot to give us the letter he mentioned."

I nod. I truly did. She looks at be searchingly, but then lets it go. "We'll talk about that later. I'm sure Trig is about the last thing on your mind right now."

We find the others quickly after that, and I listen in as everybody talks and laughs. It's good to see them all so happy, and I am desperate to get my thoughts away from Trig, a forgotten letter, and a possibly disappointed Esme. And I did forget to give her the letter, I truly did. It's just that I so don't want to attention that being in an advanced class undoubtedly attracts, I waited with giving her the letter until I honestly forgot about it. Because it would be so hard if Carlisle and Esme wanted me to take those advanced classes. My need to avoid any possible confrontation is ridiculous, I know. It's just hard to change.

When it's finally time to go home again, I am eager to go. My legs are tired from running earlier, but mostly the crowd at school is making me nervous. Much as I contemplated not long ago that I would like to be out of the house more often, right now I'm more than ready to go back.

Too bad James and Victoria are coming along.

Worse even, I'm told they'll be spending the night at the house, since after the party tonight it will be too late to go back to Seattle. I know I won't sleep at all tonight, and as if my body knows it already, a bone deep fatigue seems to set it in immediately.

The two have broken up but are still good friends, I learn when we are at the house. Esme has all but ordered me to stay downstairs with them and have a drink. I'm not taking anything, though. I'm in the corner of the big couch, and Edward's sitting next to me. Victoria took the winged chair I usually sit in, and I pull the sleeves of the turtleneck over my hands, wishing I was somewhere else.

I confuse myself so often these days. I want to be able to be in a room with others, yet when I get the chance, I want to be away. I want to be out of the house more, but when I am, I want to be back in the cocoon of my room. I want attention but shy away from it all the same.

Emmett and Rosalie are very happy with the marzipan treats I made them, and Emmett whoops when he sees the Playstation game I got him. Rosalie is enthralled with her books, her reaction drowned out by Emmett who insists on starting the game immediately. He and James play against each other, forgetting the world around them for a while.

"Thanks, Bella, this really is the best present," Emmett says happily when there is a lull in the game.

"What time do you want to go to the diner?" Esme asks.

Emmett checks his watch. "Oh, right about now, I suppose." His casual tone belies his enthusiasm. His eyes are sparking with energy.

"Let's go get ready," Rosalie tells Victoria, and they disappear upstairs. The Forks diner once more has offered to host the big graduation party, and I can imagine a lot of parents are happy with that arrangement. Alice however has already declared that she wants to have her graduation party at the house next year. Carlisle's diplomatic reply to her statement was, "We'll see."

When Rosalie and Victoria have disappeared up the stairs, I take it as my cue to finally get away from this little shindig. Even though I don't have any valid reasons for it, I am not at ease around Rosalie and Emmett's friends. I can't get a read on Victoria, there is a hostile air around her I can't place. And James, well, he's a guy, what else is there to say?

Esme hustles upstairs to finish some laundry, and Carlisle and Alice start talking about his schedule and what they can do together during the summer holiday. Edward has moved over to his piano, and the soothing sounds drift into the living room. I close my eyes for a moment to listen. I've missed hearing him play. With finals and everything else, I think he didn't really feel like playing. But to hear the familiar sounds of a Yiruma song float into my ears tells me he's content.

It makes me content in turn.

I decide to take my glass to the kitchen before I go join him. Maybe he'll let me sit on the bench again with him. An odd sort of thrill shivers through me when I realize I want to be close to him, want his attention - and affection.

Yes, I want to be closer, and I get up, feeling a sense of purpose and urgency I can't exactly explain, but I don't care.

But in the kitchen, I suddenly hear James's voice behind me.

The glass slips from my hand, and falls to the counter with a loud thud. I turn to face him, my heart hammering in my throat.

His dirty blond hair is tied back in a pony tail. His eyes are very blue, and they even crinkle a little when he smiles. I suppose some would find him handsome, but I'm just trying to figure out how to get past him, back into the living room where the others are.

"Hi," he says. "It's still Bella, right?"

I can't even nod.

He smiles, his posture casual as he leans a shoulder against the wall with his hands in his pockets. "So you're on summer break now too, huh," he says.

Do I run for it? It would likely make me look like a fool, but that's hardly a worry right now.

"Emmett told me you can talk now."

_Well, yeah, but not to you_, I think. But James continues as if this is not a sensationally awkward conversation.

"He also said you used to use sign language?" And then he nearly makes my jaw drop when he closes his mouth and brings up his hands. _*I know a bit of that,*_ he signs, or I think he does. He is much more fluent in his movements. "My nephew has impaired hearing. I learned sign language so I could still play with him."

It annoys me that I'm impressed, but I am. It's hard to see him differently now, though. He's still a threat in my eyes.

"You're not going to talk to me, huh," he says with a smile. "That's okay."

I frown a little. Why isn't anybody coming into the kitchen right now? Edward is still playing, but his music seems to be coming from a mile away.

"Hey, I was thinking..." he then says, "I think you're a very nice girl. Would you like to go out with me sometime?"

From his reaction I can tell that fear must show on my face, because he brings up his hands in a gesture of surrender. When I finally manage to shake my head, he nods. "That's okay. Can't blame me for trying, though." He smirks, and then he starts to turn to leave the kitchen.

From out of nowhere, a word bubbles up out of my throat. "Edward."

His head whips around and he looks at me questioningly. "What?"

"I'm with Edward," I say so quietly it's merely a whisper, but James smiles, a genuine smile that reaches his eyes.

"Good for him. And good for you. But if you ever end up alone again, gimme a call." He winks, then is gone, and I sag against the counter, feeling like what just happened is completely surreal.

In a daze, I walk over to the foyer, where Edward is still playing the piano. He looks up at me and smiles, and that's all the invitation I need to sit down next to him, wanting to feel the comfort of his body close to mine.

He keeps playing, but looks at me with a frown. "Jesus, you're shaking. Are you okay?"

I swallow, then nod, but my movements are jerky, betraying my stress.

"You certain?"

His melody slows, morphing into something else fluidly.

I nod again. "Just want to sit with you for a bit," I whisper, and he moves his right hand from the keys to wrap it around my shoulders, pulling me closer.

"Of course," he says. "Always."

**~O~**

The house is quiet. Emmett and Rosalie and their friends aren't home yet from the party, and I doubt they will be before one o'clock. Since I'm not expecting to get any sleep at all tonight, I haven't even bothered to change into pajamas. Instead, I did change into more comfortable sweats, a tanktop and a hoodie, and now I'm in my rocking chair with my laptop, googling new ideas for a quilt. Since my hand is finally functioning properly again, I can try and start a new project.

I bookmark several pages. I didn't know you could make skirts out of quilts and I think Alice might be interested in it. Biting my lip, I look over to my closet. The dress she made me for prom was so amazing, but I'm not sure when I can wear it again. It was nice to wear it inside the house, but to actually go out with it would be a whole different level.

Still, I keep thinking it might be a good option for Renée's wedding. Which I still have to tell Carlisle and Esme about. Damnit, I really have to remember that.

A soft knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts. Immediately alarmed, a nearly stumble when I get up from my chair to go to the door, dropping the laptop on the bed on my way. Placing my foot behind the door, I open it just a crack.

Alice is looking at me, mischief in her eyes. Frowning in confusion, I open the door further to let her in. She's wearing her pink sleep wear, with her ridiculously big bunny slippers and a sweater on top. Her hair is still damp from her shower, but I only notice that after I have gaped at the comforter she is holding in her arms, a bag of potato chips and a bottle of coke balancing perilously on top of that.

She doesn't step inside. "Movie night," she simply announces, and then she starts to turn. For half a moment I think she means in her room, but that can't be right since she's carrying her blanket.

At the stairs to the third floor, she stops and looks at me. "Are you coming?"

"Where are you going?"

Alice rolls her eyes in mock exasperation. "Just come on. Grab a blanket. I have snacks."

I can see that, but I still don't know what she's planning to do. Alice shakes her head and walks up to me, grabs my wrist and starts tugging me into the direction of the stairs. As much as I know she doesn't mean to, her pulling on my hand like that brings a flashback of old fears and I pull my hand back with such force that she lets out a startled "oh!"

We stand frozen for a second, and her eyes drift from my hand to my face. "Oh shit, I'm so sorry," she says in a tiny voice. "I didn't even think."

I shake my head, trying to calm my frazzled nerves. "It's okay," I manage to say.

She's clearly shaken, and to try and get back the light mood she still had only a moment ago, I step into my room resolutely, pick up my quilt, and follow her to the third floor.

Alice knocks on Edward's door.

"Yeah?" comes his muffled reply.

Alice opens the door without hesitation, and what I see makes my heart skip a beat. Edward is at the other side of his bed, and he's only wearing charcoal sweats. His chest is bare, and I get a full view as he turns to us to see who is at his door.

Um.

He reaches for his shirt, which is on the bed. "What's going on?"

"Movie night," Alice announces, walking straight into his room. "I have snacks."

"Cool," Edward says, game. "Jasper not coming?" He pulls the shirt over his head, messing up his hair.

"Jasper is _reading_," Alice says like it's something dirty.

Edward wrinkles his nose playfully. "But why in my room?" he asks, looking around and trying futilely to tidy up a stack of clothes on his desk chair. Eventually, he gives up and simply drops them back where they were.

"Yours has a couch." Alice wraps her comforter around her and plops down on said couch, sighing happily as she curls her legs underneath her. "Go get glasses," she orders Edward. "Bella and I will choose a movie."

"No Sex and the City, please," Edward says right before he ducks out of his room.

"Princess Diaries!" Alice calls after him.

"Not that one, either," Edward's faint voice comes from the stairwell.

Alice snickers and gets up to scan Edward's stack of DVDs. "Definitely Rainman first, then. Definitely."

I suppress a giggle at her joke and settle on the couch while she starts the movie, wrapping the heavy quilt around my legs. When Alice turns back to me, she looks puzzled.

"Why are you on the couch?"

"Why not?"

"Because his bed is bigger. And softer. And has Edward in it," she says like it's obvious.

I consider asking her why she doesn't choose the bed then, but decide against it. "Not sure if he wants that," I say instead.

Alice laughs. "Honey, I guarantee you he wants that. The question is, do you?"

"Do what?" Edward asks as he steps back into the room. He's carrying three glasses and a huge bag of peanut m&m's that has somehow not yet been discovered by Emmett, and I get up immediately to help him before he drops a glass and breaks it.

Alice says nothing. Instead, she settles herself on the couch in such a way that I can't possibly sit down next to her anymore. She stretches out and then looks at me, all mock-innocence. "Oops. Guess you'll have to use his bed, then."

I half consider taking his desk chair instead, just to make a point. But the truth is, I want to be close to Edward, even without Alice's meddling.

I set down the glasses on the tiny coffee table Edward has in front of his couch and look over my shoulder to see that he has settled himself against his headboard, the bag of m&m's resting on his abdomen.

He reaches out his hand to me in invitation, and that's all the incentive I need. I walk around the bed and settle in, smiling at Edward when he pulls my quilt over both our legs.

"I haven't seen this movie in ages," Edward says as Alice has pressed 'play.' "I remember it was good though."

"It is, now hush," Alice admonishes, burrowing deeper into her blanket.

It takes me no time at all to get completely engrossed in the movie. Edward is feeding me m&m's steadily, until I'm so full I have to push his hand away. About halfway through the movie, he quietly starts sliding down so he's lying flat, taking me with him and spooning me. He pulls the quilt closer, cocooning us both in warmth.

The movie is amazing. When it's done, it's late, but Alice gets up and puts on a new DVD without saying anything. It's a film I've never seen before, and it can't hold my attention. I don't mind, though. I keep myself occupied by enjoying the feel of Edward's arms around me, his chest against my back.

His head is so close I can feel his breath against my neck, and it makes me want to burrow even closer to him. He seems to sense it, because he tightens his grip and nuzzles my nape.

I'm not nervous anymore. Instead, I feel calm, and sheltered.

"This movie is so boring," he says quietly, "don't you agree?"

I giggle soundlessly, because I do. It's not my kind of movie either, but I have enough distraction to keep me occupied while Alice watches it through the end.

But when the movie finally does finish, nothing happens. The DVD goes back to the main menu, lighting up the room in a bluish hue. Edward turns a little to look over his shoulder at his sister.

"She's sleeping," he whispers. He slips out of bed without a sound and turns off the television, plunging the room in darkness. My heartbeat picks up a little when he slides back underneath the quilt, taking up his old position.

He breathes in deeply, and I am quite sure he is enjoying this as much as I am, even though the darkness makes me a bit nervous.

"You can stay here, if you want," he whispers so softly I can barely hear it. "You don't have to go back to your own room tonight."

Do I want to sleep here? Is that the reason why Alice insisted to have the movie night in Edward's room? She must have. When it comes to Edward and me, she rarely doesn't have some ulterior motive, though I do see she means it all for the best and is rarely too intrusive with her... guidance, for lack of a better word.

"Stay," Edward murmurs. "Stay with me tonight."

With a sigh that eases some of the tension that has started to build, I give in. As quietly as possible, Edward scoots closer still, tugging at the quilt so we'll stay warm enough.

"Good night, Bella," he whispers. Then he grins. "I should come up with a nickname for you."

"As long as it's not Boo," I murmur, relaxing in his arms.

I can feel his body shake as he tries to suppress his laughter. "I won't."

We lie in silence for a moment. I don't expect to get any sleep at all, but my mind is calm and I am content to be lying here while Edward gets his rest. After a while, his breathing changes and I know he has fallen asleep.

What I didn't foresee however, is that the quilt is thick, and my hoodie is even thicker. Together they make sure I'm cozy warm at first, but getting hotter by the minute. I don't dare move for fear of waking Edward, but after a while, it's starting to be very uncomfortable, and I shift.

Edward wakes immediately. "What's wrong?"

Do I tell him?

It turns out I don't have to, for he pulls back a little and leans up on an elbow. "Aren't you hot? I can feel it radiating off you." His hand pats my sweater. "Take of your hoodie," he whispers. "It's too warm to keep that on."

When I hesitate, he rubs my arm. "The lights are out, and I won't pounce, as you know by now."

He's right, but it's still hard. With a heart that's hammering in my throat, I allow him to help me pull off the heavy sweater. Goosebumps race over my skin as it comes I contact with the cooler air of the room.

I turn to my back when Edward has dropped the hoodie to the floor, needing a moment to recollect myself. I try to reason with my fear, that I've worn a dress with him and that I was more vulnerable in that, than in these clothes I am wearing now.

But it's not just that, is it. It's opening up, trusting Edward enough to show my body, my skin, even though it's dark.

His warm fingertips trace my arm comfortingly and he stays quiet. Maybe he senses that I need a moment. His caress pauses on my shoulder, when he touches one of the many scars that are left over from my past, but instead of asking about it, he leans in and presses his lips to the marred skin.

I take a shaky breath at this clear sign of acceptance, and when I sense him coming closer, I turn my head in his direction to meet his mouth with mine.

No words are being said.

And when he turns me away from him and wraps his body around mine once more, my fear for not only him, but also his acceptance of who I am and what package I come in, slides away much as my consciousness does as I drift into a restful sleep.

* * *

_I'll update when I can, I promise.  
_

_Meanwhile, what nickname should Edward give Bella?  
_


	75. Chapter 75

**A/N Twilight or any recognizable parts of it aren't mine. The rest of the story is.**

_You keep me going with your love and support. I can't thank you enough! Thanks for all the lovely nicknames you suggested! I will do something with that, promise._

_Little bit of creative freedom in this chapter. Bear with me. I know in 'real' Bella's case, Stefan would have been behind bars already. Over two years ago when I started this story, I didn't know that. So, just go along with it, okay? _

_As ever thanks to my beta Sherryola and to Bob and Aleea for prereading. _

* * *

In general, I rarely sleep through the night. I am used to waking up multiple times, either from bad dreams or because my inner alarm system wants to make sure nobody is going to bother me while I sleep.

This night, in Edward's bed, I open my eyes for the first time when the dull, grey light of dawn is seeping through the dark curtains. My body is on high alert, because I can hear something moving behind me. Edward is still asleep, I can tell from the way his body is relaxed and his breathing is deep and even.

I don't move as I listen to the soft rustle of sound, and a moment later, I see Alice step into my line of sight. Her hair is tousled and her eyes are tiny with sleep still. She has her blanket wrapped around her like a cape, and she keeps it closely around her body as she carefully makes her way to the bedroom door, opening it quietly.

When she steps out and turns to close it behind her, she catches my gaze. She smiles and blows me a silent kiss before she shuts the door with the softest click.

I am now alone in the room with Edward, and also no longer able to fall back asleep.  
Alice won't come back, I know. She has gone to her own bed, or Jasper's - that, I don't know. I breathe in deeply, expanding my lungs, and then exhale. There's a sense of peace in having Edward sleep against me. His arm is no longer around my waist, but his chest is still pressed against me. My tanktop must have ridden up during my sleep, because when I shift, I can clearly feel the fabric of Edward's shirt against the naked skin of my back.

As carefully as possible, I pull my top back down, covering up my body. I must find a way to put my sweater back on before Edward wakes up. I don't want him to see my scars in full daylight. They're ugly, and I don't want to scare him. I don't like looking at my scars myself, so I can't imagine he would even want to see them. I'd best do him a favor and cover myself up before he wakes. It will save us awkward moments, for sure.

Edward shifts slightly in his sleep, turning half to his back. A moment later, the softest of snores reach my ears. And God help me, but I think it's cute.

But if he's snoring, that means he is still deeply asleep, so I may have a chance to sneak out of bed without him waking. It'll give me a chance to put something on, and to use the restroom, because my bladder feels like it's about to burst.

Slowly, moving the mattress as little as possible, I shift away from him. Just when I'm about to sit up, Edward's hand touches my back. I freeze up in an instinctual reaction.  
"Don't go," he murmurs. "Don't go just yet."

I turn around and see that his eyes are still closed. He's still half asleep, his fingers barely moving against my tank top.

"I'll be back," I whisper. "I have to use the bathroom."

He nods, still very sleepy, and settles down again. I think he's back asleep before I've even put on my hoodie and left the room. And holy hell, _everything_ hurts. Maybe Emmett was right about taking days off running, because my legs are _sore_. Damn.

Everybody else is still asleep, so I move down to my own room quickly. I lock myself in the bathroom and take care of business. And while I'm here, I might as well wash my face, brush my teeth and comb my hair too.

Before I can start to worry if it's a good idea to go back to Edward, I take the stairs two at a time and slip back into his room, grateful I haven't seen any other members of the house as yet.

I approach the bed cautiously, as always afraid that I've overstayed my welcome and have misread his earlier invitation. But when he opens his eyes and smiles, I crawl back under the covers with him. He hums in appreciation, burrowing his head in the crook of my neck as I settle on my back on the mattress.

And then a giggle bursts free when I realize he has brushed his teeth, too. He chuckles along and wraps his arm around me, sliding his hand underneath the hoodie.

I stiffen, unsure.

He doesn't do anything else. He doesn't even move his hand. It's just there, with his arm a comforting weight on my stomach.

"This okay?" he asks.

Nodding, I rest my own hand on his forearm, feeling the soft hair on his skin against my fingertips.

"Slept well?" he murmurs.

"Yeah," I reply. "You?"

"Very."

Silence settles between us again. Outside of Edward's room, the house is still quiet. It must be around seven in the morning. Since Edward doesn't speak, and I don't have anything to say, we both drift off into slumber again.

I wake again when I heard Emmett call out something to someone. What he says doesn't register, but I hear him going down the stairs a moment later. Edward stirs as well, and then stretches, his muscles trembling faintly with the force of use.

"I swear I won't miss the volume of his voice when he's gone," Edward mutters. He ducks his head to rub his face with the slow movements of someone who is still more asleep than awake.

"But you'll miss him," I say tentatively.

"Yeah, and Rosalie, too. Maybe we could do some fun things together while they're still here."

I nod in agreement, but since I don't really know what you can do around here, I have nothing to offer. And how sad is that, really. I've been here for over half a year and I still wouldn't know how to walk from the town diner to the high school. For someone who likes to be as independent as possible, I've sure done a piss poor job at taking care of myself.

"You've pulled your sweater back on," Edward observes suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts.

I don't say anything, since it's kind of obvious I did.

"Why? Were you cold?"

The easiest answer would be to say 'yes,' and to lie to him. But I can't lie to save my life, and especially not to Edward. But telling him the truth isn't going to be easy, either.

He exhales, but it's not in frustration. He's thinking.

"You know you don't have to hide from me, right?"

"It's better that way," I reply after a while. I'm looking at the ceiling, but I know he is looking at me intently. I can't meet his gaze.

"Why?" he asks. "Are you scared I will do something you don't want?"

It's not just that, I think, but my tongue is tied. I guess some things will forever be hard to put in words, whether or not I can talk. The idea of showing skin is horrific to me. Even if it hadn't been scarred, I know I would have hated my body with the same depth.

"Sorry," I finally whisper.

"No," he says immediately. "This is nothing you have to apologize about. I'm just trying to figure out what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," I say quietly. "No words can fix it, anyway."  
"But words can comfort, and soothe."

He leans up on an elbow, looking down at me, but I refuse to meet his gaze. How to tell him that I feel defiled, ugly, tainted? No matter if he wants to see me or not, I don't want to see myself. And I'm not even yet thinking about going further in our intimacy. For some reason, I know he's not thinking about that, either.

He tugs gently on the hem of my hoodie. "Take it off," he coaxes. "It's no different from last night."

"It's light now," I counter.

"You don't want me to see?" he asks, his eyes searching mine.

"I don't want you to look at me," I clarify, a lump in my throat constricting my voice. "I hate looking at myself. You don't have to."

What I see in his eyes makes me balk in every possible way. Pity. I don't want any fucking pity.

"Don't look at me like that," I say, my voice more clipped than I've ever dared.

"I'm not, and if I am, I can't help it," he says. "I hate that you dislike yourself so much."

His words don't come across as he probably means them, and I snap. In one movement, I am sitting up with my back to him, pulling up my sweater and top with such force I can feel the seams dig into my skin.

He stops breathing when he sees what I know is there. Even though they have faded to white, the scars are plentiful and ugly, following a random pattern over my skin and ribs.  
I can't look at him, but if he feels like I have nothing to hate about my body, then he better think again. And he better have a good look while he has a chance, because I won't ever show him again, that's for sure.

I jump when I feel his warm fingertips against my back, and I'm reminded of prom night, when he touched my back and it was so intense I wanted to run and hide. It was too much then, and it's almost too much now. I sit completely still as he traces first one scar, and then another. And then his fingertips trace a path I can feel so perfectly I know he is touching the skin that isn't marred.

I take a shaky breath, and exhale when his hand comes to rest flat on my lower back. Then, with infinite care, he tucks the fabric of my clothes back down. He sits up behind me, positioning himself so that I am sitting in between his legs. His arms wrap around my waist and he leans his cheek on my shoulder, rubbing it against my hoodie.

"If I had scars, would you like me less?" he asks after a long while.

"It's not that," I reply, my voice rough. "I feel so dirty, all the time. Like my body isn't mine. I hate looking at it. Hate seeing my skin."

"I don't," is all he says in return. He doesn't deny that I think I'm dirty, but somehow I know it is because he understands it's a perception of mine that his approval of me, or his denial of said dirtiness, is not going to help me. He doesn't think I am tainted, but knows it won't help me if he says that.

"Well, I won't show you again," I say, frowning at how petulant I sound.

"That's okay," he says easily.

I still at his easy acquiescence. I had thought he would try harder to convince me, and now he doesn't. My mind shifts, wondering if he is finally accepting what I know to be true.

"I'm ugly," I whisper.

"You're not," he whispers back immediately. "You're actually stunningly beautiful, even though you don't believe it. And those scars are part of you. They won't go away so it's no use worrying over them."

"Easier said than done."

Edward shifts to my side and pulls the leg of his sweats up over his knee. I do a double take when underneath the hair on his leg, I can see a broad scar that starts above his knee and ends below it. Before I can stop myself I reach out to touch the ruined skin. It looks like some kind of burn, but not quite.

He reaches out and places his warm hand over mine, pressing it against his knee. "I had this stunt bike when I was a kid. I wanted to practice on the lawn, and dad said I needed to wear protection - a helmet, knee caps. I didn't, and I fell on the gravel. My head was bleeding, as was my knee. Nearly gave my mom a heart attack."

I look up at his hair, trying to discover a mark I haven't seen before. He shakes his head. "My head wasn't as bad as my knee, only head wounds bleed much heavier. My hair covers it all up."

His fingers caress the back of my hand, the feeling no longer alien. I meet his gaze when he looks at me. "So, do you like me less now?"

I shake my head. His point is clear but logic and emotion rarely work together in my head.

"I hate you've been in pain," I say, looking back at the scar on his leg.

"There you go," he says, catching my gaze again.

I open my mouth to say something, but I wouldn't know what words I could possibly use. In the end, I go for the obvious. "That doesn't change how I think about myself."  
He chuckles and wraps his arms around me, rocking us slowly. "I know. You're way too stubborn for that."

~O~

If Esme and Carlisle have noticed that Edward, Alice and I had a sleepover last night, they don't mention anything when we join them at the table for lunch. Two chairs have been added so James and Victoria can join us, and Esme has truly made us a feast. My leftover marzipan creations are on a plate in the center of the table, and James admires them overtly.

"It's a pity to eat them," he says, then looks at Emmett. "How do you deal?"

Emmett grins his dimpled grin. "Beg her to make more," he says with a wink. "She usually does."

"She's a good cook, too," Jasper adds, adding to my blush. "And an excellent baker."

James looks at me again. "You're going to make a man very happy, someday."

It's like a gun has gone off. Everything stops, and everyone goes quiet for a long moment. Then Alice gasps, and from across the table I can feel Edward's piercing, worried gaze focused on me.

"She's a bit young to be worrying about that yet," Carlisle says, trying to break the sudden tension.

James laughs in a relaxed manner, aware that he has made some sort of blunder. "Was just saying. I know she's with Edward."

Another silence, and I duck my head. Then someone snorts - Rosalie. She tries to contain her giggles, but fails. Alice follows, then Jasper, then Emmett. Esme simply looks amused but surprised, and Edward smiles and shakes his head. Carlisle is looking from James, to Edward, to me.

"And here we're treating Bella like she's made of glass," Rosalie says when she has her laughter under control. "You asked her out, didn't you?"

"I did," James says, unabashed. "And I got let down gently."

Even though everyone is still smiling, I still wish I could disappear. When I peek up through my lashes to see if the attention has moved away from me yet, I see James signing to me.

_*Forgive me, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Are you okay?*_

"You, what the... What?" Rosalie says, looking at James. "Dude, did you just use sign language?"

"Yeah?" he says, his answer forming a question. "My nephew doesn't hear much, and I used to babysit him a lot when he was younger."

"You just gained points in the admiration category there," Emmett says, jerking his head in Rosalie's direction.

Rosalie seems speechless, but recovers. "Damn, I thought you only spoke English and sarcasm."

"Sarcasm can be conveyed through sign language," James says. "You just need a brilliant brain for that." He pops his collar in mock arrogance, and Emmett grins.

"God," Victoria mutters in exaggerated exasperation.

The banter goes on for a while. Alice tries to distract me by asking me to go to the mall with her sometime next week. "You need summer clothes," she whispers. "The muggy heat here is horrible. You really can't wear hoodies then."

I know she's right. And back in Phoenix, I didn't even really have the thick hoodies I got here. But I've gotten used to the big, concealing pieces of clothing, and it will be hard to let go of them until the fall.

"Hey, let's go to La Push today," Jasper proposes when lunch is almost done. "The sun is supposed to be out later."

"Yes," Rosalie says excitedly. "We have a few hours before you have to go back to Seattle, right?" she asks Victoria and James.

"No rush," Victoria says.

"Why don't you stay a bit longer?" Esme asks pleasantly. "You're very welcome to."

Oh, ugh.

Emmett and Rosalie are all for it, of course, and immediately plans are made to go to the movies that night. First though, they will go to La Push, and Edward and Alice insist I come along with them.

"We can just have another movie night tonight," Alice says quietly when we are on our way to the garage. She smiles up at me with an understanding that brings an unexpected lump to my throat.

"Thank you," I whisper.

She just beams and hops in the back of Rosalie's convertible the moment the top is down. She pats the seat next to her so I will join her, and within moments, we are on our way to the beach, following the boys in Emmett's Jeep.

"Your mom and dad must be relieved to have the house to themselves for a bit?" Victoria asks Rosalie when she parks at the reservation.

Rosalie shrugs. "They're parents. They gave up their own life when they decided to have children."

Her voice is not as harsh as her words, and in her eyes I can see she is joking. Victoria seems to miss that, however.

"They gave up even more of their lives by adopting you and Jasper, and then taking in Bella," she says.

Rosalie halts mid-move and looks up at her friend. Then she nods almost imperceptibly in acceptance of Victoria's point. "Let's go."

We meet up with the guys at the path to the beach. Edward looks over his shoulder to see if I'm all right, and then turns to his brothers again. They're bantering, pushing each other and running ahead to the water line.

It's nice to see Edward being in such a light mood. After this morning, he needs a laugh.  
We walk after them, and Alice companionably hooks her arm through mine as we trudge through the sand to where the others are. The sun is out, and when I see the ocean, I have to stop for a moment to take in the sight.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Rosalie asks me. "I'll miss it here."

"It is beautiful here," Victoria agrees. "Do you come here often?"

"Not really," Rosalie says. "I don't know why."

"Because the boys from the rez are annoying is why," Alice mutters. "They kind of feel like this is their beach."

"But they're not here now," Rosalie says. "So it's not a problem."

She looks up ahead when Emmett calls out her name, and she walks up to him. He lifts her easily and swings her around. "Congratulations baby," he says, kissing her. "I'm so damn proud of you."

"Hey!" we hear suddenly from a distance, and when I look into the direction of the voice, I can see Eric and Ben wave at us. They start walking to us, and Jasper and Edward go up to greet them. They start talking right away, and for a moment I wonder why if Edward gets along with them like that, why he wouldn't want to meet with them after school more often.

Jasper seems to be bored by the conversation quickly, and he turns back to Alice.  
"Think the water is still cold?" Jasper muses as he looks at her.

She narrows her eyes at him. "Oh no you don't," she warns. A high pitched squeal escapes her when Jasper swings her up and over his shoulder in one fluid move and he walks to the water line.

I'm pretty sure Jasper won't throw her in the water - it is far from warm and the water itself must be freezing still. But he sure keeps up the suspense as he balances Alice closer and closer to the water line.

I watch them play and wish, for the thousandth time, that I could be carefree like that.  
Beside me, I hear Victoria huff a bitter laugh, and I look at her, wondering what she means. She's quiet for a long time, and the silence is awkward.

Finally, she speaks.

"You're lucky, you know."

I blink at her, lost as to what she means.

"Did Rose ever tell you I grew up in the system?"

I shake my head, and Victoria smiles bitterly again. She starts to walk, and I follow her, sensing she wants to talk.

"I moved from foster home to foster home. I was a difficult child, and every time the family couldn't handle me anymore, they sent me away."

God, that's just horrible. I'm sure my compassion shows in my gaze, but she's not looking at me. She's looking at the horizon with unseeing eyes. Still, she walks on, and I follow. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I feel she needs to talk to someone, and if I can be that person, then I will be.

"Sometimes I think that some foster families are just in it for the money they get. They don't care for shit about the children."

I feel like I should talk, but it's still so hard to use my voice with someone I basically don't trust.

"So yeah, you're lucky. You're seventeen, right? It's amazing a family wanted to take you in at that age. And I think it's a lot better for you than when you'd been sent to a home until you were eighteen."

Lucky… She's right, of course.

"Can I ask how it was for you before you got here? Did you live in many homes?"  
She stops walking so she can see me shake my head. I hold up two fingers.

"Why did you have to leave your last home?"

Oof, I don't want to talk about that. I don't want to talk, period. Yet, she's given me her story, so why shouldn't I give her mine in return? Her violent demeanor has disappeared, and in its place a vulnerability has taken over I've rarely seen in anyone before.

The ability to use my voice comes with the realization that we know too much about the kind of life we've led before we were able to break free of it.

"I ran away," I whisper, my words nearly drowned out over the waves.

"And then they didn't want you back?" she presses. "I did that once, you know. I ran away because the perv tried to touch me. They sent me to yet a new home then."

"I didn't have to go back," I say, my voice still hoarse.

"Lucky you," she murmurs. "Is that when you got here?"

I nod.

She suddenly smiles. "Don't you ever act up? Get angry? I wasn't a nice kid when I was younger. James says I still have a mean streak."

I shake my head. "I'm angry, sometimes. But it's better to stay calm."

She does a double take at me, and her piercing gaze seems to look right into my soul. "Oh my God, you were abused, weren't you."

It's not even a question, and in my alarm and confusion my mind still has a moment to realize that neither Emmett nor Rosalie must have disclosed anything about my past. Bless them, to show that discretion.

I look away from Victoria and pull my sleeves over my hands, even though I am already too warm in my hoodie.

"Holy shit. In your foster home?"

I nod.

It's the first time I've ever admitted to someone outside the family what happened in my past. And her reaction is so genuine, it soothes me more than I ever thought it would. She doesn't ridicule me. No. She believes me, and sees me as the victim.

Her hand goes up to her mouth. "Goddamn. I'm so sorry. You must be so happy to be here right now, away from all that misery. Is the fucker in jail?"

I shake my head, feeling miserable suddenly.

"Why not? Isn't the state building a case against him? Haven't you pressed charges?"  
I wring my hands. "Testifying is… hard. And he has a lot of friends in the right places."

"That's just wrong, Bella," she says.

"I'm just glad to be out," I say quietly.

"And what if he gets a new foster kid? Then what?"

The question is like a blow to my stomach and blind panic overtakes me when I realize I've never even thought of that before. I sink to my knees as I lose all my strength for a moment, the sand feeling moist even through my jeans.

Oh, God. Oh God oh God, what if he has some other girl in his house right now? But they wouldn't do that, would they? He lives alone, and they always try to place kids with couples, not single men. Right?

A hand on my shoulder startles me and I jerk away.

"It's okay, Bella. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sure no such thing has happened yet." Victoria kneels in front of me so she's at eye level. "You never even considered it, did you."

I shake my head.

"You have to consider pressing charges," she says.

"I know," I croak. "But if he wins the case, it will all have been for nothing."

"No," she says. "Even if he wins that case, you will have done everything in your power to bring him down. It will give you closure."

I move from my knees to my butt and look out over the water dejectedly. I'm not sure why I am telling her all this. Maybe it's our shared experience and her frank demeanor once her guard is down. I can see why Rose likes her so much.

"I only just got my voice back," I confess. "I need time."

She doesn't deny it. "You do. But when the time is right, you will use that voice of yours and tell the world what happened. Promise me. I never got to do anything to make them pay for what they did, because all I ever lacked was love and support and I can't prove even that. That's not against the law. What happened to you though, is."

I swallow thickly. "I know."

She reaches for my hand and squeezes it. "I know I'm not the typical girly girl, and I tend to keep people at an arm's length. I've been let down so often, I don't know anymore how to let others in."

"Sounds familiar," I say wryly, and she smiles.

"But I can be a friend if you ever need one. So if you ever want to talk to someone who knows what it's like, call me, okay?"

I nod, still reeling by the absurd turns this conversation has taken. She gives me her phone number and I call her so she has mine, as well. Then she rakes her hair back with her hand and I can see how her guard goes back up; her shoulders straighten and her eyes go cold. But now I understand why she comes across like she does.

She's just been let down one too many times.

Just like me.


	76. Chapter 76

**A/N Twilight is not mine. But some day, I'm going to be a famous author too, You'll see.**

_All the love and warm smooches to Sherry. Thanks to Bob, although she should (and probably will) be spanked for the stunt she pulled :( Shoutout to Fra ITA because she needs a hug. And thank you, Southern, for giving me the best possible nickname for Bella ever. _

**_Sorry it took me so long to update! I finished the chapter, hated it, so deleted it and started again. This one is the result and extra long to make up for it. I like it. A lot :) _**

_Music: Maria Mena - All this time; Robert Pattinson - Never think; Beck and bat for lashes - let's get lost; David Usher - Black black heart._

* * *

Back from the beach, Rosalie and Emmett take James and Victoria to the diner for drinks. After that, they will go to Port Angeles for dinner and a movie.

I help Esme with dinner, chopping up the vegetables and browning the meat while she clears out the dishwasher. The movements of the cooking calm me, but Esme's presence is providing the true sense of comfort I'm feeling.

To my surprise, and pleasure, my words come easily. We chat a little about random things, like the ad for some fancy kitchen machine she saw, and if I miss the Phoenix heat.

"I moved state twice," I muse while I stir the contents of the big frying pan with a spatula. "That's quite rare, isn't it?"

"It's not unheard of, but not usually done. In your case though, I don't think it was a very bad thing. You wouldn't have been at ease if you were close to your old house."

I nod in acquiescence, but my mind goes to Renée. I would have been closer to her had I not moved state. Then again, if I had stayed in Phoenix, I doubt I would have been taken in by a family as nice as the Cullens. If any family would have taken me in at all. I'm going on eighteen; as a foster kid I'm not very interesting merchandise.

"You always drift off in your thoughts," Esme says kindly. "I sometimes wonder if you even realize you do that."

I have to smile. "Not really. When I didn't speak, nobody noticed."

"Are you happy to have your voice back?" Esme asks suddenly, genuinely interested.

"Yeah, I think so. Although talking is still weird at times."

Dinner preparations are finished quickly, and without Emmett and Rosalie or their friends, the table is nice and quiet. I can appreciate the calm, and it helps me to be able to actually eat as much as my body needs. No matter how hard I try, gaining weight is still difficult.

Or maybe I'm not trying hard enough. Deep down, I know that I should simply eat more, have more candy maybe and definitely more protein. I guess that being thin is some last remnant of control my brain isn't ready to give up. A body without hipbones and ribs protruding is more attractive to others' eyes. And being attractive is not an item on my wish list.

I think I am doing well, in terms of coming to terms with things, but some aspects will take more time. It's just that I'm not sure if I should be more forgiving towards myself, or more demanding. Is it okay to stay thin for a while longer, or should I gain weight? I wish I could talk to Siobhan about that. Or Esme, maybe. But it's not a matter of getting a chance to talk. It's having the courage.

I guess communication will forever be difficult for me.

After dinner, Alice takes me right up to Edward's room for another movie night. I am better prepared this time, and have put on one of the old long sleeved shirts I brought with me from Phoenix underneath a vest. That way, I won't have to sleep in my tank top again.

We debate a little about what movie we should watch. In the end we agree on some action movie with Bruce Willis, and we settle in to watch with drinks and popcorn.

It's not like last night.

The evening lasts longer since we started hours earlier, and the atmosphere is not as relaxed as the night before. I know I am likely the only one feeling the stress, but somehow, knowing I won't be sleeping in my own bed tonight is making me tense. Edward seems to sense it too, and he gently massages the nape of my neck.

He doesn't say anything, but I can see him looking at me from the corner of his eye from time to time.

When Alice hops up for a bathroom break, Edward tilts his head so his mouth is closer to my ear while he still focuses on the TV.

"It'll be the same like last night, you know."

"I know," I reply, but my fingers are fidgeting in my lap, numb.

He places his warm hand over mine to still them. "Nobody says you have to sleep here. You can just go to your own bed tonight. Or Alice can come stay there with you."

"She doesn't have to stay. I don't have anything she can sleep on in my room."

"We'd figure something out." He thinks for a moment, and changes tack. "I would have thought you'd be less stressed on the second night."

I shrug in an effort to ease some of the stiffness in my shoulders. "I don't want to think about it," I say after a minute. "It's always about my past. I want to be in the now for once."

Edward holds up his free hand as if in surrender. "I shouldn't have brought it up. But, shit, I just want you to relax. What's there to be afraid of?"

A short laugh escapes me, and it sounds so bitter that shame colors my cheeks. I look at my covered hands in my lap, suddenly feeling like I am a thousand years old.

I'm so tired of everything, sometimes.

Edward sighs, even though I can tell he's trying to suppress it.

At that moment, Alice comes back into the room. She takes two steps inside the door, looks at us, halts, and turns around again, throwing over her shoulder that she's going to get more snacks.

Which is a shit excuse, but a welcome one all the same.

Edward and I are silent for a while, each lost in our own thoughts. The question whether I will ever lose my fear and be able to be in a healthy, functioning relationship is still an issue, dangling above our heads like Damocles's sword.

I'm torn between the desire to give in to what I am parched for - some love, some intimacy and affection, but on the other hand, the fear is an old companion I am coming to realize I am hiding behind. Moving forward is scarier than keeping up my guard now.

Even if it's not ideal, it's what I know.

But then I think of Edward and the way his hand touched the skin on my belly and while one part of my brain wants so much more of that, the other part of me wants to hide away from it all.

How I can want it and not want it at the same time, I don't understand. But then, like a predator creeping in on its prey, realization creeps into my mind.

I want Edward to touch me like he did.

But only if I can be sure it will be nothing more than that.

Affection, to give it a name, might be okay. Intimacy freaks me out. Big time.

A deep sigh escapes me, and if I felt tired before, I'm exhausted now.

Edward leans his head against mine, and we're quiet until Alice comes back with two bottles of soda and a fresh bag of potato chips.

I don't speak anymore, and I don't process much of what is happening in the next movie we watch. When the hour grows late, I crawl under the covers because Edward guides me to do so. He doesn't spoon me, as if he knows that I can't stand such close contact right now.

But throughout the movies we watch, as time ticks by and my frantic mind turns my thoughts into a tangle of worries, he holds my hand, squeezing it now and then in a silent show of everlasting support.

I wish I could fade to sleep. I wish I could let go of the tension my body seems determined to hold. I wish I could turn into Edward's embrace like I am desiring and close my eyes, feeling as safe as I would in my fantasy. But I am wide awake, watching the television screen without seeing, being vividly aware of the mattress against my back and the blankets over my front without feeling.

It's not just fear anymore that is keeping me hyperaware of everything. It's the realization I just had, and the questions that are racing through my mind because of it.

Long after midnight, a soft knock sounds on the bedroom door and Jasper pops his head in.

My body stiffens up completely and immediately, an involuntary reaction caused by years of conditioning. I'm lying flat and therefore by default in a vulnerable position. Jasper, even though not a threat to me, my instinct classifies as dangerous all the same.

Oblivious to my fear, Jasper looks around the room and greets us. "Here you are," he tells Alice when he sees her. "Are you coming to bed?"

"I'm staying here, I think," she says.

Jasper pouts theatrically. "Again?"

Alice looks over to us, indecision showing in her eyes. I'm pretty sure she senses the tension between Edward and me, but she won't say anything about that, I know.

"I'll think about it. But the movie isn't finished yet."

Jasper looks over at the TV and shrugs. "Seen it already. I'll wait for you in my room, 'kay?"

Alice nods and Jasper disappears again. My body is still on high alert, stiff as a board in Edward's bed.

I want to smash something. Really.

A surprised, quiet gasp leaves me when I feel Edward's hand on my waist, under the blankets. His thumb is rubbing soothing circles.

At first I wait, wondering if his hand is going to travel higher, touch me where I'm not ready for it. But his hand stays where it is, its warmth seeping through my clothes and touching my skin.

It's… pleasant. And when it finally clicks that he's not going to do anything else, I can at last start to relax again.

When the movie is over, Alice sighs. "I guess I better go to Jasper then. Will you two be all right in here?"

"Yeah," Edward says. "Of course."

"Okay," Alice says, but she doesn't sound convinced. Still, she picks up her blanket and empty glass and disappears from the room, which is lit in a ghostly glow from the television screen.

Edward's hand leaves my waist and lazily reaches to the nightstand to pick up the remote. He turns to some music channel, and the soft sounds drift into the room.

I recognize parts of Lakme, but it's used in pop music.

Behind me, Edward chuckles, low and drawn-out. "That is _so_ not the song for this moment," he murmurs, amused.

He looks up at me when I stay quiet, seeing the question in my eyes. "Listen to the lyrics," he says.

My cheeks feel warm, then hot, then scalding as I listen to what the woman actually sings. The music is sultry, the rhythm perfect for the song. There is… something in it that seems to tug at me, although it's not the actual words used.

When I glance over at Edward, he laughs softly. "For all you've been through, you can be so deliciously innocent at times."

"Hey," I say, mock frowning at his condescension and trying to get rid of the undercurrent of my emotions.

He smiles, his eyes glittering in the dark room. "I can see your blush from here," he says teasingly.

I press my cool hands against my cheeks, and am relieved when the song has ended and another one is beginning.

"Still so tense?" he asks after a while. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

I look over at him. I can only see the half of his face that catches the light from the TV, but his expression is clear. Concern, worry. Concentration as he lifts his hand and strokes a few errant hairs away from my face.

I flinch when his hand comes close, and the involuntary wince is more telling than any words could explain.

"I won't do anything, Bella. Can't you trust me that far?"

I take a deep breath. Knowing he can't see much of my face, since the television is behind me, helps.

"But you'll want more. In time. No," I say when he opens his mouth to contradict me. "It's natural, Edward. I know you'll want to move forward."

He checks, and I can see the frown he tries to hide. "You don't?" he finally asks, his voice rough.

Another deep breath. "It's hard to explain."

"Try me."

"I think I like… being touched," I say haltingly, afraid as ever to admit something like that.

Edward doesn't speak, but nudges me silently to continue. His hand catches mine and squeezes, grounding me.

I turn to my side so I can face him better, clutching his hand to my chest like an anchor.

"But I'm not sure if I want more than that," I continue quietly. "I don't know how to put it."

Edward thinks for a moment. "You mean like non-sexual or something?"

My face grows hot instantly at his words, but Edward doesn't tease me this time.

"We can do that," he says. "Actually, I think it's a good idea. Maybe you need to get more used to touch before it becomes anything more. And if we agree that, like, the erogenous zones are off limits, you might be able to actually relax."

"Right," I say, stunned at his insight and the fact that he actually has the courage to put things in words so candidly.

"Right," he repeats. "So… Boundaries. We need to set boundaries. And then we need to get it into that head of yours that you can actually, you know, trust me."

"It's not a trust thing," I counter. The look Edward gives me makes me laugh in spite of the subject matter we're discussing.

He changes the positions of our hands, so that I am holding his hand instead of the other way around. Then he places our intertwined hands against my belly.

"Show me," he says, his voice quiet. "Show me where I can go."

My breath halts for a second and I squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back, before I start moving our hands over my abdomen. It feels weird to do this, and then at the same time it doesn't.

I move our intertwined hands over my belly, keeping below my midriff and above my hipbones. Edward never looks away from my eyes, and he is truly letting me lead. His arm is relaxed, and in his gaze and body I can feel that I am the one in control right now.

"What about your back?" he asks quietly, not interrupting the atmosphere in the room.

My back… I don't like to be touched there in general, yet the two times Edward touched me there were completely overwhelming. And not necessarily in a bad way. Just a lot to take in.

"I don't know," I finally whisper, but that's a lie. I just don't know how to tell him what I want, since I'm not sure what I want at all.

"Want to figure it out with me?" he asks.

My heart picks up speed as if on cue.

"Turn to your stomach," he says before I can start lining up all the reasons why I should push my guard up a little further. "Do it," he adds in a voice that implies 'it's all right.'

I roll over so I'm almost flat on my belly, my face still in Edward's direction. He leans up on an elbow and his free hand carefully pulls the hem of my vest and longsleeve up. Again his steady gaze never wavers, never looks away from my eyes as his hand drifts up the skin of my back.

Was it only yesterday that I showed him my scars? Was it really only yesterday that I was so intent on never allowing him to touch the parts of me that are marked?

But as his fingertips caress up my back, my skin awakens, making my brain almost short circuit with the sensory overload of everything that feels good and nice and wonderful.

My eyes pop as gooseflesh races over my entire body, and I can see the smile in Edward's eyes when he feels my skin's reaction to his touch.

His hand moves in lazy circles over my back, never moving unexpectedly and never venturing out of my comfort zone. I know I should worry about him feeling my scars, know I should be frantic, but all the panicking seems to be taking place in a distant corner of my mind. No matter how much I hate being touched, his hand on my back feels _good_ and for some reason it's all I can process right now.

Gradually, my heart and breathing calm down, and I can feel my lungs expand with every intake of breath. I tuck in my chin as if that would give him more space to move, and after a while, my eyes start to drift closed.

They open again when Edward moves, shifting to lie down flat again. He keeps touching me, and I keep enjoying it. It is only when he pulls back and pulls my shirt back down that I realize I'm very close to falling asleep.

He disappears briefly from the room to get ready for the night, and I am left in his warm bed, thinking about what just happened. My skin still tingles from the caresses. I always hated it when people touched my back. I never knew it was so sensitive to touch.

I try to keep hold of the relaxation I feel, of the lazy heaviness that grounds me. I'm so rarely without any tension that the muscles in my lower back are protesting from the sudden lack of strain.

When Edward comes back, smelling of mint toothpaste, he asks me quietly if I need to use the bathroom before bed. I'm tempted to say no, but I get up and take care of business as well.

Stepping back into the room feels awkward to me, but Edward opens his arms, inviting me in his bed easily. When we're settled, with my back against his chest and his arm around my waist, I stare into the darkness with wide open eyes.

"Do you think your parents are okay with this?" I ask finally, knowing Edward is still awake, too.

Edward chuckles behind me. "Technically you're sleeping in your own home, so there's no problem, right?"

"Be serious."

He nuzzles my nape. "I am. If they weren't okay with it, we'd have known already. Or do you think mom doesn't know where you were last night?"

"And C- And your dad?"

"You do realize mom has the last word when it comes to raising us, right?"

"Edward," I say, not sure how to put my concern into words.

"Still so scared to break non-existing rules," he murmurs. "Do you really think I would risk putting you in such trouble?"

I close my eyes briefly in concession to his words.

"Now, sleep. I'm taking you out tomorrow."

"Where to?" I ask. This is new information.

He hugs me tighter. "I don't know yet. But I'm taking you out. I want to go out with you. Okay?"

I smile. "Okay."

He falls asleep before I do, and for a good hour or more I simply listen to the sound of his breathing. When I finally drift off, my mind concocts a dream that is so wonderful and warm and perfect, I clearly feel the traces of it when I wake up from the hoot of an owl somewhere in the forest around the house.

Drunk with sleep, and rosy from the remnants of my dream, I turn around in Edward's arms. As if practiced a hundred times before, his body folds around mine and our legs intertwine. My head rests against the hollow under his collarbone perfectly. He sighs in his sleep, settling immediately. A few seconds later, I close my eyes as well.

**~O~**

Waking up the next morning is glorious. I'm wrapped up in Edward, and though I can clearly feel his, you know, press against my pelvis, I know he's asleep still and I'm not very threatened by it.

I don't move just yet, instead enjoy being in his arms like I am now. My face is pressed against his chest, and it's a small miracle we both haven't moved at all during the night. Then again, we've been talking for so long, and it's still early now. Likely, I've only slept for a few hours.

Sleeping in is not a concept my brain is familiar with. My internal alarm clock will always be telling me to get up before the others do, I think.

When I move my head a little, my neck cracks in protest from having been in the same position for so long. Hmm. Maybe I've been sleeping longer than I initially thought.

Edward stirs, then opens his eyes. He looks adorable when I look up at him and he smiles down at me, his eyes still fuzzy from sleep.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey yourself," he replies, lifting his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "Slept well?"

I nod, the corners of my mouth lifting up in a smile.

"How did we end up like this?" he asks then, indicating our positions.

My face flames and I avert my eyes. He laughs softly, leaning in to press a kiss to my forehead.

"I'm in favor, just saying," he says. "You can do that anytime."

We stay in bed a little while longer, talking about random things. When Edward tells me he would like it if we were to go to the same university after graduating high school, I'm in favor of that plan.

"I'm glad Victoria and James are leaving again today," he muses after a stretch of silence. "I can't get a read on either of them."

"Victoria and I talked when we were on the beach," I tell him. "She's actually nice. Just has her guard up."

"Like you?"

I nod, wanting to elaborate, but I feel that hers is not my story to tell. "She was nice to me," I repeat, still a bit stunned.

"That's good. And James actually asked you out, huh."

"I said no," I reply. The surprise that I was actually able to, lingers.

"Good. I'd be upset if you'd gone out on a date with him."

"Be reasonable," I say. Like I ever would?

Edward shrugs. "It's possible. I know I'm not perfect by any stretch of the imagination. Just because I'm your first doesn't mean I have to be your last, you know?"

His insecurity comes rolling out with his words, and I have no idea how to reassure him when I'm struggling with my own feelings so much still.

"Don't worry," I finally say. "I just want to be with you."

He takes a deep breath and smiles. "Good. I'm glad. And the same goes for me, you know."

When I meet his eyes, he presses the softest kiss against my lips. I relax in his embrace, happy to be where I'm at right now.

When we get downstairs, James and Victoria have already left for Seattle. It's a long trip; I remember it from when I got here from the airport last year.

It saddens me though that I won't be able to thank Victoria for what she said to me the other day.

But pressing charges… From what I know, it's horrific, and that is without having googled it. It's telling your story to total strangers, not once, but multiple times. It's answering all those questions about your past, in detail, with a judge and jury present. It's Carlisle, Esme, Edward and the others having to hear exactly what happened to me.

It's having an attorney ask you questions about it, trying to relay your story, to catch inconsistencies and untruths. It's confronting my violator with the facts and taking a stand.

Oh, and I would have to do that twice, too, now wouldn't I? No matter how afraid I am that Stefan might have new foster children in his care, pressing charges is a huge deal.

And even then, there's no guarantee that they will be locked up for any amount of time. After all, that small annoying voice in the back of my head keeps insisting that I have always been the one in the wrong, not them. What good will it do to press those charges? Will it give me closure? Not likely. Will it bring my mother back? Very unlikely.

"Yes, let's go," Edward suddenly says, pulling me from my thoughts. He's done eating his breakfast at lunchtime and getting up from the table, his gaze fixed on me.

I eat the last bite of my food and take my plate to the dishwasher.

"Where are you off to?" Esme asks us.

"He didn't say," I say, returning her smile. "I don't know."

"Will you be back for dinner?" Esme asks Edward then.

Edward looks at me, thinking, before he looks at his mother again. "Not likely. Are you ready?" he asks me next.

I nod and within moments we're in his car. It doesn't take long before I know we are going to Port Angeles. I don't ask him anything, instead sit back and try to be at ease. Considering the secret smile on Edward's face, I'm quite confident that I will like what he has planned.

It's only after he has parked in the underground garage and has opened the car door for me when he tells me what he has planned.

"I thought we could act like boyfriend and girlfriend today," he says, a sparkle in his eyes. "We can do anything you want. There are some museums I'm sure you haven't seen yet, or we can go shopping, or go to the bookstore. Anything."

"Anything?" I ask him, unsure.

"Anything," he repeats, and then he starts singing the song from Oliver Twist.

I look away, mortified, and he laughs. Then he takes my hand and intertwines our fingers. "Let's go. Where to first?"

He takes me to an exposition of contemporary art, and we're both pleasantly surprised at the things we see. The guide at the museum is a middle aged woman who is clearly pleased to see younger people take an interest in the collection. Edward asks a dozen questions and the woman answers them all, until her eyes are glittering with enthusiasm.

On our way out, we visit the museum shop. My gaze falls to a book filled with pretty full color pictures of the art. Before I have blinked, Edward has purchased it for me. He hands me the bag once he has paid.

He laughs when he sees my puzzled expression. "You're my girl. You deserve some gifts."

And he's slick about it, too, because he _knows_ I won't speak up to protest in a public place like this.

Edward smiles smugly and holds out his arm. "Where to next?"

Since it's hard for me to decide where to go, and not just because I have no idea where we _can _go here, Edward takes the lead without giving me the feeling I am not in control of this day. And throughout the day, it seems he has made it his personal goal to make me laugh.

When we pass by an optician, Edward asks me if I would be okay going in there, because he's looking for shades. I agree and follow him in.

He tries on several models, asking me for my opinion pointedly every single time. The sales lady is trying to make suggestions, too, but she doesn't have a good eye for what suits Edward's face, or so I think.

"What do you think of this one?" Edward asks when he has placed a Ray-Ban on his nose.

_*Perfect,*_ I sign. _*The best so far.*_ The most expensive one, too.

Edward turns back to the mirror. He lifts his chin, then pops up his collar in mock arrogance. I grin silently at his antics.

"All right, this one then," he tells the sales lady. She beams and quickly checks if the frame needs any adjusting to fit his head better. When she scurries off to the back of the store to get it done, Edward turns back to me. "You want one, too?"

I shake my head, my eyes flitting over the prices on the frames in the racks around me.

"Yeah, you want them," he decides for me, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Let's find you some."

The sales lady comes back with Edward's new sunglasses just when Edward has found something he wants me to try. He wisely hands me the frame so I can put it on myself. I look in the mirror, as always disliking seeing my own face reflected back at me.

"What do you think?" he asks me as he comes to stand behind me, meeting my eyes through the mirror.

I cock my head a little, trying to determine whether I like it or not.

"The frame might be a bit too big for her," the sales lady says. "Here, this is a smaller version."

And then she actually tries to give the sunglasses to Edward. I close my eyes briefly, not sure if I should be annoyed or not. I'd rather leave right away, but then again, I'm used to being treated like I'm not completely right just because I don't speak.

"You can give them to her," Edward says, clearly a bit ticked off.

The lady nods. "Of course. Forgive me." She hands me the frame and I try them. They fit perfectly, and I look up to meet Edward's eyes in the mirror.

"You like them?" he asks.

When I nod, he smiles. "Good. Let's buy them, then."

He pays for them both, even though I pull at his sleeve to try and stop him from doing it. He grins and leans in so he can whisper in my ear. "I've dubbed this the first official 'pamper Bella day.' Get used to it. I think they are going to occur on a regular basis."

I try to come up with a reply, but the look in his eyes tells me it's useless. With a barely suppressed sigh, I let it go and accept the second gift of the day.

Edward's smile is even more smug and he walks me through the mall for some window shopping. He shows me what kind of clothes he likes, and what kind of things he'd like to see on me.

At one point he points out a lovely shaped, elegant top in the shop window.

"Would you ever consider wearing something like that?" he asks me when I've indicated I like the top, too.

I shake my head.

"And for me? Would you show it to me?"

I frown. What's the use of that? What's the use of buying clothes if I will only ever wear them to show Edward?

He looks at me intently, then visibly makes a decision. "Maybe not yet. But I'd love to see you in something else than a hoodie, someday."

Since few people are around, I am able to speak. "Why?"

"Because you're a lovely girl who deserves pretty clothes."

When I open my mouth to contradict him, he silences - and shocks the hell out of me - by kissing me, right in the middle of the mall.

He lets go of the subject and after walking along the shops for a while longer, we go to a nice little diner with a view on the harbor.

It's a bit too cold to sit outside comfortably, but Edward finds us a booth near the window and orders hot chocolate for us both, ignoring the surprised look of the waiter, considering we're ordering midwinter drinks in late spring.

We sit in comfortable silence, and I can't help but get out the book Edward got me from the museum, so I can look at the pictures.

I'm relaxed, and know Edward succeeded perfectly at the goal I'm sure he set himself for today: make me feel like any other girl on a day out with her boyfriend.

Boyfriend… The thought alone makes me blush.

"I still need a nickname for you," Edward muses after the waiter has brought us our drinks.

I make a face at him before I can stop myself, and Edward laughs. At first I think he's going to let it go, but after taking another sip of his drink, his gaze shifts back to me.

"I could call you Bells, or Bell?"

I cock a brow at him, and a small part of my mind has a moment to revel over how much I've become at ease with him, even in a public situation like this.

Edward chuckles. "No?"

I wrinkle my nose at him, more playing with my newfound freedom of behavior around him than anything else. Edward doesn't seem to disapprove of the liberties I take. In fact, his smile widens.

"Okay, so not Bell. Boo, then? Or Beau?"

He's teasing me, I know, but I'm having fun and so is he.

"Bella Boo. Not bad."

I shake my head, suppressing my smile. If he starts calling me Boo, I'll start calling him Eddie. See how long he will last.

"Hmm" he says, stroking his chin in contemplation. "Honeypie? Honeybun? Laneypoo?"

_Laneypoo?_ I mouth at him, and he laughs at my aghast expression.

"I could call you butterfly," he continues after a moment of thinking. "Because you're transforming. Or I could use _Papillon_, that's French for butt-"

"No French," I interrupt him, breaking my own no-speaking-in-public rule before I realize it.

He studies my face. "Why not? It's a beautiful language."

I look down. Laurent's lilting voice is in my mind, telling me everything I did wrong in French. I quickly learned to understand the gist of the things he was saying in order to say my hide.

Edward pulls me back to the present by placing his hands over mine in my lap.

"Laurent is French," I whisper at the table top. "He…" I trail off, unable to tell him. "I hate the language."

"All right, no French," Edward concedes in a serious voice. The light atmosphere has plummeted, and I can feel the tension creeping back into my shoulders.

"So how about something else then," he continues, trying to lighten the mood. "Warrior? No, Worrier," he says with a wink, and a humorless smile flits over my face.

"Would you like anything else to drink?" the waiter asks as he comes up to our table.

I let Edward know I'd like a tea and he orders a sparkling water for himself. When the waiter has left again, Edward looks back at me.

"You're such a fighter," he says. "I'm trying to find something to go with that."

He comes up with various other ideas, and they get increasingly funny. I forget about my earlier tension and relax again. When Edward looks at me, I blush under his scrutinizing gaze.

"I think I found it," he says finally. "I think we should call you Bruiser."

My laugh escapes me, quick and sharp, and I'm pretty sure the entire diner heard it.

**~O~**

We stay at the cozy diner for dinner, and Edward works hard to distract me enough so I am actually able to eat something. The warm fuzzy feeling I already had whenever I was close to him, now has grown to a full-blown body glow, or so it feels.

Falling. I'm falling so hard for him, and I love every second of it.

"Look at you," Esme says to me the moment we get home and step into the living room. "Did you have a good day?"

I meet Edward's gaze for a second, and we both grin. "Yes," I tell her.

"What did you buy?" she asks, nodding at the bags both Edward and I are holding.

"I got her some gifts," Edward says like it's the most normal thing to have done.

"You did? Oh that's so nice of you. What did you get?" Esme asks me, her expression eager.

Even though she's clearly pleased, I'm still hesitant to show her the things I got - the shades, the book from the museum, and a pretty scarf that I noticed in a shop which Edward bought right away, even though I don't need it.

I've never had many things to call my own, and the few things I cherished I had to protect carefully. Especially Laurent made it a sport to take away the things I showed a liking to.

Esme is enthusiastic though. She wants me to show the shades and the scarf, and looks through the book from the museum.

"How is it that my own son takes you out on educational trips, and Carlisle and I don't?" she wonders.

I'm not sure what to reply to that, but her face is still showing nothing but kindness so I let it go.

What a day. What a glorious dose of normality I've been wanting for such a long time. Feeling content, and confident, I ask Esme if it's okay to go out for a short run.

"I'll stay on the driveway," I tell her, hoping she will let me go.

Esme checks her clock. "All right, but take your phone with you. Nobody comes out here, but it's already dark out."

I nod, happy she is letting me go. She doesn't look particularly worried, so I'm hoping she thinks it's safe enough for me to go out.

Changing into my running clothes quickly, I hop down the stairs before anybody can stop me. After having spent a day outside, and among other people, I am looking forward to both the running and the being alone for a while.

I don't push myself too hard this time, but I'm very pleased to notice that running the distance on my schedule seems to be a tiny bit easier already. So that's how quickly you can build up some endurance. Good to know. I had worried it would be harder to get started.

At the end of the driveway I turn around. On my way back, I slow down to a walk for a minute, and as I listen to the sound of my footsteps on the fine gravel of the driveway, I wonder if I would be able to arrange some type of music player. If I'm going to run for longer distances, some music might be a good idea.

I almost miss the tiniest of sounds to my right, drowned out by my crunching footfalls, but when I stop, I hear it again.

It's a pitiful sound, so soft I can barely hear it, and it's coming from just behind the trees.

I hesitate - I have no idea what is making that sound. It could be a hedgehog in a mating ritual for all I know. But then I hear it again, and the sound is so sad I have to check it out.

Activating the flash of my phone camera, I direct the beam of light into the trees. At first I see nothing, and I'm starting to wonder if I only imagined the sound. But then I see movement on the ground, just the smallest shift in the shadows, and I lean in.

A kitten. There is a kitten, half hidden underneath the undergrowth. Its meows are heart-wrenching, and it's so small and weak it can't even do much to shy away from me.

I creep a little closer, carefully, and look around with my tiny light, wondering where the kitten's mother is at. A shocked gasp escapes me, making the kitten hiss, when I see the dead body of a grown cat not far away from where the kitten is hiding. Another, smaller kitten is with the mother cat, but it is clear both animals are dead.

The kitten meows again, the sound hoarse, probably from all the calling it has done.

I sink to my knees, unsure what to do. I can't leave that tiny little beast here, in the forest. It will surely die, whether from malnourishment or by a predator. But I can't take it home with me, either. I'm pretty sure Carlisle and Esme don't approve of pets, or they would have had them, right?

I chew on my lip, wondering what to do. And as I sit there, thinking, the kitten slowly crawls over to me, placing a tiny paw on my knee and crying.

Oh, damn it all to hell. I can't leave it here. I'll just have to beg Esme to let me keep it for the night so I can take it to a shelter tomorrow. That at least she will have to agree to, right?

God, all the confidence I gained during the day is seeping away from me as I pick up the tiny ball of fur. It's nothing more but skin and bones and minuscule nails which find their way into my clothes immediately, holding on for dear life.

My heart thundering, I start my way back to the main house. The kitten, curled up against me, doesn't even struggle. I wonder how old it is. It can't be much over four weeks, and that means it will need the right nourishment, fast. If it will even survive at all.

I don't hesitate when I reach the main house. Sometimes, like a band-aid, it's better to do things fast before you can start worrying.

The kitten, I can see in the light of the house, has a charcoal grey coat. The eyes, though very infected, seem to be yellow and huge and stand wide apart on its broad head.

Clutching the trembling animal against my chest, I open the door and step into the house.

Esme is in the living room, reading, and it takes her a moment to notice I am standing in front of her. She starts smiling when she looks up at me, but her smile disappears when she sees what I am holding.

Her eyes go back up to meet mine. "Explain."

Her voice is not unkind, and at this moment, that is more than I could ever have hoped for.

"Found him along the driveway," I whisper. "Its mother and sibling are dead." I hesitate. "Please, will you help me bring it to a shelter tomorrow? It will die if it stays in the woods."

Esme sits back, exhaling slowly as she thinks. "A shelter," she says, more a statement than a question.

"Please?"

And, oh irony, this must be about the first time I am asking something, anything, of her.

Esme crosses her arms in front of her chest, and she seems to be undecided. Right at that moment, Alice and Jasper come down the stairs. Alice sees what I am holding immediately and bounces over, squealing.

"Did you find him? Oh my god look how cute he is!"

The kitten, fully woken up from the sound of Alice's voice, claws at my chest to get closer and meows pitifully, its tiny hiss more adorable than threatening.

Alice doesn't hesitate to pet the little kitten, crawling it behind its ears. Then she turns to Esme. "You're going to let us keep him, right? Right?"

Keep it… Oh hell, I hadn't even really considered that.

"What is all this loudness going on about?" Carlisle asks as he appears from the library with a book in his hands.

"Bella found a kitten," Alice says, her enthusiasm taking over. "Can she keep it? Please?"

Carlisle looks nonplussed, his gaze shifting from his daughter to me, to the cat I am holding in my arms.

"Found it, did you? Where?"

I swallow, and swallow again, but no words come out.

"On the driveway," Esme finally answers for me. Her voice is calm.

"Just until tomorrow," I tell her. "If someone can help me bring it to a shelter then?"

From the corner of my eye, I can see Carlisle frown. He steps up so he's standing behind the couch where Esme is sitting, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"You don't want to keep it?" Carlisle asks.

I look down at the grey kitten, which has now gathered some courage and is looking around the room, ears up, its balance shaky as with all young animals.

"I was expecting pleading cries and a tantrum for good measure," Esme muses with amusement when I stay silent.

I don't dare asking to keep it. Of course, I'd like to - who doesn't? - But it's better if I don't. After all, it's something they can take away again easily.

"I can do that," Alice says in response to Esme's observation. "Absolutely. If that's what it takes."

For a moment I wonder if Carlisle and Esme will consider giving the kitten to Alice, since she is not hiding the fact that she wants it.

I stroke the little thing's head, thinking of how nice it would be to have something to cherish, something I could really call my own. When I look back up at Carlisle and Esme, their expressions have changed, and I can't read them.

I steel myself. "Just until tomorrow." I tell Esme. "I will find addresses for shelters tonight."

"Are you really so willing to let it go? Esme asks.

"No," I reply honestly. "But if you're not okay with it, I accept that."

The silence that follows is loaded, and I look at the kitten again to distract myself. I know it will be hard to let it go, but at the same time, I've already made peace with that fact. I'm not expecting I get to keep something like this.

"I suppose it will need a name," Carlisle suddenly says, and I look up so quickly I nearly lose my balance.

Alice's squeal makes both the kitten and I wince, but I don't miss Carlisle's infinitely kind face.

"Lady, call it Lady," Alice says eagerly. "Or when it's a male, James."

"Not James," Jasper says. "Count Tails might do, though."

I don't hear more of their discussion since I'm too busy looking at Carlisle and Esme, trying to find out if they are serious about this and the kitten gets to stay.

"You will take care of it though," Esme says. "We can go to the vet and the pet shop tomorrow and get what you need. I'm not emptying any litter box."

"Of course not," I whisper, my voice raw from emotion.

She looks around. "My poor furniture," she sighs, but it's not very serious.

"Are you sure?" I whisper, and she smiles.

"Yes, sweetheart, we are sure."

"So what will you call it?" Carlisle asks.

I look at the tiny, tiny kitten, with its ears popped up and its infected eyes alert. A thin rope of a tail points straight up in the air, and every time it lets out a hoarse meow, the tiniest teeth show.

"Wisp," I whisper. "I will call him Wisp."

* * *

_Yep, I did that. Until next time, my lovely, lovely readers!_


	77. Chapter 77

**Hey everybody! Long note, please read :)**

_Yep, it's me! I took a break, and I'm not really back, but I'm getting there. I hated that I hate to stop writing for a while. Your support has really helped me. Thanks for that. And thanks to Bob, Sherry, Aleea, SharkJumper, Crazykittehcat and Glin for reading multiple versions of this chapter. The last version is not beta'ed. All mistakes are mine.  
_

_If you are not willing to wait for updates, you are free to wait until this story is complete. Bitching on me won't make me write faster. As for my writing - your support is keeping me going. Thank you all so much for your patience. Torn is my heart and my soul. I want to give it my everything. _

_Oh and ps, Bella's kitten is indeed called Wisp after the fantastic story written by Cris._

_On with the show. I reread the last chapter before I could get into this one - maybe that's not a bad idea for you :)  
_

* * *

God.

My head is reeling after everything that has happened in the past few days. I wasn't even done processing the newfound closeness I have with Edward. After having slept in his bed twice in a row I think I am finally becoming a bit more relaxed with him. And our day out was wonderful - even I can't deny that.

And now I have a tiny kitten in my arms, and Carlisle and Esme have just decided that I get to keep it.

Wisp.

I feel insanely protective over the kitten already. I didn't know that such an emotion could grow so quickly.

I can tell Alice is dying to hold the tiny animal too, but I don't want it to become even more frightened than it already is so I'm not offering. Alice seems to understand, since she doesn't ask. She keeps coming up to me though, wanting to pet the kitten, even though it seems to be scared of her. Alice doesn't seem to mind, and she's vibrating with enthusiasm, her eyes glittering.

"I've always wanted a pet," she whispers. "Lucky you."

Just as I'm about to tell her that it'll be her kitten, too, Esme speaks up.

"Does it need anything? Water, or milk maybe?" she asks. "Or at least something you can keep it warm in. Let me get something." She's up and back in a minute, a thick, fluffy towel in her hands. She helps me wrap it around the kitten, who seems perplexed.

"Let me call the vet for advice before we do anything," Carlisle says. "I don't know if it needs any special food."

As Alice bounces over to the stairs to call Edward, Rosalie and Emmett, Carlisle picks up the phone. In the chaos of the three others running down the stairs, I only get shards of the conversation he's having.

And then Edward is standing before me, closer than I would allow anyone but him, and he touches my arm, looking at me instead of at the kitten.

While Alice gushes to Rosalie and Emmett about the cat I found, Edward pulls me into a bubble like he usually does so effortlessly.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly.

I nod and manage a smile as I hold up Wisp. "Found this in the woods. Couldn't leave him."

His gaze doesn't leave mine, and while part of me wonders what he is looking for, another part of me realizes that I don't mind him looking at me so much as I used to.

"And he's staying?" he asks.

"Yes, I think so."

Edward turns to his mother. "Really? He can stay?"

Esme nods with a smile.

"That's great, mom," Edward says as he goes over to her to give her a quick hug. "Thanks so much!"

And that's when I realize in the most painful way that I haven't even said 'thank you' to Carlisle and Esme for letting me keep the cat. Can I still do that? Or would that be too little, too late?

Turning back to me, Edward looks down at the kitten and a tender smile lights up his face. He reaches out carefully, stroking the kitten's tiny head.

"Wisp sounds like a good name," he tells me. "I could have used that one for you."

"Then I'd be _done_," I say, deliberately using the word we agreed on a while ago. I absolutely refuse to be called Wisp.

Edward throws his head back and laughs, startling the kitten and, frankly, all the others in the room. "I'll stick to Bruiser then," he says teasingly, and it's all I can do not to roll my eyes at him.

"All right," Carlisle says then, having just ended his phone call, "the vet has agreed to see the little monster. Let's go, Bella."

For a moment, the prospect of going alone somewhere with Carlisle makes it impossible for me to move. But the kitten needs care, and I've been on trips with Carlisle before, right? No big deal.

Right.

"Can I go with you?" Alice asks.

"It's 'may I go,' and no, I don't think that's necessary," Carlisle says calmly. "That kitten is stressed enough as it is. We'll be back soon."

So Alice isn't coming, and even I don't miss how she wanted to come along just to make me more at ease.

But maybe it's better this way. After all this time, I have no reason anymore to distrust Carlisle. I can just go with him and everything will be all right. Surely, it will.

My brain cramps as I try to force myself to accept my logic, but I move first one foot and then the other, and then we're walking to the garage.

Of course, my evil mind whispers, this might be just a simple trick to get rid of the kitten at the vet. But even if that is the case, I think with resignation, I will survive it. It wouldn't be the first time I lost something I cared about, and if the kitten has to go anyway, better now than later.

"So stressed," Carlisle murmurs when he turns off the driveway, setting course for the town. "Still so afraid, Bella?" When I don't reply, he smiles without humor. "And still not talking to me, I see. That's okay."

Or maybe this is not a vile trick. Maybe he really is just trying to be nice. I look at him from the corner of my eye, and regard the sure way he drives. Both hands on the wheel, seatbelt firmly in place.

Could he really be that father figure I have only known in books?

Apparently unaware of my inner musings, Carlisle tells me about the vet we are going to see during our short drive there. He's known the man, Alex, for years and even though the family never had any pets, he trusts the vet's skills implicitly.

I listen to his voice, realizing he's filling the silence more than actually trying to teach me anything.

For the first time, I feel a pang of regret that it is so hard for me to connect with Carlisle on any level. It's so hard to overcome the blind fear I have for adult men, even after he held me in the rocking chair and let me cry. I look out the window when I think back to that day, not so very long ago, and a blush flames on my cheeks. To have let myself go so badly…

And yet, I think as I sneak a look at him again, he never judged me, or acted differently around me after that day. If anything, he's more concerned, warmer, gentler.

If only I weren't so stupidly scared.

I can't stop the sigh that escapes me, but don't correct Carlisle when he interprets it incorrectly.

"Don't worry," he says. "From what Alex told me, the kitten could be as old as four weeks already. It has a good chance of surviving."

I nod without meeting his gaze, and focus on trying to keep the kitten warm in my cupped hands. I read somewhere once that it's better to impart your own body heat than try to wrap the too cold animal in a blanket, since they won't be able to generate any warmth themselves.

The vet, Alex as Carlisle called him, comes walking out of the clinic when we get out of the car. The vet is a big man, both in height and posture. He reminds me of Stefan so much that I step back and recoil involuntarily.

Carlisle looks at me searchingly, his jaw tight. Is he upset that I am uncomfortable around his friend? But I can't help it. I'm always ill at ease around men, especially strange men.

I swallow thickly, trying to push away the first tendrils of panic that uncurl in my chest.

"Alex is a very competent vet," Carlisle tells me, I suppose for my benefit. "He's saved a lot of poor animals, haven't you, Alex?"

"Certainly," the other man says. His voice is low and deep - not like Stefan's at all. And his eyes are kind as his gaze drifts down to the little life I am holding in my arms.

"You're Bella, right?" the man asks. "Carlisle told me about you. I'm Alex. And who have we got here?"

I can't speak. There is no way, no way at all I am going to be able to produce any kind of sound. Carlisle waits for me to make a move, but I look at him, helpless.

"She found the kitten on our driveway," he says, looking at me as if he is asking permission to speak for me.

The look in his eyes, I don't recognize at first.

And it's then I realize with a stinging clarity that Carlisle's tight jaw has nothing to do with him being upset with me because I'm scared of his friend, but because I'm scared in general and he doesn't want to see _me_ like that.

It's a strange and sudden shift in my mind, and it makes me look at Carlisle in a whole new light. He's concerned _for_ me, not for the way I come across to others. I'm so stunned by this epiphany, I know I must look like a complete idiot. But Carlisle looks at me and I see a light in his gaze that I haven't seen before, and suddenly I remember how _good_ it felt to be held by him, and to be able to let go.

And I know he knows what I am thinking right now, and it doesn't even feel wrong.

But God, this is really not the time to process every thought that stumbles through my mind right now.

As I try to pull myself together, Carlisle refocuses first. I almost miss what he says tot he vet.

"Its family was dead. She named him Wisp."

"Wisp? Well, it sure is just a wisp of a thing," Alex says. "Let's go inside and see what we can do."

He holds open the door for me, but I can't have them behind me. I don't want men walking behind me, so I wait, looking up at them both. After an awkward moment, the vet goes in first, followed by Carlisle. I close the ranks, feeling nauseated at the thought of being in a deserted clinic with two grown men. Epiphany or not.

But this is about the kitten, I tell myself, and the kitten needs help. So I will do this. I _can _do this. I will have to.

The exam room is brightly lit and decorated with all sorts of colorful posters and trinkets that oddly don't seem out of place, and which put me on ease slightly.

Alex has me place the kitten on the towel on the metal table and I stand back as he does a quick examination of the animal. He talks me through it, apparently not really phased by my silence.

Wisp, he says, is a girl. He's not sure about the breed yet, but he suspects she might be a British Shorthair. When she's old enough, we can have her spayed, especially if we want her to be able to roam the woods around the house freely.

An injection, some salve for the eyes and ears, pills for deworming and an anti-flea treatment later, the vet is done and I'm allowed to scoop a now very tired kitten back up in my arms.

But it isn't over yet. The vet gets out a pile of things from a medicine cabinet; something to clean the kitten's ears, more salve for the eyes, with specific instruction as to how to use it, and special shampoo to wash the kitten with if she doesn't show signs of keeping herself clean.

And then, of course, there is special food for Wisp. The vet estimates her at about four weeks old, which means I can alternate between kitten formula and solid food. He praises me for not having given her cow's milk. Apparently that wouldn't have been a good idea.

I look away at his compliment, as usual ill at ease.

In the tiny shop that is attached to the vet clinic, a litter box and stuff to fill it with are put on the counter, along with a tiny scratching post and, after some deliberation, a kitten-safe crate. The crate is big enough to hold a bed, a litter box, and some room for Wisp to play.

"You can keep her in here at night," the vet says. "Or when you have to leave her unsupervised. I strongly advise you to spend as much time close to her as possible. Kittens are very sociable and need attention, especially this little traumatized thing. She needs to get used to humans."

I almost miss the smirk Carlisle tries to suppress. If he were Edward, I would have rolled my eyes. The irony of the vet's words isn't lost to me either, after all.

But I nod solemnly, already wondering if I can leave Wisp out of the crate at night as well. It seems so cruel to lock her up. I know too well how it feels.

"Try to keep her in one room at first. Give her time to explore her surroundings. If she keeps close to the litter box, she will be house trained quicker. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to give me a call."

He gives me a brochure with general information on taking care of a cat and then starts adding up the money for the treatment, meds and stuff we're taking home. I feel the blood draining from my face when I see the total amount. Carlisle, unaware, pays without blinking and then starts loading everything into his car.

I hold Wisp and walk outside quickly, annoyed that I can't help Carlisle but wildly relieved that I am no longer in a room with two men, one of them a stranger.

"She'll be all right," I suddenly hear the vet say behind me.

I jerk so violently in shock that I almost drop the kitten, and when I look up at the man, I know the fear must be clear in my eyes. Carlisle is inside - I am alone with this man.

"You're okay," he says soothingly, holding up his hands as if in surrender. "No need to be frightened."

I hold Wisp close to my chest, so tightly I worry I might be hurting her, and take an involuntary step backwards.

The vet cocks his head a little and meets my gaze. Like a stunned deer, I can't look away.

"God," he whispers. He seems… aghast?

At that moment, Carlisle comes back outside with the last of the things. He looks from the vet to me, and the silence is loaded.

"Take care, kiddo," Alex finally says, and I know he isn't just talking about the kitten.

I nod once, my neck feeling stiff, and on Carlisle's nudge I go sit in the car. When I glance out the window back at Carlisle and the vet, Alex, I know they're talking about me. But there is no malevolence in their gazes. Carlisle wears that look of compassion I've come to recognize in his features, and the vet simply smiles in what I perceive as an understanding way. When he looks my way, he holds my gaze, and he even winks at me.

A few moments later, Carlisle joins me in the car and he starts the engine.

"Alex wishes you all the best," he says as he looks over his shoulder to back out of the parking lot.

Even if I had been able to reply, I wouldn't have known what to say. I'm quite convinced that the vet was genuinely nice. Even more so, he was nice to me.

Maybe not all men are evil.

It's hard to conceive.

It takes me until Carlisle turns into the garage under the house to force out the words I really, really want to say.

"Thank you." It's nearly incomprehensible, my voice is so distorted from stress, but Carlisle has heard me.

He looks at me, and it's not hard to see the elation in his eyes. He smiles kindly, proudly. "You're very welcome, Bella. I really hope this will help you perk up a little."

I nod in acquiescence, but his words only register once he has gotten out of the car. Has he noticed I've been feeling down lately? Even though I try to go through the motions of life, do things that entertain me, spend time with Edward and the others, there is an underlying sadness tugging at me that I can't seem to get rid of.

Maybe I'm less conspicuous than I think.

I get out of the car, looking at the pile of things in the trunk.

"How about you drop Wisp off with Alice for a moment so you can set everything up in your room?" Carlisle offers. "I'm pretty sure Alice wouldn't mind," he adds with a wink.

I nod again and go into the house, finding Alice all but vibrating with excitement on the couch. All the others are there as well, waiting for us it seems.

"Is he going to be all right?" Esme asks. "What did the vet say?"

I hand over the kitten to Alice first, who is cooing and looks so happy that for a moment I truly consider giving the kitten to her.

"She'll be all right. We have special food and meds and..." I trail off, uncomfortable. "Um, it was really expensive. I'm so sorry."

"No apologies," Esme says. "Do you need help getting anything from the car?"

I shake my head and leave for the garage again, feeling elated by everything I have come to realize over the past few days, but at the same time desperately guilty for the amount of money Carlisle just spent for me.

**~O~**

It doesn't take long to set everything up in my bedroom. It's not the most convenient place to keep the cat, we all realize, but the ground floor of the house, even though divided in several areas, has no separate rooms, except from the library. We all agree that it wouldn't be the best idea to keep Wisp there, either. She's very scared after all. As a stray she's not used to people and it's clear the house and its inhabitants are overwhelming her.

Just like I was when I first got here.

So, my bedroom it is, or at least for now. I decide to place the litter box in my bathroom. It's out of the way there and I won't be sleeping too close to it then. And with the bathroom door open, the kitten's world suddenly gets bigger, too.

Downstairs, we feed Wisp some kitten formula and everybody takes turns fussing with her until she's about to fall asleep on her feet. It's clear everybody is in favor of Wisp staying, and even Alice understands that the kitten will sleep in my room every night.

When it's time for bed, I take Wisp upstairs with me and place her in the open crate. She doesn't even wake up. She's sleeping soundly now, but I wonder how long that will last. I also hope she will find the litter box that's just around the other side of the bathroom door.

As I strip in the dark and pull on my multi-layered pajamas, I have to wonder if this whole stray-kitten-endeavor isn't going to be more than I can handle. It's a big responsibility to bear. Carlisle and Esme seem to be confident I will be able to pull it off even if I am not quite so sure. But battling with that worry is the all consuming need I feel to take care of this helpless little thing, to show it love and warmth and give it a safe haven. The first weeks of its life can't have been easy, after all.

Besides, Wisp is an excellent distraction from the churning turmoil of emotions I've been working very hard to suppress.

Exhausted from the long day, I fall asleep almost right away, only to wake up in the middle of the night to soft scratching sounds. Turning on my night light, I see a very startled Wisp looking up in my direction. I lower my hand from the bed to the ground, and the kitten deliberates for a long moment before she bounces over to me and sniffs at my hand, then wanders off again. I watch her explore her surroundings for a good half hour, then I drift off into sleep again.

The first few days fly by. Everybody wants to play with or simply look at Wisp while she explores. She's naturally shy of people, but when you pick her up - if you can catch or find her - she lets herself be petted easily. I am vividly aware that the others seem to respect my authority over her. They come to me with questions or suggestions, and it feels strange to be the go-to person so suddenly. It's not like I have all the answers, even though I have been reading every bit of information I could find online.

Wisp needs to be fed three times a day, which thankfully means I don't have to get up in the night to give her food. I am awake a lot, however, since Wisp uses the quiet night to explore her surroundings. I don't mind. I'm used to having little sleep, anyway.

I clean her eyes and ears and feed her and bond with her so quickly it almost scares me. I never thought I could ever love at all, let alone come to care as deeply for something as I do now for Wisp. The unconditional aspect of it baffles me. With the others in this house, with Edward, I still feel like I have to be on my guard. But with Wisp, this fear is nonexistent.

The kitten seems to see me as her person, too. While the others sometimes spend more time with her playing than I do, simply because I don't dare telling them no, it's my room she sleeps in at night, and it's my lap she curls up on sometimes when she's ready for a nap. She sleeps a lot.

She purrs. You can barely hear it, but she does. It's the most amazing sound.

I bathe her on the third day, since I'm not really confident she's cleaning herself enough. Maybe she needs a nudge, so I take her to my bathroom and wash her under lukewarm water in the sink.

While I'm trying to keep a flailing - and wailing - kitten under the slow stream of lukewarm water, Edward comes checking in on me. He is ready with a towel when I turn off the tap, and with infinite care, he dries off Wisp, who is now crying pitifully.

Poor thing. Guess she's not one of the rare cats that love water.

Edward takes the kitten over to my bed and he lies down, placing Wisp on his stomach. She looks only half her size with her fur sticking to her skin, and her big, yellow eyes are looking from Edward to me, seemingly appalled at the treatment she just got.

Edward chuckles and keeps rubbing Wisp with the towel in an attempt to get her dry.

"Come here," Edward says when he sees me standing in the doorway of the bathroom. "I feel a distance between us," he adds in an overly dramatic voice.

I smile at his antics and walk over to the bed. He is right though. After our two nights together, Wisp suddenly was here and I've been consumed with caring for her. Edward has been close, but hasn't asked to sleep in my room. I hope he understands though.

Wisp pointedly turns her back to me the moment I sit down, clearly upset with the bath I gave her. I grin and pet her behind her ears.

"Do you mind?" I ask, not looking away from the kitten.

"Well, since you're asking, I'd rather you pet me, but…" Edward replies dryly.

This makes me look at him. "I mean the kitten. I haven't had much attention for you over the past few days."

Edward's face turns serious and he sits up to be closer to me. "If that would bother me, I wouldn't be the man I want to become." He leans in and after hesitating for a moment as if to ask for permission, presses a kiss to my lips. My stomach jolts at the contact, and after he pulls back, I need a moment before I can open my eyes. When I do, his face is still close, and his eyes are smiling at me.

"Don't worry about Wisp," he says. "I've never seen you happier as in the past few days."

For some reason, this makes my chest ache, and he laughs tenderly at what must be my very forlorn look. He wraps his arms around me and kisses my forehead. On impulse, I hug him back, and he hums his approval.

That's when I realize that I have been taking more than I have given, not just in the hose in general, but with Edward too. The problem is, I don't know how I can give affection, other than to react to what I am offered.

Someday soon, when I'm more certain, I will try to talk to Edward about this.

He lies back, looking at Wisp and stroking her head with a finger.

"Hey, I made a list of colleges to apply to," Edward says after a while, looking up at me. "Want to do it together?"

I nod. "Do you think Jasper and Alice want to join?"

"I think Alice already knows where she wants to go, and Jasper will follow her," Edward says. "And we can go anywhere."

"You don't want to stay close to them?"

Edward smiles, and the way he looks at me creates butterflies in my stomach. "It's inevitable that we'll be far away from each other. I want to go to Dartmouth, and Alice doesn't."

"Where does Alice want to go?"

"California College of Arts."

I frown. "Isn't that a private institution?"

"Yep. Ever noticed Alice and Jasper both have no car?"

I cock my head, and Edward explains. "Of course there were other reasons why it never really happened, but Alice now is using this as an argument to get mom and dad to pay for her education."

"Cunning," I say under my breath, and Edward grins.

"Alice is nothing if not manipulative. But she's a sweetheart."

"That she is," I say. I let Edward pull me down on the bed and after some maneuvering, he manages to make me settle with my head on his chest. It's a first, and I'm afraid my head will be too heavy for him. His hand caresses my hair though, and gradually, I relax.

God. I missed this.

Parched for some affection, I can't stop myself from wrapping my arm around his waist, pressing myself closer to him.

Wisp is all for us lying together, since it creates a nook in between our bodies she can settle into. Playing with the label of the towel, she's oblivious to her audience.

"So, Dartmouth?" I ask after a while.

"Yep. My grades are good enough. I… I actually already filled out the application."

"Good, that's good," I say, but panic makes my voice tight. What if I don't get in there? While before, I never thought I was going to go to any university at all, the idea of going anywhere with Edward has cemented itself in my mind quickly. The idea of now going somewhere he is not, makes my chest tighten.

"What?" Edward asks, clearly picking up on my distress. "Bella?"

"Nothing," I say. "I'll apply there, too, but I'm not sure I can get in."

Edward lifts his head so he can better look at me. "Excuse me? You do realize you have better grades than I do, right?"

"Hardly," I say, avoiding his gaze. "But you have ambition. You know what you want. I don't."

"Then you should think about that," he replies simply. He's not asking me why I have no real dreams for the future, and I'm glad. "Didn't you say once you wanted to write?"

"I don't think that's a sensible dream," I reply.

Edward shrugs, his shoulders moving underneath me. Wisp stops playing mid-pounce and I watch as her eyes droop before they fall closed.

"Dreams aren't meant to be sensible. Alice wanting to be a fashion designer isn't very sensible either."

"Alice is getting a business degree, too," I counter. "Sounds pretty sensible to me."

"So what if you could dream freely," Edward says, his fingertips stroking my upper arm over my clothes. The movement is so casual that I miss at first how wonderful it is that it doesn't freak me out. Wanting to reciprocate, I tentatively wrap my arm around his waist, my thumb drawing careful circles against his hoodie.

Edward hugs me tighter for a moment, and then continues talking as if my reaching out isn't monumental. "What if anything was possible. What would you do?"

His words trigger the memory of an idea I had a while ago, but I dismiss it right away.

"I don't think I can become a psychologist," I start, but Edward holds up his hand.

"Dreaming freely never starts with 'I don't.'"

"All right. I do think I can't become a psychologist."

He kisses the top of my head. "Har, har."

I smile. My body feels deliciously heavy against his, and it feels great to be so relaxed with him.

"But really, I have no idea."

I can sense Edward's disbelief.

"You just need to figure out what you're good at," he says. "You're good at languages, right?"

"Quite the translator I'd make, since I'm so comfortable speaking around strangers."

"Don't beat yourself up like that," Edward says quietly. "You're good at math, too. Would you like to do anything with numbers?"

"I don't think that would make me happy. There's no challenge in numbers."

And I still have that letter from my Trig teacher about advanced classes. Crap.

"Accountants would disagree with you. As would tax shelterers," Edward says dryly.

I chew on my lip, and pet Wisp for a moment. She wakes up from my touch and paws at me, her tiny claws not doing any harm. "I don't think it's for me. But I could do it if nothing else occurs to me, perhaps."

"It will come to you," Edward says reassuringly. "You can always specialize later on, you know."

"If I get in."

"I'm sure you will."

I shake my head, my muscles already tightening again. "Like I said, you have ambition. What can I tell the board about myself that will make me stand out?"

"That you're a fighter," Edward says immediately. "That you never give up. That you have amazing observation skills. That you're smart and witty. A fast learner. A great teacher… need I go on?"

A teacher… "I couldn't teach."

"I thought we had established this conversation wasn't about what you _can_'_t_ do."

"It's easier to start with what I know," I murmur. "And then move on from there."

"You know what you can do," Edward says, pulling me closer. "You just have to learn to trust yourself a little more."

"What if no university will accept me?"

"I fail to come up with any form of universe in which that could happen. Why wouldn't you be accepted?"

I can't say the words. I can't tell him I still feel tainted, unworthy of any place in the world. No matter how wonderful things feel with Edward, the rest of the world is tearing at me, making me feel my shortcomings every turn I take, everywhere I look.

Edward hugs me closer still and buries his face in my hair. "If I could give you anything, any gift in the world, I'd give you confidence," he says.

Like the first time he said this to me, there's nothing I can think of to reply to that.

"I think you'll have to give up on that one," I finally say. "I don't think that part is ever going to get better."

Edward exhales, thinking. Then he gets up so suddenly he startles Wisp awake. The kitten crawls over to me immediately, seeking warmth.

"Where are you going?" I ask, confused.

"Back in a minute," he says.

He looks so purposeful I don't ask any further, and I pet Wisp's soft, soft fur as I wait to see what he is going to do.

Not much later, I hear shuffling sounds outside my room. Edward opens the door and I see Alice and him carrying Alice's big standing mirror. They bring the life-sized thing inside.

Alice looks over at me, smiling knowingly. "Keep it as long as you like," she says. Then she's off again, which strikes me as uncharacteristic for her.

Edward closes the door and sets up the mirror in an empty corner. Then he holds out his hand to me in invitation.

Suspecting I'm not going to like what he is going to do, I get off the bed and walk over to him. He shifts me so I am facing the full-length mirror, and he steps up behind me, looking at me through the mirror. I look at him, trying to ignore my own reflection.

"Look at yourself," he says. "What do you see?"

My eyes flit over my mirror image, but then I look away again. I shrug. "A whole lot of nothing special. Can we not do this? I don't like looking at myself."

"I've noticed," he says. "How come?"

"I'm ugly," I say to my feet. "Certainly not worth looking at."

Edward wraps his arms around me from behind, anchoring me against his body. "I beg to differ."

"It's the truth," I persist.

"Do you want to know what I see when I look at myself?"

I look up at his reflection. "A perfect face and a perfect person."

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling. "I see a too high forehead, a too thin frame, impossible hair, and a mind that always thinks way too much."

"That's not true," I say quietly. "You have nothing to worry about."

"I could say the same to you," he retorts easily.

"That's different. You're altogether perfect and certainly too good for me."

"Is that what you worry about? That I'm too good for you?"

I blush. "Yes."

"But if I'm so perfect in your eyes, how could I fall for anybody less than perfect?"

My mouth opens, but I have no reply.

"If you see it differently, you're basically calling me a liar," Edward continues. "Are you?"

I shake my head. "But maybe you don't see things very clearly."

He hugs me closer. "You know what? I think I see things perfectly well. And I see who you really are. Not the contorted view others have forced you to see yourself through. Think about that."

I look at my own reflection, at the face I know so well. My eyes, brown and too big in my too thin face. My hair, brown but dull because I'm still not eating properly. My chin too sharp, my lower lip slightly fuller than the upper. And behind me, I see Edward, with a perfect straight nose, strong eyebrows, honest eyes and hair I want to run my fingers through.

Can anybody really see something else when they look at me?

Edward moves his hands, pulling my shoulders back so I am standing up straight, and he tilts my chin up. From an insecure, hunched figure I suddenly look more confident than ever.

"There you go," Edward says. "You deserve to be here. No matter what anybody else ever told you. Don't let one black spot get you down completely. Right now, I am willing to bet there are more people around you who love you unconditionally than there ever have been bad people in your life."

I exhale an glance at myself, but then my shoulders sag. I hate looking at myself. Hate it. I turn in Edward's embrace, hoping to hide from my own reflection. Edward chuckles and wraps his arms around me easily.

"Of course, now I have an excellent view of your ass," he says jokingly.

My blush flares and I hide my face against his chest, not sure if I should turn back or not.

"Look at yourself," he says encouragingly after a while. "You're worth being looked at."

He coaxes me to turn back to the mirror, and with gentle nudges makes me straighten up my stance. "See what a difference it makes?"

By standing taller, in a way I feel stronger, too.

"You're right," I whisper, even though I don't really sound convinced.

Edward hugs me from behind. "I usually am," he says with a wink. "How nice of you to see that finally."

* * *

_I will **not** abandon this story. I just won't be able to update every two weeks. Patience!  
_


	78. Chapter 78

**A/N Twilight isn't mine**

_Hi all! You guys ROCK! Thanks for all your wonderful messages and your concern. I'm fine! In fact, I'm great! Real life has taken a turn for the good; I found a job I love, my body is kinder to me and there are diamond rings and all the good things... Not oficially engaged but happy, nonetheless! Hope everything will stabilize now, but chapter 79 is as good as finished as well so hopefully you won't have to wait so long for updates anymore.  
_

_It's just that I'm not ready for this story to be over, and that's why writing it has been so difficult. _

_As ever thanks to my help; Sherry and Dana, you're both awesome!_

* * *

Once upon a time there was a little girl with brown hair and a heart-shaped face. She stood at the window as she watched her mother leave in a red car she didn't recognize.

At school, she would sometimes hear other children complain about their parents, and one time, she even heard a girl say that she hoped she was adopted. That her real parents were out there, somewhere, and that one day they would come back for her.

The little brown-haired girl knew all too well that something like that only happened in movies. She also knew that her own, real mother had left her, and that she would never come back.

And so she started to forget about her mother, about the woman she thought loved her, once. She loved her mother too. Once upon a time…

The girl is now seventeen and fully grown, even though years of malnourishment and abuse will keep her frame forever small, her face gaunt, her eyes frightened and sad.

I look at my wrist as if it is someone else's, see the bones protrude underneath the too thin skin. I'm in the rocking chair, going back and forth, the rhythm soothing. Even though it's warm out, I have Renée's quilt wrapped around me. Wisp was in my lap earlier, but now she's playing with a toy mouse on the ground.

As I follow her with my eyes, I feel lonely. It's a kind of desolation I am all too familiar with, and I welcome it like an old friend.

I'm not sure where it is coming from. I have no reason to be lonely, or alone. As far as I know, everybody is in the house this morning. Esme is working in the library. I saw her walking around the house with blueprints of some sort. Even Carlisle is home, working in his study. He was in there before breakfast and went right back after wolfing down some bread and eggs.

But I'm shying away from company. The first few days with Wisp have been chaotic, and I need some time to myself to process everything.

I look back out the window, over the million shades of green that is the Olympic Peninsula. So different things are here from Phoenix. From Chicago even. Summer is rolling in lazily, with a muggy warmth that makes your clothes stick to your skin.

But at least it's not raining today.

Not anymore, at least.

The rocking chair goes back and forth, back and forth, and my mind coughs up hazy memories of this movement in other times, other places. I remember vaguely my mother in the hammock, how she used to hold me and whisper of a future so bright I could barely envision it.

I remember rocking back and forth on my bed, my arms wrapped tightly around my legs, seeking comfort that I didn't know where else to find.

I remember being so light headed with hunger and pain that the world around me seemed to move, while I was holding on to the wall, hoping to stay upright.

But I also remember Esme, how I curled around her when I just got here and was so sick all my guards were down. And Carlisle, how he held me in his arms not that long ago, in this chair, when I had my first fight with Edward and he barged into the room, right through my defenses.

Did he know what it meant to me to be held like that? Even though I was scared at the time, afterwards I could only think of the strength in his arms, the soothing words he whispered, and the rocking of this chair.

Back, forth. Back, forth…

Wrapping the quilt closer around me, it's a poor substitute for a real hug. But as always, even though I am parched for affection, I don't dare ask for it. There's this invisible threshold I can't seem to get passed, and the longer I stay alone in my room, the harder it becomes to break through it.

The walls I've built are keeping others from coming too close, but they prevent me from reaching out as well. My protection has become a cell, and I have become a prisoner of my past.

It's not what I want, and the sense of helplessness I feel doesn't sit well with me. But I even feel powerless to change something about _that_, so I keep rocking, back and forth, and try to settle the anxiety I feel.

And as the chair moves, my mind works. Pushing my emotions away forcefully isn't really a coping mechanism. It's a survival mechanism. If I gave Laurent or Stefan any sign that I was in a bad mood, or a good mood, or in any mood at all, they'd use it against me.

So I learned to stay neutral at all times, and I guess that's why it's so hard now to get in touch with my feelings. I can't remember the last time I really, really laughed.

There was that giggle fit at the ice skating rink, when I fell flat on my ass, but it turned into a bawling episode that still makes me cringe.

As if cued by my thoughts, I hear Emmett's roaring laugh echo up the stairs. My stomach clenches and I realize it's jealousy I feel, which is absurd, because I don't want to take away Emmett's happiness.

It's just that I want to experience it, too.

I chew on my lip and rub my burning eyes. Crap, I don't want to cry. There's no reason at all to cry.

Yet, I feel desolate, the feeling washing over me like the incoming tide, and I can't stop it. Wisp looks up when I sniffle, surprise showing in her big yellow eyes. But then she walks away again. She's too young to understand humans, if she will ever understand them at all.

A fat tear rolls down my cheek and drops on the quilt, and another quickly follows. I lay my head back and close my eyes, and I give in to my emotions as I let the chair rock back and forth.

Maybe it's not so hard to feel anything, after all.

Maybe it's just happiness my mind no longer knows.

**~O~**

A knock on my door, so soft the sound barely penetrates my thoughts.

I turn my head away from the sound and pull the quilt closer around me. Company is not something I want right now, even if I'm lonely.

It doesn't even alarm me when the door opens slowly - I didn't lock it for once.

"Bella?" Edward asks quietly. "Is everything okay?"

Thinking that he might not see me nod when he can only see the back of my head, I turn back so I can meet his gaze. His face falls when his eyes meet mine.

"What's wrong?" he asks gently, but alarmed.

I shrug faintly and shake my head. It's nothing important, and I don't have the energy to explain it all to him, anyway. I don't even have the energy to organize my own thoughts.

Besides, I don't want to bother him with my depression. He shouldn't have to bear that burden.

He cocks his head, thinking for a moment, and then steps into the room, closing the door behind him. My body tightens up like Pavlov's dog, as always tensing when alone in a room with a man.

Edward walks over to my stereo and fiddles with the receiver until he finds a radio station he likes. When he's satisfied, he steps up in front of me, probably to make sure I can see him approach.

Then, without so much as a warning, he slides his arms underneath me and lifts me up like a baby, quilt and all. Before I can protest, he sits down in the chair with me on his lap.

He rocks us slowly, and my heavy head comes to rest against his shoulder as if it belongs there.

His hand comes up to gently wipe the remnants of my tears off my face, and then he wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer, while the other hand caresses my hair, his fingertips starting at my temple and then pulling back so gently goose bumps trickle over my arms and back.

"What's on your mind?" he asks after a long silence.

I shrug again and burrow closer against him. I didn't feel up for company, but now that he is here, I can't get close enough.

"You don't feel like talking?" he asks after a while.

In response, I shake my head, and when he says, "okay," a feeling of tranquility settles in my body and mind. Finally. The relief I feel for giving myself a break from using words is palpable.

I don't know how much time goes by. I listen to the radio, but mostly I listen to the sound of Edward's heart, feel his chest rise and fall with his even breathing, feel his fingers caress my hair.

"You know what you need?" he asks long after my eyes have closed and I am slowly drifting into slumber.

He doesn't wait for me to reply. "You need some happy therapy."

This makes me smile a little. I lift my head so I can meet his gaze, sure he will see the question in my eyes.

"The weather is glorious. In the woods behind the house there's a lake, more of a pond, really, and it's wonderful there. I can ask the others to join us. You don't have to swim or anything," he says quickly, probably seeing the look on my face. "But it might be fun to go there."

I'm not so sure of that, but when Edward gets up and places me on my feet, I don't stop him. He takes the quilt from me to put it on the bed, and then takes my hand. Together we walk to Alice's room. Her door is wide open and music drifts into the hall.

"Hey, Alice?" Edward asks loudly to be heard over the music.

"Yeah?" Alice asks. She gets up from her bed where she's been reading and lowers the volume of her stereo. "What's up?"

"Want to go to the lake?"

Alice's eyes grow bright in a nanosecond. "Oh, yes! Are the rest coming as well?"

"I hope so," Edward replies.

"I'll ask Jazzy," Alice says, and she flits out of the room, slipping into Jasper's bedroom without knocking.

"Let's go ask Rose and Emmett," Edward offers, tugging me up the second set of stairs.

When we get to the third floor, Rosalie is fresh out of the shower, with one towel wrapped around her body and one around her hair. It's so easy to forget that I am the only teenager in this house with her own bathroom. I can't imagine what it must be like to walk around the house in just a towel. Isn't that like screaming for trouble?

"Rose, want to go to the lake?" Edward asks, undisturbed by her almost nakedness.

Rose turns towards us and looks from Edward to me. She uncoils the towel from her hair and starts rubbing it dry. Even wet and tangled, her hair is spectacular.

"Sure," she says, her shrewd blue eyes taking me in. "When?"

"Whenever we're ready," Edward says easily.

Rosalie nods and walks into her bedroom without another word, and inwardly, I smile. That's Rosalie, all right. When she's done communicating, she simply moves on to the next thing on her list. She's not one to use more words than necessary. I wonder if that's why we seem to have more in common than you'd think at first.

Emmett's room is empty, and just as Edward is about to go down the stairs, Rosalie's bedroom opens.

"Bella, come here for a minute?"

Edward lets go of my hand, saying he'll go look for Emmett, and I go into Rosalie's room.

It's so different from Alice's, and yet, much the same regardless. Where Alice's desk is filled with magazines on fashion, fabrics, and patterns, Rosalie's desk is filled with her laptop, and countless pages with sketches on it. Her closet is open, and she starts rummaging through it.

I wait patiently, assuming she is looking for something to wear. She'll say what she wanted me to come in for in a moment, I'm sure.

"Ah, here it is," she says happily after a moment, and she comes up with the most adorable surf shorts, a long peasant skirt and matching blouse.

Just as I think she is going to put them on, she hands them to me.

At my questioning gaze, she cocks a brow. "I'm not saying you have to go swimming, but you can't go there covered up like an Eskimo," she says simply. "And since I'm pretty sure a bikini isn't an option, this is an alternative."

The shorts, I realize, must be above the knee for Rosalie, but since I'm so tiny, they'll come halfway down my calves. The skirt I'm sure will fall to the ground.

"Do you have something like a tanktop that can go with it?" Rosalie asks, walking over to her dresser to start combing her hair.

I nod. The clothes she gave me are different shades of green with brown, and I have those colors.

"Good." Still combing, she walks back to the closet and pulls out a white tunic. "You can keep this. I'm sure it'll look fantastic on you."

I make the Namaste gesture, meaning it, and she smiles.

"You're welcome." She hesitates for a moment. "Do you have any plans tomorrow?"

When I shake my head, her face changes, and I can see a sudden vulnerability in her eyes.

"We're going to the police station tomorrow, to see what we can do about the attack. I was hoping you'd come with me."

Even though everything in me revolts against it, I nod. If she wants me there, then that's where I'll be.

Rosalie smiles briefly and then nods at the door. "Go change. You'll love the lake."

Minutes later, I am back in my own room, looking at the things Rosalie just gave me in her usual no-nonsense way. And she doesn't just expect me to wear them; she seems to be convinced that I will.

Strangely enough, it's her confidence in my ability to leap so far out of my comfort zone, that allows me to slip into my bathroom, turn off the lights, and change into the clothes she's given me.

**~O~**

They don't stare.

Not long, at least.

Seeing me in a skirt must be a sight to behold. I haven't looked in the mirror. After Edward left me the other day, I turned Alice's big mirror so it faced the wall. I have no desire to see myself every time I walk into my room.

Though I can't deny I've been practicing a little, getting to know what it feels like to stand up straighter.

As I look now at the siblings I cringe, and am considering the merits of bolting when Rosalie comes downstairs, breaking the tension. She's wearing a summer dress and flipflops, and I feel a pang of envy at how comfortable she seems to be in her own skin.

"Are we ready?" she asks. "Let's go then."

We divide over two cars. Alice is with Edward and me and sits in the back, humming happily as she plays with her phone. I think of Wisp, up in my room where I left her. Esme knows we are leaving and where the kitten is. I hope she'll be all right.

It's a relatively long drive, and Edward explains that you can walk to the lake through the woods, which would be shorter, but it's easier to drive even though you have to go around the forest then first.

We park the cars along a side road I didn't even notice until Edward turned into it, and then we're off.

I feel highly uncomfortable in my bare legs, even though they are covered by the skirt. For Rosalie it must be a perfect length, but I have to lift it up so I won't stumble over it.

Thankfully, there are no others around. Then again, I think I would've been uncomfortable even if I had been alone. But I square my shoulders and keep my gaze forward instead of on the ground.

The skirt is of minor importance today. Edward was right when he said I needed some happy therapy. How he thinks to achieve that is a mystery to me, but everybody seems to be in a very good mood, and as usual that helps to lift up my spirits as well. And even though I'd rather hide in my room, it feels good to be outside, around my foster siblings who seem so perfectly fine with me being around them.

After about a ten minute walk, I see the glimmer of water through the trees. Emmett lets out a whoop and sprints to the lake, Jasper close on his heels. They drop their back packs and clothes as they run, and moments later I hear splashing.

"Fuck me, it's cold!" Emmett bellows, but he disappears underneath the surface of the water, coming up again several feet to the right and whipping his head from right to left quickly to get the water out of his hair.

To my left, Alice suddenly squeals as Edward chases her into the direction of the lake. I've rarely seen Edward so careless and free, and it's fun to watch him run, trying to catch his twin.

Rosalie and I catch up with them moments later. Jasper and Emmett are still in the water, and Alice is spreading out her towel on the grass.

"I brought one for you," Rosalie says, handing me a big, bright red beach towel. "And sunscreen lotion, too."

We settle in, and Rosalie makes me put sunscreen on my face. Even though it's definitely warm enough, I'm not taking off the skirt or the blouse and while I know Rosalie notices, she doesn't say anything.

She is about to lie down on her back when Emmett comes out of the water, a spray of ice cold drops flying off him as he walks up to us.

"It's been way too long since we've been here," he states.

I look up at him, and wonder if I should avert my gaze. He's in swim trunks that cling to his legs because they are wet, and tiny drops of water still cling to his bare chest and sharply defined abs.

"You gonna swim, Bella?" Emmett asks. "It's not as cold once you're used to it."

I shake my head, hoping he will leave me alone. I can't even really swim. I got a few lessons when I was very small, but I stopped for some reason I can't remember. And I've never been close to water like this, so I never saw a reason to learn swimming better.

It's beautiful here, though. Like Edward said it's more of a pond than a lake, but it's still big enough to make me wonder if someone could swim to the other side. In the middle of the water is a tiny island, filled with bushes and some small trees.

I can hear the birds and the soft rustle of the wind, and the ripples in the water as the tiny waves lap at the shore.

"Pretty, huh," Alice says, smiling. "We love it here. And nobody ever comes here. It's part of our property, right, Jasper?"

"Yep," he replies as he sits down. He's dried himself off a little, and I can see goosebumps on his arms as water drips from his hair onto his shoulders. "There's no fence at this side, but everybody knows this land is ours."

I wonder how come nobody ever told me that the Cullens owned so much land. Then again, I guess it's so normal for them, it never occurred to them to mention it.

Emmett, restless as ever, gets up again. "Who wants to play with me?" he asks as he rummages through one of the back packs, coming up with a small ball.

"I'll go," Edward says. He gets up as well, reaching behind him to pull off his shirt. He's in long swim trunks as well, like Emmett and Jasper. His legs, like all our legs, are as white as the moon, as is his chest.

I can't look away.

"Wait," Alice says, jumping up. She walks over to Edward and, ignoring his protests, squirts a bit of sunscreen lotion in her palm. Though he grumbles, Edward stoops so Alice can reach him better, and he lets her put the sunscreen on his face and back.

When she's satisfied he is protected, she hands the tube to Emmett and repeats the ritual.

"You must tan really quickly," Rosalie says to my left. She's lying on her back, big sunglasses covering almost half of her face. "Being from Florida you must be used to the sun."

"I'm from Chicago," I whisper, my voice rough as it's the first time today I've spoken.

Rosalie turns to her side so she can look at me, leaning her head on her hand. "Oh, right, I forgot. Best be careful then. Though I doubt the sun will be out long enough to actually give us a tan." She rolls to her back again. "I swear I'm going to live in a sunny place after college. I can't stand the darkness here."

"You're going to Seattle, right?"

Rosalie smiles at the sky. "Yes ma'am. I have to start packing soon. Can't imagine what it's going to be like to be so far from home. And it's not even that far."

"You'll get used to it," I say, not because I'm bitter, but because I want to give her some form of comfort.

Rosalie chuckles without humor. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. Of course you'd know."

We fall silent after that, and I turn my back to the sun and look at Edward, Emmett and Jasper as they play with the ball. They're in the shallow water, splashing as they run to catch it. I grin when Edward misjudges the course of the ball and falls over as he reaches for it, disappearing under water completely for a moment.

He scrambles back to his feet, sputtering and cursing. "Cold! Shit!"

Jasper throws his head back, laughing. While he is distracted, Edward simply walks over and shoves him, so Jasper loses his balance and falls over as well.

To my left, Alice looks up from her book. "Here we go," she says quietly, smiling.

Before I can wonder what she means, the guys have started a full on wrestling match. If I didn't know any better, I'd think they weren't really playing, but they're laughing, cursing, and playing dirty any chance they get.

It's wild, and while one part of me hopes that they are really playing, another part of me can't help but be alarmed. I'm somewhat put at ease when Edward jumps on Emmett from behind, wrestles him down, and pushes his head under water, but lets go immediately. Emmett comes up, making a quick move so he gets the upper hand.

Edward doesn't stand a chance. Where Emmett is bulky, Edward is lean, and Edward is no match for Emmett's strength. But what he lacks in strength, he seems to win in speed. And with an unexpected, lithe move, Edward is free from Emmett, splashing water in his face while he creates some distance between them.

"I take that personal," Emmett warns, rubbing the water from his eyes.

"It's personally, idiot," Jasper says, laughing.

Emmett shrugs. "Po-tay-to, po-tah-to. It's all semantics."

Edward barks a laugh. "You mean syntax."

Emmett shoots him a glare that says "oh no, you didn't" and launches at him.

They banter as they play fight, shouting insults and pushing each other into the water again and again.

Emmett announces himself winner of the match, which of course sets off Jasper and Edward, who now team up against Emmett. When they're finally finished, they come out of the water, out of breath and shivering.

I have a big towel ready for Edward, and I frown in worry when I notice his lips are blue from the cold. I rub his back, trying to get him warm.

"Thanks," he says through trembling lips. "It's colder than I expected."

I tut in annoyance and rub harder. What if he gets sick?

It takes me a moment before I realize Edward has stilled completely. I lift my head and see him looking at me with such intent it makes me blush.

Somewhere to my right, I hear Emmett's voice as if it comes from a mile away. "I believe those two are having a moment."

"Shut up," Rosalie hisses.

From out of nowhere, I find the courage to lift my hand and cup Edward's cheek. He wraps his long fingers around my hand to hold it there, tilting his face into my touch.

I can feel the shadow of his beard against my palm, feel my skin impart warmth on his.

Then he smiles shyly and looks away, breaking our moment, as Emmett called it.

"What's for snacks?" he asks as I pull my hand back.

Clearing his throat, Jasper looks through the back packs and lists every food item inside.

We have potato crisps and cookies and fruit and soda and sparkling water, and I'm thinking that any parent would disapprove of this menu. So obviously I have another chocolate cookie, feeling the sun on my back and seeing the water before me.

"Is this a good day or what," Jasper says as he lies back on his blanket.

"Ah, summer. My favorite day of the year," Alice says with a sigh.

"That's what they say in Britain," Emmett counters.

"I'm willing to bet Britain has more sunny days than Forks," Edward says. "So they have no right to complain."

Jasper laughs. "They're British. They will always find something to complain about."

"No, the Dutch do," Rosalie says. "Especially about money. British people will just professionally ignore everything that is not perfect in their lives."

"The Dutch are cheap," Alice says. "Hence the phrase, going Dutch."

"I thought that meant cheating?" Emmett asks.

"No, it means splitting the bill," Alice replies. "And the British are just perpetually cheerful."

"Always look at the bright side of life," Emmett sings in a ridiculous British accent, and everyone else whistles along, chuckles interfering with their whistling.

"I'd love to see that episode of Friends again, the one with all the Dutch," Jasper says. "What was that swear word again?"

"Something with an E," Alice recalls. "Easy, ell-?" she tries.

"Ezel," I say quietly, but everybody heard it and they all look at me. "It was Ezel," I repeat, though not much louder than the first time. "It means donkey. I googled it."

"Our little professor," Emmett says proudly. "Do you know any other Dutch words?"

I blush. "I'm not going to say them."

Emmett sits up. "Why not? I want to hear!"

I look away. "I can't even speak English properly."

The silence that follows is almost painful.

"I think you're doing just fine," Jasper says quietly after an eternity. "I mean... Yeah, I mean you're doing great, actually."

"What he says," Emmett concurs. "I mean, you can barely hear it- what?" he asks as Rosalie punches his arm. "Like that's a bad thing?"

"It's okay, I know," I say.

"I like how you say my name," Edward says softly.

"Why?" Alice asks. "Apart from the obvious reasons, of course."

"She says it differently than you all do."

"Makes him feel special," Emmett interjects. "Careful Bella, don't make him get more arrogant than he already is."

"Takes one to know one," Edward retorts easily.

"Ah, but I have good genes. And when you have a good reason to be arrogant, it's no longer arrogance, is it," Emmett states.

"Only in the world of Emmett," Jasper says, laughing.

"And such a pretty world it is," Emmett says, looking up at the skies in mock bliss.

"Are there words in particular you have difficulty pronouncing?" Rosalie asks next, ignoring the banter.

"I am not going to say them here," I reply, alarmed.

"Why not?" she asks.

I give her a look that I'm sure is a full on appalled glare, but I can't stop myself.

She just shrugs and grins. "We can understand you perfectly, in case you wondered."

I nod, more than ready to drop the subject.

"I remember Jasper's lisp when he was little," Alice then says. "He was always weally weady to go."

The others chuckle, and Jasper groans.

"And he was always wight," Edward chimes in. "Weren't you, Jaspah?"

"Shut up," Jasper says, but it's not unfriendly.

"And I was your favowite bwother," Emmett tacks on.

Jasper groans. "Are you done now? Or do I have to tell Bella how you scream like a girl when you see a snake?"

Emmett shudders. "Snakes are evil."

"So he tries to scare them away by shrieking so high the dogs come running," Jasper continues, addressing me.

Emmett shrugs, not put out by Jasper's teasing. Jasper, noticing he is not succeeding in getting Emmett riled up, shrugs as well and closes his eyes again.

Silence ensues, and I look over the water as the others are sunbathing. I'm not comfortable lying down in the open, so I lean back on my hands, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face.

I'm startled when I feel a hand on my ankle, but it's just Edward, and when my gaze flips to his, he is looking at me intently to judge my reaction. When I settle again, his hand inches up my calf, softly caressing.

Instantly, my heart starts to hammer as my skin reacts to his touch.

"Anybody know any good jokes?" Alice asks then, distracting me.

"Oh I know one," Emmett says. "Three hookers are sitting in a bar..."

"No," Rosalie complains. "No raunchy ones, please."

"You otherwise never complain about raunchiness, my dear," Emmett replies.

Rosalie swats his shoulder in annoyance, but it's playful.

"So the first one says-" he continues.

"What does a woman tell her husband after she's reached the best orgasm ever?" Rosalie interjects, talking right over Emmett. After a beat of silence, she continues. "Nothing. Why would she call him about it?"

Alice giggles, and Jasper chuckles.

Edward's fingertips caress my shin.

"What do you call a woman who knows where her husband is every night?" Rosalie says. "A widow."

"My god," Alice says, laughing. "That's bad. I have one, too. Why are married women heavier than single women?"

"No idea," Jasper says, looking over at Alice with sparkling eyes.

"A single woman comes home from work, sees what's in the fridge, and goes to bed. A married woman comes home from work, sees what's in bed, and goes to the fridge."

At this Rosalie laughs. Emmett simply huffs, and Edward chuckles.

"Do you know any jokes, Bella?" Alice asks me, sitting up.

"No," I croak, surprised by the question.

"Aw come on, you must know something," Alice persists.

I bite my lip, but my mind is blank. Then something pops up. "It's not really funny," I hedge, worried that they won't like it at all and I'll ruin the fun.

"Bring it on," Jasper says, rubbing his hands.

Edward squeezes my leg in reassurance.

"Okay." I clear my throat. My voice is still hoarse, even though I've been talking for quite a few weeks now. "An optimist thinks this is the best of all possible worlds. A pessimist fears it is so."

There's a beat of silence, and for a horrible moment I think I've failed terribly. But then Jasper barks a laugh. "That's a good one! I'm going to remember it."

"A man walks into a bar," Edward says. "Says, 'ouch.'"

This makes Alice laugh loudly, and I grin along with her.

"What do you call a woman who works as hard as a man?" Rosalie asks.

"Lazy," Alice replies, cracking up. She sits up to give Rosalie a high five.

I grin as well, and Edward chuckles. His hand is still on my leg, and the sensation slowly shifts from overwhelming and scary to warm and comforting.

"All right, what does a blonde have to put behind her ears to become more attractive?" Emmett asks. When nobody replies, he says, "her ankles."

Rosalie laughs the loudest at this joke, something I didn't expect.

"What do you call a man who is intelligent _and_ good looking?" Rosalie continues.

"Emmett," Emmett says, grinning at his own hilarity.

Rosalie snorts. "A woman is the correct answer, smart-ass."

Emmett shrugs, not put out. "I think 'Emmett' is the better answer."

"No more?" Jasper asks when Emmett doesn't come up with another joke.

"Nah, you've heard them all before," Emmett says.

"Oh, did you know," Alice says then, "that a recent study at UCLA's faculty of Psychology has found that women, while ovulating, like their men to be rugged and masculine?"

"That's old news," Edward says.

"They also found that women on their period are more attracted to a man with scissors lodged in his temple. And a bat up his ass. While he is on fire."

Everybody chuckles along, and I find I am grinning, too. When no new jokes are being shared, silence settles again.

Edward's hand is still on my leg, his thumb rubbing slow circles on my calf. He is lying on his belly, the hand touching me stretched out over his head. His face is turned to the side, and his eyes are closed. And it's then I realize that he is touching me not because he wants something more, but because he just wants to touch me.

What a fantastic feeling, but what a disaster to only realize something like this, now.

The atmosphere is decidedly relaxed, and after a while, I feel sleep is starting to tug at me. Looking over, I can see that the others are either really quiet or have dozed off as well.

Edward catches my gaze and smiles. He squeezes my calf lightly. "Come here," he says quietly.

He guides me over to his own towel, and stretches out his arm to make a pillow of his bicep. I lay down next to him, ignoring my hammering heart, and for a while we just look at each other.

"Close your eyes," he whispers encouragingly.

I do as I'm told, even though I know I won't be able to sleep.

A deep sigh escapes me as his lips softly touch my forehead.

**~O~**

_Something's wrong. I can feel it in my bones._

_I'm not in my bed, and I don't recognize my surroundings, but danger is looming and I'm scared. _

_I sit up, unsure what to do, but knowing I shouldn't make a sound. _

_Strange. I seem to be outside. How did I get here? _

_My heart is hammering in my throat, and it's all I can hear. I can see the wind in the trees around me, but it's not making any sound and it alarms me. _

_My gaze is drawn to the left, and I squint to see through the forest. But it's movement to my right that suddenly catches my attention. From behind a tree, Laurent steps into sight._

"_Found you," he drawls. "Did you really think you could hide from me forever?"_

**~O~**

I sit up in a rush, my breath stuck in my throat, my heart hammering so fast I'm trembling.

Somebody sits up next to me, but in my fear I don't recognize him and I fight to get away, but my legs are tangled in the long skirt I am wearing.

"Bella. _Bella._ Wake up. It's okay."

My breath is sawing in and out, but finally I have the presence of mind to look around and see Edward next to me, alarmed.

I am shaking badly now, an after effect of the adrenalin rush and the wild shock I had in my dream. I peer around us, my gaze shifting through the trees, as if Laurent would actually appear here.

"What is it?" Edward asks. "What happened?"

"He was here," I whisper, my voice breaking as I keep looking around me, checking, searching. "Laurent was here for me."

Edward's arms come around me and he pulls me against him, rocking us gently. "Nobody's here. It was just a dream."

I'm still shaking, and Edward holds me tighter, as if he can stop the tremors racing through my body.

But I let him hold me as I cling to him.

I'm here, and Laurent is not. Even if he's out of jail yet, he can't possibly know where I am.

He really isn't here.

It was just a dream.

Maybe if I keep telling myself that, I will start believing it.

But God, I am so, so tired of being afraid.

After a while, I can open my eyes again and see the others have left.

"They went back home," Edward says softly, following my gaze. "But you were sleeping so sweetly we decided not to wake you up."

I nod and take a deep breath, hoping to calm myself a little.

Then I burrow closer into Edward's embrace, and he holds me as if he has done so for a thousand years.

* * *

_Don't lose your patience with Bella... she's really depressed and can't really help (yet) how she acts sometimes. Until next time!  
_


	79. Chapter 79

**A/N Twilight is not mine. Torn is :) **

_A big, heart-felt THANK YOU to all of you. Thanks to everybody who is still helping me with this story. This chapter wasn't beta'ed, so any mistakes are mine. _

* * *

It takes an eternity - or just a few minutes - for my heart to finally slow down. And all the time, Edward is holding me, his arms around me so strong as if they are holding my body together.

And maybe he is, because I feel like if he lets me go, I will disintegrate and disappear forever. His embrace is anchoring me to the here and now, even though I can't stop myself from gazing over his shoulder, peering into the trees for any sign of a dark-haired, dark-skinned man.

Edward leans back to catch my gaze, forcing me to stop my searching.

"Nobody is here," he says. His hand comes up to touch my cheek, and involuntarily, I flinch away. He keeps touching me until I can relax under his touch, until the numbness disappears and I can feel the warmth of his fingertips against my skin.

His hold is anchoring me, keeping me in the here and now and making me aware of gravity, of the warm air around me, of the sounds that reach my ears.

I sigh for the exhaustion that seems to have settled in my bone marrow the day I was born. Everything is such a struggle - from feeling somewhat safe in my new surroundings to accepting being touched.

I just don't want to be afraid anymore.

"Then don't be," Edward says, and I realize I must have spoken out loud.

"What?"

"Don't be," he says again.

"I can't turn it off," I protest, a bit peeved by what he implies.

"I know," he says easily. "But you can conquer it."

"How?" I ask, sounding slightly more annoyed than I am. I'm tired of having these conversations over and over again. They never change anything.

Edward shrugs, and his nonchalant behavior makes me check. He's up to something, but I'll be damned if I know what.

He looks at me with something akin to mischief sparkling in his eyes, and then he leans in. At first I think he's going to kiss my mouth, but he moves his head to the side a little, dodging me.

I feel the silken touch of his hair against my cheek first, and then his lips brush against my jawline. I sit frozen as he peppers kisses in a trail towards my neck, stopping at the collar of my top.

He takes my hands in his and squeezes them, as if to reassure me.

And I start to understand the kind of fear he was telling me to conquer.

"Don't be afraid," he whispers against my throat. "There's no need to be."

I want to ask him what he is going to do, but words elude me when I feel his lips against my throat again. There's something in his kisses that rocks me to my core, and it's not just the soft intimacy of the affection. It's the way he seems to be tentative as well, seeking my permission to keep going in the way he approaches me.

He is only touching my neck and my hands, but I can feel it all through my body. Underneath the wild anxiety I feel, a strange buzz is setting over me, and it's not altogether unpleasant.

I'm not entirely stupid - I know it's my body rousing, but I clamp down the unfamiliar feeling, afraid to have it develop and make me want more.

After what feels like an eternity, he nuzzles the hollow under my ear and pulls back to look at me. He waits a moment, as if he knows I need some time to collect myself. Then he grins. "Don't be afraid," he says as if what he just did was no big deal at all.

And I know that in these past few moments, I wasn't.

I can't help but grin back at him. "It's still not easy," I say quietly, but the anxiety that races through my veins is of the good kind, even though it's still annoying to be so riled up.

He nuzzles the tip of my nose with his, and then kisses my mouth softly. "I know," he says. "But you know what? It's new for me, too. We can discover it together."

I want to protest, but he places a gentle finger on my mouth to silence me.

"And you can set the pace," he adds.

But how am I supposed to take the lead if touching him out of my own volition is still such a struggle?

"Stop worrying," he says, as if he can guess what I'm thinking. "Stay in the here and now. You liked what I did, yes?"

My blush answers before I can nod.

"Good," he says quietly. "So I can do it again."

He brushes my hair out of the way so he can kiss me again, and I look up at the gathering clouds in the sky, wondering briefly how far I've come that I can enjoy this - to some extent at least.

My muscles stay locked in place even as I tilt my head a little to give Edward more space to move. He touches my arm, then lifts his head to look at me.

"You're so tense," he observes. He thinks a moment, then inclines his head. "Lie down."

I frown at him, unsure.

"Lie down," he says again. "On your stomach."

"What are you going to do," I say rather than ask, sudden panic making my voice tight.

He rolls his eyes. "Nothing you don't want to. Lie down," he repeats.

_But I won't be able to see you_, my mind whispers forlornly. Still, I do as he asks and I turn to my belly, leaning my head on my folded arms.

"Any chance I can get you to take off that blouse?" he asks, but I can hear in his voice he isn't harboring any hope.

I shake my head, and from the corner of my eye I can see him nod once.

"Okay," he says. He gets up on his knees so suddenly I push myself up in alarm.

"No, lie down," he says. "I'm just going to kneel over you."

My heart is hammering as I feel him move behind me. I feel trapped, and it's all I can do to keep lying down and not try to buckle him off me.

But he doesn't settle his weight on me. In fact, I can barely feel him on top of me at all, and I crane my neck to look over my shoulder, to make sure he's actually there.

He leans forward to kiss my cheek before he sits back up, waiting for my fight-or-flight instinct to settle.

"Just so we're clear, I can touch your back, right?"

I try to say 'yeah', but no sound comes out of my mouth Edward must have understood though, because before I realize what is happening, his warm hands slide under my blouse and top, touching the skin of my lower back.

My breath escapes in a rush and my hands curl into fists, and Edward pauses his movements for a moment to let me adjust.

His hands are warm on my back, his palms soft. Even though I can feel exactly where his hands are and where they aren't, it still feels like my entire back is covered with his touch. It's overwhelming and awesome and scary… and nice.

Then his hands start to move, digging into my tense muscles with gentle care.

Oh… God.

This feels _good_.

I watch him from the corner of my eye as he works on my back. I can faintly feel his weight just below my rear, but he's not leaning down and I don't feel as trapped as I feared I would.

Regardless, it's hard to let go of the tension I feel, the fight or flight reaction that keeps me on edge. I wait for his hands to start wandering, or to make any sudden move, or to start hurting, but nothing happens and my mind gets in a tangle as it can't make any sense of this situation any longer.

"Just relax," Edward says quietly behind me. "Doesn't it feel good?"

I nod, knowing he will see it.

"Good," he says. "It's supposed to, you know."

I'm too tense to attempt closing my eyes, but my vision gets hazy as I focus on what I'm feeling. As he kneads the muscles alongside my spine, I am wondering if he would like it if I returned the effort.

"Stop thinking," he says. "I can practically hear your mind work from here."

I smile faintly, but don't say anything. But as Edward continues his massage, my brain gradually starts to slow down, along with my breathing. Edward gives some nasty knots in my lower back careful extra attention, and even though it's not exactly pleasant when he digs into the hard muscle, the overall feeling of relaxation that settles over me is peaceful.

He never strays from my lower back, never makes an unexpected movement, and I find I am starting to count on that - that he won't surprise me with unexpected movements or touches. He works so hard to make it good for me.

To make me trust him.

I don't know how much time has passed when he stops. The sun is gone, and the all too familiar clouds cover the sky above us again.

Edward places his hands next to my shoulders and leans forward, nuzzling me once more. "Good?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah, good," I reply, feeling deliciously rosy.

"Can I in any way tempt you to turn around?"

I'm fully awake again in an instant. "What? What for?"

"Because I want to cuddle," he replies like it's the most normal thing in the world.

"But-"

"Stop thinking," he whispers in my ear. "If it's too much you just say the word and we'll stop."

Everything inside me screams that this is not a good idea. That I should follow my instinct and end this, now. That even if it isn't a trap of some sort, it cannot possibly be good for me if I turn around and he is above me.

But I'm so tired of being afraid, and maybe I should try to conquer it, like Edward said. So when he leans back to give me space, I turn to my back so I can see his face, being careful to keep my legs low so as to not inadvertently hurt him where it counts.

Edward smiles and places his hands next to my shoulders again, coming forward.

And in an instant, I'm thrown back in time. It's no longer Edward above me, but Stefan, and any second his hands are going to come around my throat, cutting off my air.

I gasp for breath even as my hands come up to push at Edward's chest. I can't speak, I'm as mute as I was when I was still with Stefan and there is nothing I can do to stop it, nothing...

Just like that, the shadow over me is gone, and when I struggle to sit up, there is no resistance at all.

"I'm sorry."

And it's not me who is speaking. It's Edward.

I can't look at him. I need to force the vivid memories to the back of my mind, but my brain seems intent on playing them over and over again. It's like I can't breathe even now, as if the memory alone is squeezing my throat shut. I gasp for breath, feeling as if there is not enough air around me to breathe in.

"Take it easy," Edward murmurs. His voice sounds far away. "Breathe through your hands. You're hyperventilating."

I ignore his advise and force myself to hold my breath until my lungs are burning but at least my heart seems to have calmed somewhat. When I let go of the air I've been holding, I'm still out of breath, but the panic is less.

"Is there anything I can do?" Edward asks, leaning forward to catch my gaze.

"Home," I whisper. "Please take me home."

**~O~**

We don't speak during the short ride home, and as soon as Edward has parked inside the garage, I'm out of the car and on my way to my bedroom.

Wisp is there, and she meows in her kitten-like way when she sees me. I check to see if she still has enough water and then lie down on the floor at the far side of the bed, hiding from view. My kitten, curious as ever, climbs on top of me immediately, eager to explore this new 'thing.'

I can feel the feathery weight of her paws on my back, and it reminds me of Edward's massage. Reliving the scene, I lift up Wisp and turn to my back before I place her on my chest. Her weight is so slight - of course I wouldn't be alarmed by that. Having Edward hover on top of me like he did earlier however turned out to be a major trigger.

A sigh escapes me, and I chew on my lip as I think back to what happened. Wisp explores my stomach, pouncing on an invisible prey. Her movements aren't very graceful yet, and a slight smile tugs at my lips as I see her lose her balance when she jumps.

I wish I could be as innocent as the little cat.

But I'm not, and I will always carry the memories of what happened with me. Yet, now I'm away from the place where I was so afraid, it seems as if the memory is less clear also. It's hard to explain to myself how I could have been so scared not an hour ago.

I guess that's the thing with triggers. They catch you off guard and ruin all your fun quite effectively, and when it's all over you wonder what the heck happened at all, anyway.

Ugh.

My mood plummets, sucking me towards the dark hole that's tugging at the edge of my every thought, luring me in. And it's so tempting to let myself slide, to disappear in the nothingness that calls my name.

It's just that I'm scared that when I do, I'll disappear and I'll never be able to come back out again.

Wisp's ears prick up as my bedroom door opens without a knock, and I know it must be Edward coming to check on me.

Without a word, he walks into the room and lies down on the rug next to me, stretching out a hand gingerly to pet Wisp behind her ears. Wisp however seems to have other plans, and she attacks Edward's hand with both paws, opening her tiny mouth to try and sink her teeth into the base of his thumb. Edward lets the kitten have her way. She's so small still, she can't possibly do any harm.

"I'm sorry," he says again.

I shrug his apology away. I would like to tell him that it doesn't matter, but I'm suddenly overwhelmingly tired, and my head feels too heavy to lift, my tongue too thick to move.

"Do you want to go lie on the bed?" he asks tentatively.

Again I shrug. I guess my freak out earlier is starting to take its toll. Somewhere in the back of my mind though I feel bad that I can't give him any attention, because I do like that he seeks me out every single time.

"All right, up you go," he says as he gets up and takes my hands, pulling me into a sitting position easily.

Thankfully, no panic ensues when he helps me get on the bed and wraps his arm around me so I am curled up against his side.

He flips on the television and starts going through the channels, until he settles on a music channel. Raemonn's Supergirl fills the room, and the irony of the song leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

I'm no Supergirl by any stretch of imagination. Unless it would be Superbad at any interaction with Edward.

Or life, in general.

My harsh sigh triggers a softer one from Edward.

"What is it?" he asks, and it's his slightly annoyed tone that sets me off even more.

"Nothing."

He sighs again, quietly now. "Of course."

I can't explain how I feel right now, how my thoughts are in a tangle, how I'm wanting to disappear yet am afraid to let it happen. How I liked how I felt with him in the meadow, yet am scared to feel like that, to feel anything at all. How I'm sick and tired of being afraid, pissed at my past, and exhausted from life.

I can't explain it all. I wouldn't know where to start.

"You wouldn't understand," I whisper, not for his ears to hear.

He hears it.

In a flash he's on his side, propped up on one arm and hovering half above me.

"No, I wouldn't," he says, his eyes betraying the calm he is forcing into his voice. "Because you sure as hell don't try to explain it."

"What is there to explain?" I ask, so frustrated by my inability to just be normal I forget to be afraid. I don't register his sudden loss of patience, or the reason of his frustration.

He closes his eyes for a second, his lips drawn into a thin line as he thinks. "Nothing, I guess," he says when he looks at me again. I can see the disappointment in his eyes, and I hate that I'm letting him down. Again.

I turn away from him, unable to put my emotions in words.

"Right," he says softly, his voice rough. "Shut me out again. I'd better leave you be."

He gets up off the bed, and it's only when he has almost closed the door behind him that I can find my voice again.

"Can't say I didn't warn you," I say loud enough for him to hear.

The door doesn't close. It opens again, and Edward steps back into the room. His face is tight in anger now, and I watch him with an all too familiar detachment. I don't even sit up to be in a less vulnerable position.

Edward closes the door behind him with a click so soft it's ominous. "You did. Again and again, and I was stupid enough to ignore it, because I believed that underneath your harsh facade there was a girl so entirely loveable it was worth trying to break through those walls."

"I'm not loveable," I mutter, only barely registering what else he is saying.

"You are," he persists, "but you're the only one who doesn't see it. God, I can't imagine the amount of energy it must cost to keep pushing away everybody who wants to get close to you."

"You think I'm doing that on purpose?" I ask, appalled.

Edward shifts his stance. He starts to fold his arms but then he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Seems like it, yeah," he says. He doesn't look at me.

"Do you really think I have the energy for that? Do you have any idea what it costs me to get through a day at all?"

"You know what?" he says, looking back at me now. His eyes are glittering in anger, and my backbone stiffens in age-old fear. "I don't. Because you sure as hell don't tell me, or anyone of us. You seem well content keeping away from anyone, hiding in your room as if you're too good to spend time with me or anybody else in this house."

"That's not true," I whisper, stunned by his bleak observation. "You know it's not."

"Yeah, I know. So I keep coming to you, knowing it's hard for you to reach out, and I do anything I can think of to make you happy, to see you smile. But it's not enough, is it? Will it ever be enough?"

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Because I don't know. I don't know if it will ever be enough.

"Would it really hurt you so badly to come to me for a change? You don't have to do anything. Hell, I'd be happy if you just asked me to watch a movie with you, even if it's a boring one."

"I don't know how," I say, my voice breaking. "I don't want to bother you."

"How could you possibly bother me?" he asks, his hands coming up in a helpless gesture. "How can I make it clear to you that I want you to come to me? I don't care if you're happy or sad, but if you want my company, I want to be there for you. Just don't shut me out," he adds, his voice growing rough. "Please stop shutting me out."

I'm still on my bed, but it's like I'm hovering somewhere near the ceiling, taking in the scene below. And with a sudden clarity I see how I will lose Edward if I don't do something, anything, to close the distance between us.

But how can I tell him I am so afraid of losing everything that means something to me? How I have lost everything I ever liked or even loved? How I simply don't know how to reach out, for fear of being a burden, something to ignore and push away?

"Are you even willing to still try and fight?" he asks quietly. "Just tell me. Because as long as you are, I am, too. But I can't fight your demons alone."

"I don't know how anymore," I say even more quietly than he.

"That doesn't matter," he says. "But if at least you're willing, we can find a way. We can make it happen."

"So I can freak out again the moment you want to try something new? How many more panic attacks will it take before you finally decide I'm not worth your while?"

"You _are_ worth my while," Edward replies, his voice rising. "How many more times do I have to tell you that?"

"Because you're losing your patience," I snap, pointing out the obvious. "And I don't know if I can stand to lose you."

In a flash he is sitting on the edge of the bed. "You won't lose me," he says fiercely. "But god damn it, it would make things so much easier if you didn't push me away all the time. Do you even want me close?"

"Yes," I whisper, my voice small. "But I couldn't bear it if I let you in and you would leave."

I've said it. My chest is cracked wide open, emotions I've ignored so carefully for so long rushing to the surface, tightening up my throat as my sobs are trying to find a way out. I swallow compulsively, forcing them back down.

"I can't promise you undying love or whatever," he says after a silence. "But I don't know what I can do anymore to make you believe that I want to be with you. If you keep using people away they're bound to leave you. Do you really not see that's a self fulfilling prophecy?"

"I don't know how to change it," I say.

"Yes you do," he says immediately. "Of course you do."

"I don't think I can do it." The exhaustion that was tugging at me before is back, making my muscles weak and my bones ache.

Edward scoffs. "I can't believe this. You've survived all hell on earth and got out at the other side, and now you're here, you don't know what to do? Don't be ridiculous, Bella."

His words tick me off and I sit up on my knees, wanting to be more on an even keel with him.

"All my life I've survived by staying away, Edward," I snap. "The only way to get through the days was by keeping my distance and let shit happen to me. If I asked for anything it was used against me. Now you tell me how I am supposed to get over that!"

He takes a deep breath before he speaks. "How about you start realizing that you're safe here, and that nobody in this house has any ulterior motive. They want to be nice to you. I'm sure the concept is strange to you, but you can damn well start trying to accept that for a truth."

"It's not so easy as it seems, mister psychologist," I spit. "But I guess that having grown up in a perfect family with perfect parents in a perfect house with more money than God could ever spend, you wouldn't know that."

He takes in my rant in silence, and seconds tick by before he answers me. "No, I wouldn't," he says. "But I damn well know how depression feels, Bella. And I damn well know how happy I was when you started to open up to me."

I gape at him, unable to find any words for a reply.

"What," he says, his voice flat. "You didn't realize you were helping me, too?"

"I didn't," I whisper after a moment. "I was?"

He tugs at his hair, ruining his do. "God," he breathes, chuckling without humor. "You really didn't?"

I shake my head numbly.

"Why did you think I was spending so much time with you? No, don't answer that," he interrupts himself. "I don't think I want to know."

My shoulders sag. From the corner of my eye, I see Wisp observing us, probably wondering at our raised voices.

"Look," he says, "maybe this sounds really weird, but I am no psychologist, whatever you think. You don't want to call yourself a victim, correct?"

"Correct," I say quietly, my voice nearly gone from the stress of talking.

"You're a survivor," he continues. "You've been through all this shit and now you're here. You've gotten this chance, but you're not seeing the possibilities. Instead you behave like the victim you deny to be, hiding from everything and refusing to actively try and build a life."

His words are so true and they hit me like a slap in my face. I gasp as the full meaning of what he says sinks in.

I've not just been a brat, accepting everything here without giving anything back. I've been exactly what Edward just called me. A helpless victim, perfectly able to take the right steps and make changes, but instead hiding away from all the good things that have been offered me, refusing to accept anything for fear of losing it.

I've not just been a victim.

"I've been a coward," I whisper, devastated by the realization.

"No," Edward says immediately. "Not a coward. But you're still playing by the rules of your old life. And you don't have to anymore. Can you really not see that there is no danger here?"

"I want to," I say on a sob. "I want to, so badly."

He doesn't reach for me to comfort me. But when I look up at him, I can see he has his arms open in invitation. Wordlessly, he is asking me to go to him for comfort.

So, I do.

His arms wrap around me in a now familiar feeling embrace, but for the first time I can really feel the comfort of his warmth seep into my skin, settling into my bones.

And I cry not just for the wasted years of my childhood, but for all the energy I've wasted here with my worries and fears.

"Just don't leave me," I say into his chest. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he says, leaning his cheek against the crown of my head. "Nobody expects you to change overnight. I think it's perfectly understandable that you're struggling. But you have to at least try, you know?"

A deep sigh escapes me and I hide my face in the crook of his neck.

"You've come so far already," he murmurs, his voice comforting. "See what you've achieved so far. You're eating with us, you're talking and even playing. You accept a hug every now and then," he says, squeezing me a little. "We've spent nights together. Don't withdraw so far. Don't forget the good things. Or did you forget?"

I shake my head as I picture everything he is telling me, knowing he is right.

"I'm going to have this epiphany more often, aren't I," I complain.

Edward chuckles lowly, and I can feel the sound reverberate in his chest as the tension in the room slowly evaporates. "Only a couple dozen times. Maybe more."

I groan, and Edward laughs, lighter now.

"I guess sometimes you need a reminder that you're not in Phoenix anymore."

Of course he is right.

And thank god for that.


	80. Chapter 80

**A/N Twilight isn't mine, but Torn is**

_Hi everyone! Sorry for the long wait! It was hard to write this chapter, with both software and hardware problems to overcome. Thanks to Sherry and Momduckie for reading, thanks to everyone who is still with me on this journey._

_Chapter 80... Can you believe it? I hardly can!_

* * *

A couple dozen times, he said.

I'm thinking it might be closer to a million, especially when I realize that I can't even count the times I learned I was safe here on two hands anymore.

But, I want to try, even though I have no idea where to start.

I haven't really slept during the night. Edward stayed with me all evening and in the end we didn't even change - he just pulled the comforter over us both and held me while I stared at the ceiling. I'm pretty sure he didn't sleep much, either.

We didn't speak, and we still don't when we go downstairs for breakfast. Edward's hair resembles a haystack and I can't imagine mine looks much better.

But for once, I don't really care. Yet another part of the walls around me have crumbled last night, and when Edward pours juice in two glasses at the counter, I walk up to him and lean into his side, wanting to be close.

His arm comes around me and he hugs me against him for a moment before he hands me the glass.

We spend a few peaceful moments together, sipping our juice as we look out the kitchen window.

"What do you want to do today?" he asks, his voice low as if not to disturb the silence.

"I'm going to-" I hesitate, not sure if it's up to me to tell Edward about Rosalie. Did I ever tell him? Does he know? I can't remember. "Um. Out, with Rosalie," I hedge, but I'm the world's worst liar and Edward knows it.

"Um. Out with Rosalie?" he echoes me in a teasing tone. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing," I say, too quickly. In order to divert the attention, I start pulling out ingredients for scrambled eggs.

I focus intently on the frying pan as the butter slowly starts to melt. I shake my head curtly. "Nothing," I repeat.

"Okaaaay," he says slowly. "If you say so."

I clear my throat awkwardly and keep myself occupied by cutting up some tomatoes.

"Do you want cheese with the eggs?" I ask, my words stilted.

"Sure," Edward says. "I hope you'll have fun with Rosalie today."

I stare into space as I try to imagine what today is going to look like. It's not going to be fun by any means, that much is clear.

"Thanks," I whisper. I clear my throat again. "What will you do today?"

"I think I'll try to meet up with Ben or Eric," Edward says. "Otherwise mom will complain that I'm not going out enough."

"Maybe Jasper will come?" I ask, trying to make conversation.

"Maybe," Edward says.

He helps me fill the plates, and we move to the kitchen table to have our breakfast.

"Are you going to the gym again?" he asks after a while. "You seemed to like it that first time."

I think for a moment, chewing. "It was okay. But I think I like running better."

"Good morning," Emmett says as he walks in, stretching and scratching his head. He yawns so widely his jaw cracks, making Edward cringe.

"Any eggs left?" Emmett asks as he shuffles over to the counter.

"I can make them for you," I offer.

"Nah, 'sokay," he says, yawning again. In his own sweet time, he fixes himself a bowl of cereal. When you see him move like that, you'd never expect him to be so quick in the field when he plays.

"Hey Em, do you want to go to the beach today? I'm asking Ben and Eric, too."

"No, I got plans already," Emmett replies after swallowing a huge bite. "Tomorrow?"

Edward shrugs. "The sun is out today, not tomorrow. What are you doing today?"

"Out with Rosalie," Emmett says easily.

Edward narrows his eyes. "Out. With Rosalie."

"Yeah? What's wrong with that?"

Edward cocks a brow. "Because Bella is going out today too. With Rosalie." His tone implies he's not impressed by our flimsy explanations.

"Are you?" Emmett asks me. "Cool."

Just as I pick up our plates to put them in the dishwasher, Carlisle and Esme walk into the kitchen. Edward is still frowning when he looks up at his parents.

"That smells delicious," Carlisle says, inhaling. "Would you care for scrambled eggs, love?" he asks Esme.

"That would be lovely," Esme says as she sits down at the table with us. "Good morning."

I'm moving to the fridge to help Carlisle get the things he needs to make the eggs when Edward speaks.

"Are you two going out with Rosalie today as well?" he asks, a hint of accusation in his voice.

"We are," Esme says. "Why does this bother you?"

"Because there is obviously something going on I don't know anything about," Edward replies.

"You can't know everything," Carlisle says calmly. "In fact, it's quite impossible."

"Which is not the point," Edward counters easily, as if he is used to Carlisle's method of steering a conversation into a different direction. "You all look like something bad has happened. What's going on? What happened?"

Esme looks over her shoulder at Carlisle, seeking help. I step up to him quietly, offering soundlessly to take over his cooking so he can focus on the conversation. Carlisle whispers a thanks.

Edward, of course, sees it all and it doesn't help him relax.

"She is not in trouble. There are just some things that need to be taken care of," Carlisle says, walking over to the table.

"That's helpful," Edward murmurs. "When did this house become one of secrets?"

"Let it go, Edward," Emmett says. "You'll learn soon enough. Just not… now, okay?"

Edward looks over at Emmett, stunned not by his words but by the obvious tension that lies underneath them.

"Is she pregnant?" he bursts out.

"God, no," Emmett says, rubbing his face. "And now stop digging. Please."

"I don't like this at all. But fine, go ahead and don't tell me anything." Edward gets up in a sulk and turns to leave the kitchen, just as Rosalie walks in, looking white as a sheet with dark circles under her eyes.

Edward checks, concern bleeding through his dark mood.

"We'll leave in about an hour," Esme says. "Rosie, dear, won't you have some breakfast?"

She shakes her head, her arms wrapped around her waist. She walks up to Esme, seeking comfort and support.

"You okay?" Edward asks her tentatively.

"Yeah," Rosalie says, her voice surprisingly light. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Edward frowns and shrugs as he turns to leave. "Fine. What the fuck ever."

"Language," Esme warns in the direction of his back.

"What the fuck ever!" Edward repeats, louder now, before he stomps off, taking the stairs two at a time to his room.

God.

Maybe after yesterday, everything was not resolved. I rub my eyes and sigh desolately.

"What was that all about?" Esme asks quietly.

"He and Bella had a fight yesterday. I guess that wasn't over?" Emmett asks in my direction.

"I thought it was," I whisper, forcing myself to speak with Carlisle in the room. "I don't understand."

Emmett must have heard our raised voices, and it makes me feel very uncomfortable that others have noticed Edward and me fight.

"All right," Carlisle says, and I think I can hear understanding in his voice. He sighs. "Let's just have breakfast. Rosalie, come and sit down. You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry," she protests.

"Regardless. Please eat something. You'll need it."

Carlisle fills three plates and brings them to the table. Thinking I would like to get away before the questions start, I slip from the kitchen, going to my room.

I wonder why Edward is so tense so suddenly. I would like to go to his room and talk to him, but I don't think that's a good idea. He knows I know where we are going today, and I won't be able to talk to him about it. It's not my decision to make, not my story to tell.

Could it be that he can't stand it that I am privy to something he isn't? But that would seem awfully childish, wouldn't it? Or maybe I'm just overthinking it.

Maybe things just aren't okay after yesterday. But things felt okay when we went to sleep and usually I have a good hunch of what people's moods are.

I don't know.

I'm still pondering over it when I emerge from my bedroom after having showered and dressed, and I'm half distracted when we pile ourselves into Carlisle's Mercedes to go to the police station in Port Angeles. Rosalie is pressed against me in the car as we're squeezed into the back seat with Emmett, but I try not to let it bother me so much.

She is more stressed than I am today, her body rigid even as Emmett pulls her closer in an attempt to give her some comfort.

We're quiet when we arrive at the police station, and wait in silence for someone to collect us as the lady at the desk promised would happen. I sit in a plastic chair that's hard as concrete, and I look at Rosalie from the corner of my eye.

"What if they don't believe me?" Rosalie whispers to no one in particular. "What if they say it's too long ago?"

"It isn't," Carlisle assures her. He moves from his seat to squat in front of her, taking both her hands in his. "They would have said so when we made this appointment. They will take you seriously, I promise."

Rosalie looks away from her father, but I don't miss how she squeezes his hands for support, and he squeezes right back.

Involuntarily, my stomach clenches in jealousy. I'm still so wary around Carlisle and it's so hard for me to have him close, yet when I see how easy Rosalie and all the others are around him, I just wish I could have that, too.

Thinking back to my umpteenth epiphany of the day before, I wonder if it really would just be a matter of reaching out, and for a moment I wonder if I would ever have the courage to do so. Then again, now is really _not_ the moment to be reaching out or courageous. Now is Rosalie's time, and I have to do my best to support her in any way I can.

So, wary or not, I get up as well and sit down next to Rosalie, closer to Carlisle than I've ever done before save for when he held me, and I nudge her shoulder with mine, letting her know I'm there.

Rosalie gives me a wan smile and sighs, then stiffens as a female cop briskly walks up to us, a clipboard in one hand, the other outstretched in invitation.

"Miss Cullen? We're ready for you now. I'm detective Duncan. Who did you bring?"

"My parents, and Emmett and Bella," Rosalie says in a voice I would hardly recognize as hers.

"I'm not sure if we can find a room that will be able to fit all of you in," the detective says. Her voice is kind, and warm. It matches her eyes, which seem to show more than professional sympathy. I think I like her.

"Would it upset you very much if one or two would have to wait outside?"

"Um," Rosalie says, her face unusually pale. She looks to Esme helplessly.

"I can wait outside," Carlisle offers. "If that's easier?"

"No," Rosalie says. "I don't know."

"Bella and I will wait outside then," Emmett says resolutely. "You go in and we'll be right here when you're done."

His voice is so assuring and steady, that I suddenly understand why people seem to think of Emmett as a comforting presence so often. I'm fine with waiting outside, even though I would have liked to hear how such an interview would go.

"Okay," Rosalie whispers.

I watch how detective Duncan ushers Rosalie, Carlisle and Esme to a small room down the hall, and when the door clicks closed, the silence is oppressive.

"I saw a vending machine near the entrance," Emmett says. "Want to see what it has to offer?"

It's beyond me how anyone could possibly think of food in a situation like this, but when I look at Emmett, I can see the tension in his face. He's just looking for some distraction, and to be honest, I could use it, too.

He finds some coins in his wallet to buy a packet of gummy bears, and then we walk over to the small sitting area with two month-old magazines lying on the coffee table. Emmett opens the packet and holds it out for me, but I can't eat here, in a strange building, with strange people walking by.

Emmett shrugs and starts flipping through one of the magazines, until he finds a crossword that hasn't been filled in yet. "Coolies," he says. "You got a pen?"

I shake my head, so Emmett walks to the reception desk and returns a moment later with a ball point in his hands.

"All right," he says, settling down again. "Tree, three letters. Oak."

I think back to yesterday again, how Edward said that he can't fight my demons alone.

No, I think. But maybe I can. I have to try.

_Reach out_, I tell myself. _Do it. _

"Ash," I whisper, nearly choking on the word. "Or Fir. Or Elm."

Emmett cocks a brow at me in a 'really'-look. "Now she talks," he murmurs. "Okay, miss smarty pants. 'Dispirited', four letters."

"Glum," I offer. "Dark. Dour. Blue?"

"For someone who doesn't talk much you have an awful lot of words up your sleeve," he grumbles. "I mean, really?"

I want to apologize, but then I see the sparkle in his eyes. He names the next word, and together we make steady work of the puzzle to kill some time.

When we're done, Emmett checks the clock. "They've been in there for nearly an hour," he says. "Did you know it would take that long?"

I shake my head. "They need details," I say quietly, aware that the lady at the reception desk is no longer on the phone and can hear us speak now. Hear _me_ speak, specifically. "And then they need to check the story, see if they got it all down right?"

"I guess," he says. "I wonder if they will ever catch who did it." His eyes darken when he says this, and my heart warms when I see how protective he is over Rosalie. "The odds are against us though."

At this I shrug. It's been years ago that it happened - in all honesty I'd be surprised if they would ever find someone who matches the description Rosalie will no doubt give. My stomach clenches when I think that if I would ever consider pressing charges, I'll have to go through this process as well - not just the retelling and reliving, but also the question whether they will be able to catch Laurent and Stefan and send them to jail.

I grit my teeth, not wanting to linger on those worries.

"It's great that you're here though," he says next, making me look up. "It means a lot to Rosie that you came along. She knows how hard it is for you, what with your past and all."

I remember a talk I had with Emmett a while ago, when we looked out over the water and he told me in his typically clear way that my behavior was unacceptable. I remember how much I have come to like Emmett, and how I would never have perceived it possible to be at ease with such a big man.

"I wanted to help," I try to explain. "If she needs me, I want to be there."

"That's really you, isn't it," he states rather than asks. "If someone needs you, you're there, no matter the cost. You've skipped nights because of Wisp, haven't you?"

I nod, surprised at his accurate description of my character.

Emmett is quiet for a moment, doodling in the magazine. I follow the trail of loops he is drawing with my eyes.

"Edward needs you too, you know," he says quietly, carefully. "We all need you, actually, but Edward needs you more."

I open my mouth to reply, but hesitate. After yesterday, I've come to realize it, too. To me, Edward has been such a steady anchor that I rarely spent a moment's thought on his own demons, his worries and his fears. Sure, I know he tends to overthink things, but when he's around me, usually he's so balanced and quiet, I have forgotten to try and see things through his eyes every now and then.

"I know," I finally whisper.

Emmett looks at me, searching my face. "You need to take care of him, you know," he says. "Don't be fooled by his calm. He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders."

"What do I do?" I ask. "How do I reach out?"

For a split second, he looks at me as if I have two heads, but he masks his surprise quickly. "Do what feels natural, I guess," he says.

I shake my head and pull my sleeves over my hands in a gesture that betrays my discomfort. This is an excellent moment to actually 'reach out', may it be in a different way than Emmett means. Still, I have to try it, even if it is the worst possible moment - Rosalie's interview can be over any minute now.

"I don't know how. I'm always afraid to be a bother."

Emmett blinks, then raises his brows in a way that shows he is clearly not impressed. "Come on, really? I'm sure you know better than that, now."

I shrug, uncomfortable. No need to tell hem the hows and the whys. It's bad enough that I feel this way, period.

He thinks for a moment, clicking his pen. "Have you ever asked him to do something for you?"

"What?"

Now it's his turn to shrug. "Have you ever asked him for anything at all?"

I have to think about that. "Maybe? A few times?"

"Try it," he says. "If I know my brother, and I think I do, he needs to feel as wanted as you do. Ask him whatever. Ask him to spend time with you, to watch a movie, ask him to take you out anywhere."

"What if he doesn't want to?"

Emmett leans forward on his elbows. "Then the world won't stop. And he'll love it. I'm sure of it."

I'm not so sure of that, but in the end I do realize that if I don't reach out, I won't get anywhere, anyway.

"Ask him to sing for you," Emmett says. He opens his mouth to say more, but right at that moment, we hear voices down the hall approaching; Rosalie's ordeal is over.

Emmett is up in a split second, and the moment Rosalie appears, he walks up to her to wrap her in a bear hug. "Hey," he whispers, and even from where I am now standing, I can see how she clings to him, and how he is holding her up.

Carlisle looks ashen, and Esme looks drawn and tired. Her eyes are red-rimmed, as if she has been trying to withhold her tears.

"You'll hear from us," detective Duncan says as she shakes hands with Rosalie, Esme and Carlisle. "You did great today, Rosalie."

"Thank you," Carlisle says. Rosalie simply nods. She's white as a sheet and looks like she could sleep for days.

I walk up to them as the detective walks away, unsure of my place in all of this. But Rosalie notices me and pulls me into a hug. Caught off guard, I freeze up, but a moment later I become aware of how she is leaning against me, seeking my support. I rub circles over her shoulders as she sighs long and deep.

"That was really uncool," she whispers. "But I'm glad I did it."

I have so many questions for her, but I know now is not the moment to ask them. When Carlisle proposes we go home instead of having lunch in Port Angeles, we all agree.

**~O~**

Rosalie is quiet on the way home, as I expected she would be. I don't know what else I can do but stay close to her. Maybe I can bake something nice when we get back?

God, I suck at this socializing thing.

"Rosalie?" Carlisle asks quietly when we drive through Forks.

"Yeah?" she replies, but it comes out as a croak. She tries again. "Yeah?"

"We need to talk about what you want to tell the others," Carlisle says. "Have you thought about that?"

I can see the resistance she feels in her eyes, but she's strong, stronger than I am, apparently, because she lifts her chin and meets Carlisle's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"I think we have to tell them, right?"

"It's up to you, honey," Esme says.

"I can't keep it from them, I think," she says. "Right?"

"It's up to you," Esme repeats.

She doesn't say the others are bound to have noticed something and that they are bound to have questions, and I appreciate her all the more for that. Pointing out the obvious is not going to help Rosalie.

I wish I had any wisdom to share, but my throat is blocked; squeezed shut by the amount of people in the car.

"But what if they look at me differently?"

"They won't," Emmett says. "Why would they?"

He voices my thoughts to the letter, and I know her question in that regard is absurd, even though I struggle with the same thing still. On a rational level, I know those around me do not judge me for what happened, yet it's still so hard to overcome the fear that they will.

"You don't look at me differently," I whisper. My face flames up immediately; not just for having spoken with all of them present, but also because I am purposely referring to my own past. I don't want to make this conversation about me, but somehow I feel that my own experience is the best argument I have to offer.

"But that's different," Rosalie says helplessly. "I went out, in a dress I wasn't supposed to wear. You never provoked anyone."

A short, bitter laugh flies from my mouth, so sharp that Esme looks over her shoulder to check on me.

Baffled and ashamed by my own reaction, I turn my face away to look out the window, wringing my hands in my lap.

"Bella?" Rosalie asks quietly, but I shake my head, unable to talk or even communicate.

I shouldn't have said anything.

I should just have kept my mouth shut. Not just now, but back then, as well.

Gah.

**~O~**

I miss most of the remainder of the conversation the others have on the last bit of the ride home, but when we get out of the car, I gather that Rosalie is going to give the others the gist of what happened.

She asks the others to come join us in the living room, but I'm only half tracking what is being said. What I don't miss, however, is how they are all equally upset about the ordeal she has been through, and that she shouldn't have kept it a secret all those years.

Edward is sitting on the couch, and there's a dark look in his eyes I can't place. When he meets my eyes however, his gaze warms up and he smiles at me.

"So that's about what happened," Rosalie says on an exhausted sounding sigh.

"She thought you'd see her differently when you knew this," Emmett says, rubbing Rosalie's back comfortingly.

"Psh, no," Alice huffs, incredulous. "Why would we?"

"See?" Emmett says, and Rosalie smiles through her drying tears.

"I'd like to meet those bastards who hurt you," Jasper says. His eyes are hard - he's visibly upset. "I'd need only once."

"We feel the same, Jasper," Carlisle says.

"As do we about the fuckers who hurt Bella."

Edward's voice as well as the mentioning of my name makes me look up, pulled back into the conversation immediately.

"But if she doesn't press charges, nothing will happen," Alice says.

"We don't even know if something will happen now I did," Rosalie replies. "It's been a long time ago, and who knows if those guys can be found?"

"Maybe they will," Jasper says. "Were you able to give a good description?"

"I think so. But it was years ago."

"Maybe at least this will give you some sort of closure," Emmett murmurs.

"God… Aren't you scared to go out now in the dark?" Alice asks suddenly. "I know I would be."

Rosalie shrugs. She's fussing with her cuticles, refusing to meet anybody's gaze. "I just feel guilty for breaking the rules."

"Oh, sweetheart," Carlisle says, moving closer so he can wrap an arm around her. "No matter what you had worn that night, that scum was looking for trouble. They had no right."

"So you're really not angry?" Rosalie asks in a small voice.

Carlisle shakes his head vehemently. "I can't approve you going out late at night, but I can't hold that against you. The fact that we've come to live in a society where teenagers can't be safe on the streets upsets me more."

My hands are cold, and I push them in the pocket of my sweater to warm them. Everything that is being said, I know goes for me, too. Yet, I still can't shake the feeling that somewhere, somehow, I've done something horribly wrong.

I listen to the rest of the conversation, soaking up the comforting words Rosalie is receiving. I am so relieved for her that everybody is so protective and not judging her for what happened. Alice is very emotional, but I watch with a warm glow how she in turn is comforted not just by Carlisle and Jasper, but by Rosalie as well.

When the atmosphere settles and Esme gets up for tea, I follow her to the kitchen, planning to bake some treats. I whip up a dead easy recipe of honey, flour and oats, and they're in the oven in a blink.

Standing over the sink, I look outside the kitchen window. The forest is so green, it's hard to believe it's real and not enhanced in some way.

As my thoughts wander, they land on what Alice said. If I don't press charges, nothing will happen. And I saw with my own eyes today that Rosalie did and came out on the other side. Except, I guess, with her there is no certainty that they will catch the guys. She will probably not have to testify.

Whereas I know exactly who did it, and when Stefan and Laurent get caught, I know I will very probably have to testify. Maybe I should google it, and try to find out what would happen. All I can think of now is how my stomach clenches with dread just when I think of having to face either of those two men again.

Two hands on my waist catch me off guard so bad my breath escapes in an audible rush, and my heart jumps in my chest.

"Ssh," Edward says behind me. He kisses my jawline as he wraps his arms more fully around my waist. "It's just me."

I exhale, my heart still hammering in my chest. "You okay?"

He chuckles, a humorless rhythm of sounds. "No, I don't think so."

I turn in his arms so I can see his face. There is still darkness in his eyes, and he looks so sad, so sad.

"I think I need a hug," he says.

"I can do that," I reply. And instead of him opening his arms for me, I now do the same for him, and he comes to me so sweetly I want to cry. I hold him as tightly as I can, feeling his warmth against my body and being once again so thankful that I can allow such simple things like hugs now.

"I don't understand this world anymore," he says into my hair. "I can't wrap my mind around what happened to you, and now I learn that Rosalie has been through such a horrible thing as well?" He sighs. "How do you _deal_ with that?"

Now it's my turn to chuckle without mirth. "I think we've established that I don't."

He groans, but laughs through it. "I could have seen that coming."

Feeling brave, I reach up to thread my fingers through his hair. As a response, he pulls me closer still, the softest hum coming from the back of his throat.

"I'm sorry," he says after a silence.

I pull back to meet his eyes. "Why?"

"I feel like I've pushed you too far, too quickly."

I shake my head, even though I don't have words right away.

"No," he says. "It wasn't my place to force you to move forward."

I frown. "But if you don't tell me, nobody does."

"Maybe they have a good reason for that."

"Or maybe you're the only one who doesn't treat me like I'm made of glass." I check. "Well, you and Rosalie."

"Asking you to come with her was huge - for you both, I think."

I nod, chewing on my lip. Around us, the delicious aroma of the cookies I'm baking drifts through the air.

Edward leans in, slowly, and presses a soft kiss against my lips.

"There is just so much darkness in the world," he says when he looks into my eyes again. "And while I hate what happened to you, I know that if it hadn't, I would never have met you. And that doesn't sit well with me."

"Is that what you worry about?" I ask, reaching up to touch his sideburn.

He nods, and now the lingering darkness in his eyes changes to sadness.

"Well, I'm glad to be here," I say, trying to sound comforting and light. "And I know I have to figure out a way to deal with my past, but I'm glad I'm here now."

He smiles crookedly and pulls me back into his embrace, and I tuck my head into the crook of his neck. "You're such an angel," he says. "You have no idea."


	81. Chapter 81

**A/N Twilight isn't mine. The authentic plot lines within Torn, are. **

_You. Rock. That is all._

_Thanks to Sherry, PFKMan23 and Dana. _

_Music: Linkin Park - Somewhere I Belong; Natasha Bedingfield - Say Goodbye; Anna Nalick - Breathe_

* * *

The oven beeps, signaling that the cookies are done. Edward starts moving away from me, but I hold him close, not wanting to break the contact just yet.

""I'm sorry," I whisper.

He holds me close, as if he understands. "There's no need to be."

"I've been having such moodswings," I press on. "It can't be nice to be around me."

"Stop being so hard on yourself," he says quietly, but fervently. "Don't forget what you've been through. It takes time to bounce back from that."

"Bella? I thought I heard the- Oh! Sorry," Alice says. "Shall I leave?"

"No, it's okay," Edward says, stepping back. I feel the loss of him acutely, and I marvel at the realization.

"You okay?" Alice asks as she steps up to me. "I mean, today must have been hard on you, too."

I shrug her concern away. Today wasn't about me, so how I feel isn't important. "How is Rosalie?" I ask instead.

"Falling asleep on the couch as we speak," Alice says. "But you didn't answer my question."

I look up in surprise, stunned by the knowing gaze in her eyes. "I'm okay," I say. "Truly."

She clearly doesn't buy my lie, and I don't really care. I just hope she won't press. To provide distraction, I open the oven and pull out the delicious smelling cookies.

"So, are you going to press charges?" Alice asks so suddenly I nearly drop the blazing hot tray.

The plate falls onto the counter with a loud clatter, the sound sharp in the sudden silence.

"Drop it, Alice," Edward mutters.

"What? I'm just asking," she says. "Bella?"

Even though I know she doesn't mean to, her question makes panic gather in my chest and throat, squeezing them together. As my body starts to feel curiously heavy, I also notice how everything seems to be more distant. I'm pulling back from reality, it seems, an automatic reaction of my body and brain to protect me from trauma.

"Bella?" Alice asks again, but it's like her voice comes from a mile away. Through a haze, I see Edward's concerned face, but it doesn't register.

With a barely audible "sorry," I make my way to the door, running out of the house and into the garden.

"Bella!" Edward calls, but from a distance, I hear Alice cut him off with something like a 'ssh.'

I keep on walking, forcing my legs to move even though I could drop to my knees where I am right now. When I reach the trees that surround the garden, I sink down against a thick trunk, pushing my head between my knees in an effort to get get my senses to focus again. I push back against the tree trunk, feeling like I would disappear in it if I could. Hide from the reality that was laid bare so suddenly.

I guess this is what happens to me when I am confronted with the possibility of seeing Laurent and Stefan again. Guilt sits in my stomach like a stone when I think of what they could be doing right now, since I am not taking steps to actually stop them.

What if Laurent isn't in jail anymore, what if he has a new girl in his paws? What if Stefan is still a foster parent and has new kids under his care? Those children wouldn't stand a chance, and it would all be my fault.

My gut clenches and I dry-heave, leaning to the side in case my stomach actually decides it's a good idea to empty itself. But nothing comes out and I'm left with a paralyzing nausea. I couldn't face them, I wouldn't know how. If just thinking about seeing them again makes me react like this, how am I supposed to testify?

But, how am I supposed to sleep at all, knowing they might be still out there, preying on the innocent?

I clench my eyes shut and try an old trick that Renée taught me once. Instead of counting myself to calmness again, like she and Esme used to do, I force myself to drown out all inner turmoil and just listen to all the sounds I can hear around me. The rustle of the leaves, the birds whistling, a twig snapping in the distance.

The slap-slap of the door falling shut as somebody comes out of the house, and footsteps approaching me over the grass.

When my heart finally starts to slow down a little, I suck in a breath and hold it in, forcing my body to calm down as well.

"Bella, are you all right?" Alice asks as she comes walking up to me. She squats in front of me, her big eyes filled with worry.

"Yeah," I breathe.

"Sorry," she says. "I shouldn't have asked you about that."

"I guess the answer is clear," I say with a faint smile.

She chuckles without humor. "Yeah. You okay now though?"

I nod, with more conviction now. "I just need a minute."

"Sure," she says. "I'll go back inside. We'll see you when you're ready."

I smile at her and listen to her soft footfalls receding as she walks back to the house.

I close my eyes and again focus on the sounds around me; the birds that whistle, and the soft breeze that rustles through the trees. When I breathe in deeply I smell the earth around me, and it makes me smile.

Looking around the tree trunk, I see that nobody else is going to come check on me. And actually, I'm very much okay with that. It's good to be alone from time to time.

Some fifteen minutes later, I am ready to go back inside the house again. Everybody is still in the living room, eating the cookies I made.

Jasper is the first to notice me. "You okay?" he asks, concern clear in his gaze.

"Yeah," I whisper. "Um… I'm just going to go check on Wisp."

"Bring her downstairs," Esme says kindly.

I nod and run up the stairs, overwhelmed by the way it seemed somehow accepted that I needed a moment to myself. Nobody followed me, even though it was clear they were concerned. Although I'm still rattled, a smile tugs at my lips as I open my bedroom door and search out my kitten.

She's on her pillow, a tiny ball of fur with her eyes closed but her ears pricking up. By the way they move, I know she's probably awake, listening to the sounds in the room.

I kneel next to her, stretching out my hand to pet her softly. She starts purring almost immediately, a sound so soft I can barely hear it from this distance. Gently, I slide my hand under her belly and I lift her up, cradling her against my chest as I go back down the stairs. Wisp clearly is very tired still, as she refuses to open her eyes and burrows closer to me, obviously wanting to go back to sleep.

When I step back into the living room, I search out Rosalie. She looks dreadfully tired, but at least she's smiling a little. I walk over to her and drop the sleepy kitten in her lap carefully, and Rosalie whispers a 'thanks' to me.

While Rosalie focuses on Wisp, I look around at the others. The atmosphere is subdued, as if everybody is tired.

"I could really use some good news right now," Carlisle says to nobody in particular.

"The weather is going to be fabulous," Jasper says. "I saw the forecast this morning."

"Oh, can we set up the hammock?" Alice says, suddenly excited. "Can we?"

"Sure," Esme says.

Alice squeaks a 'yay!' and claps her hands. "Let's do that tomorrow. Will you help me, Jasper?"

"Of course," he says easily.

"We can nap in there," Emmett says quietly. His mouth is close to Rosalie's ear, and I'm sure his words weren't meant for anybody else but her. Still, I heard it, and I suppress a smile. They are so happy together, and I am happy for them. Rosalie deserves some good after all she's been through.

"I hear Billy Black is dating," Esme offers. "That could count as good news."

"Renée is getting married," I blurt out so suddenly I take myself by surprise.

All eyes are on me immediately, and I want to disappear in a hole in the ground.

"Is she? That's wonderful news!" Esme says happily. "Do you know when?"

"At the end of the summer," I say, already needing more force of will to get the words out. I don't like talking when Carlisle is looking at me.

"Gosh, I'm so happy for her," Esme says. "I wonder if we will be invited."

"I am," I say, but my voice has dropped to a whisper.

"Then you need a dress," Alice says immediately. "We need to go shopping!"

Esme's reply to that is cut off as the phone rings, interrupting our conversation. Carlisle picks up and goes quiet, listening to what is being said at the other end of the line.

"I'll be right over," he says after a moment. His face has become even more drawn, and Esme gets up in concern.

"Is everything all right?"

"Something's come up at the hospital," he says. "I have to go and check it out."

"Aw dad, on your day off?" Edward complains. "When will you be back?"

"I don't know," he says. The exhaustion in his voice alarms me. He kisses Esme on the cheek and then disappears down the hallway. Moments later, we hear his car leave the garage.

"Well, shit," Jasper says. "He's like, never home anymore."

"He tries to be here as much as he can," Esme replies. "He should be back tonight. For now, what were we talking about?"

"Dress shopping," Alice says seriously, and I hide my face in my hands, wondering if there's any possible way to get out of this. Alice snickers. "I guess I'll look some up online. Will you try them on when I have them delivered?"

When I peek through my fingers, her eyes go wide in mock pleading. "Come on, Bella. You have to give me _something_."

Just as I'm about to say that I don't _have_ to wear a dress to the wedding, Edward speaks up. "Can't she wear the dress she wore for prom? It was beautiful."

Alice opens her mouth and closes it, and if I know her, I know she's silently debating the merits of being able to go shopping versus the honor of me wearing her self-made dress. Finally, she crosses her arms. "I guess that's up to Bella."

**~O~**

Well, _Bella_ is in no hurry to decide, as the wedding is still weeks and weeks away, so Bella is more than happy when the conversation moves on to the next topic; Emmett and Rosalie getting ready for college.

I'm only half tracking what is being said, as my mind is pulled back from time to time to the ordeal at the police station this morning, and my near panic attack from earlier.

I wonder if the fact that nobody came running after me means that they're bored with my mood swings, or if it means that they now know that, apparently, I can come out of them myself. Because even I can't deny that although I _did_ almost have a panic attack, I also was able to calm myself down. And regardless of any of the others' motivations, I was pretty content to be outside by myself.

I know I've wondered about it before; whereas with Stefan I would be on my own for long stretches of time, here with the Cullens, being by myself is a rarity.

Still, I'm finding it more and more easy to be in this full house, and I know now that if I want to be in my room by myself, I can.

Being alone right now sounds pretty awesome, actually, and I get up quite suddenly, drawing surprised gazes.

"Is it okay if I go for a run?" I ask Esme."I'll stay close."

"Even if you don't, you're free to go out anytime, dear," Esme says. "Just take your phone with you, okay?"

I nod and get up to take the kitten from Rosalie, explaining that Wisp's litter is upstairs and that she has to learn where it is and how to use it. Then I go to my room to change into my running clothes. I don't particularly like the pants as they don't come oversized, but my sweater is so long it comes halfway to my thighs, thus covering me properly.

Just as I'm about to leave, Wisp meows and I kneel on the floor, distracted by her cuteness. She's such a sweet little thing, although still small even for her age. At about five or six weeks old, she still should be nursed by her mother.

When I start to get up, she pounces after me, and I smile at her antics. Sinking down again, I plant my ass on the floor and allow her to climb first into my lap, then up my tummy into my arms. She half-somersaults so she's lying on her back in the crook of my elbow, her front paws reaching out at me as if she's trying to tell me something.

It's hard to believe she's actually a wild animal - she seems unusually at ease with people, or at least with me. I bring my hand to her belly to pet her, and her paws wrap around my fingers. When I move to scratch her chin, she opens her tiny mouth and tries to bite my fingertips. Then, stunning me, she starts sucking.

Of course. She still has a sucking reflex, and even though I haven't been feeding her from a bottle, she would be looking for food that way. I wish I had something to put on my finger so it would actually feed her, but that would mean I'd have to go downstairs since her special food has to be kept in the fridge.

Unwilling to move, I stay on the floor in my running clothes, and I watch Wisp as she slowly falls asleep in my arms. Lost in my thoughts, it doesn't occur to me that time is actually passing. I'm thinking back to the past few weeks, especially this first week and a half or so of this holiday. So much has happened, and I realize how much I've slipped back into my depression. Edward has tried so much to pull me out of it, and I remember feeling better, especially right after prom when we first kissed. But now, it feels like I'm in over my head in the swamp again.

I have to get a grip on myself. I am getting everything I could possibly want here. Heck, I'm even allowed to keep a kitten I found in the woods. Then how come that I just can't be happy? What is wrong with me that everything is still so grey?

It's only when Esme calls up for dinner that I move. I must have been sitting on the floor of my room for hours. Wisp is still asleep, and she grumbles when I move her to her pillow, but she curls up and closes her eyes again almost immediately.

Esme calls again, and there's no time to change into my other clothes anymore. I hope I'll be allowed at the table like this.

"Did you fall asleep?" Esme asks kindly when she sees my clothes. "I wondered what was keeping you."

"I was playing with Wisp," I try to explain. "Lost track of time. Do you want me to change?"

Esme shakes her head. "Just help me place the pans on the table."

The others are already sitting there, and Emmett proclaims he's hungry as a boar.

"Won't dad be coming?" Alice asks when Esme starts to fill the plates.

"He'll be home later," Esme says. She looks even more tired than earlier today. When she catches my worried gaze, she shakes her head to let me know not to worry, but I don't buy it. Something's up, and it's more than she is letting on.

"I hope so. I want to show him my new photos," Jasper says. "I found a contest I want to enter."

"Really? That's great," Esme says. "What kind of contest?"

As Jasper launches into his explanation, I try to eat some of the delicious dish that Esme has cooked, but my stomach churns in protest. All coping mechanisms apart, I guess sometimes I'm just really not that hungry.

"Pretty Woman is on tonight," Rosalie says when we're clearing up after dinner. "Anybody want to watch it with me?"

"Sure," Alice says. "Bella?"

"I'd like to go for that run first," I say.

"Oh, ace. Can I join you?" Emmett says.

Taken aback by his question, I forget to answer right away. Finally, I nod, and he grins. "I'll go change in a bit. I have to let my dinner settle first."

As I wait for Emmett to be ready to go, I join the others in the living room to watch the news. Nothing much is on, but for some the same old drama going on in everywhere in the world. Before the weather report comes on, Emmett claims he's ready to go.

As we walk down the driveway, he asks me some little things, mostly about how I like the running so far.

"I can't run as far as you," I try to explain. There's no way I'll be able to keep up with him.

"That's okay," he says easily. "A nice long walk is good, too. I just need to clear my head a little after this day."

I nod in understanding and so we set off down the driveway, walking at a brisk pace. We chat from time to time, but it seems like Emmett is as content to be quiet as I am.

We walk until it's fully dark, until we actually reach Forks. And it's only then I realize that I've been alone with him all this time, and not once did it really enter the forefront of my mind.

"Ready to head back?" he asks when I can see the Police station not too far down the road.

For as long as I've been here, I've never really taken the opportunity to explore this tiny village. But, what with a population of three thousand, there really isn't that much to discover, anyway.

Emmett points at the black clouds that are gathering in the dark sky. "I don't think we're going to keep it dry."

I nod to let him know I'm ready to go back, and his mood seems to be considerately lighter, as he keeps cracking jokes that make me giggle, whether I want to or not.

Back at the driveway, the first wave of thunder rolls over us. Some fat drops start to fall, and then within a few seconds the rain is pouring down.

"Let's make a run for it!" Emmett calls over the roar of thunder and downpour, and we start sprinting down the driveway, our feet splashing in the puddles that are already forming.

It takes less than a minute for my clothes to get soaked, and only moments later I can feel the water hit my skin.

"This is crazy," Emmett says, laughing. He shakes his head to get the water out of his hair, but it's no use in this weather.

By the time the house comes in sight, we're both soaking wet. The rain somehow delights me though, and when Emmett meets my gaze, smiling, I grin back at him. Somehow, it's just fun to be outside, even though I'm getting cold rapidly and my lungs are cramping up from the effort of running too fast, too long.

We step up the porch, and Emmett is still laughing when Esme walks up to us, her eyes big.

"I was wondering if you were going to find some cover," she says. "You're both soaked through! Go get a shower before you catch a cold."

Emmett nods and runs up the stairs after kicking off his shoes. From the corner of my eye, I see Edward leaning against the wall, looking at me. He's smiling.

"What?" I ask as I try to get my shoes off. The laces are soaked, and it takes me some effort to get my sneakers off my feet.

"Nothing," he says, but I can tell he's lying even though his eyes are smiling.

"I'm going up for a shower," I say, looking at him searchingly. What's on his mind?

"Sure. Want to watch a movie after?"

I nod, thinking that I wanted to ask him the same thing after the conversation I had with Emmett this morning. Edward goes upstairs with me, but I'm surprised when he follows me to my room instead of going to his own.

"What are you doing?" I ask him.

He looks taken aback. "I thought I'd wait here while you shower?"

I look from him to the bathroom door, then back to him, and frown. "Why?"

His face falls. "I'll go wait upstairs then."

I shake my head in confusion. "Why would you want to wait here?"

Now it's his turn to frown. "Because I thought we'd watch the movie here."

My brain still can't process why he would want to stay so close, and that's even without the sense of alarm I feel having someone, anyone, so close to me when I shower. Normally, I have two locked doors between me and the rest of the house here. If Edward is in my room, that means there's only one door left between us.

"I'm not asking to actually join you _in_ the shower, you know," he says, trying to light up the atmosphere. "What's wrong with me waiting here? You can lock the door, and you know I won't come in."

Again my gaze shifts to the bathroom door and then back to Edward. Right at that moment, Wisp meows and I look down to see her at my feet, looking up at me with that innocence so clear in her eyes.

Would I be naive to allow Edward to stay in my room while I shower, or would it be the leap forward I have been waiting for?

As I contemplate my decision, I see how Edward waits patiently to come to my conclusion. And it that moment I know that if I ask him to leave, he will. And that's why I find myself nodding before I fully realize it.

"I won't be long," I say. My voice is tight, betraying the sudden anxiety I feel. God, as if taking a shower in itself isn't bad enough yet, but now knowing that someone is actually _right outside my door_…

_Shut up_, my mind whispers. _Just… shut up._

I duck into my closet for some comfy clothes and towels, and then lock myself in the bathroom just as Edward settles on my bed with Wisp on his chest and the remote in his hand.

Inside the bathroom, I lean against the counter with my eyes closed. I would try to block the door with something heavy, but I'm afraid that Edward would hear and for some reason I don't want him to know how nervous I really am about this.

Counting from ten to one in my head, I clench my fists to seal my resolve. Then I turn on the shower, click off the lights, and undress.

Nobody will ever have to know that I kept my underwear on under the shower this time. I just can't bear being fully naked right now. I wash my hair and body quickly, the water hot against my chilled skin. I'm done within minutes and I reach for my towel blindly, wrapping it around my hair.

It takes a bit of coordination, but I manage to put on dry underwear with the second towel wrapped around me. Then I quickly put on clothes and open the bathroom door to find Edward immersed in a sitcom.

He smiles up at me when I appear, and then scoots over to make room on the bed.

Mortified, I realize the towel is still around my hair and I whip it off, trying to rub my hair a little drier.

He chuckles. "Don't worry. I don't care about the towel."

Opting to wear the towel around my shoulders instead, to prevent my hair from dripping all over my back, I look at the TV. "What movie did you want to watch?"

He shrugs noncommittally as I walk over to the bed so I can sit down next to him. He hands me the remote, and I flip through the channels to see if there's anything we'd like. Edward touches my arm when we come across a movie that's just starting; _A Beautiful Mind_.

"I've always wanted to see that one," he says.

Well, that's easily settled then, isn't it?

We settle in to watch, and I want to smile when Edward wraps his arm around me, pulling me close. Even though it's definitely not cold, he pulls the quilt that's at the foot of my bed over us, creating a cocoon.

As amazing as the movie is, I find my eyes falling closed a few times. At one point I just keep them shut, thinking I can just listen to the movie and still follow it to some extent.

Snuggling closer to Edward, I wrap my arm around his waist, my head leaning on his shoulder.

I could get used to this.

**~O~**

"Hey," he whispers.

His voice comes from far away, and my body protests, wanting to stay asleep.

"Bella," he says quietly. "Can I have my arm back? I'll be back soon, I promise."

With effort, I lift my head so Edward can get up, and my body sinks down against the mattress. I feel the warmth he left behind as he disappears from my room, and I curl up under my quilt, not wanting to interrupt the moment.

Wisp is still up on the bed apparently, because I can feel her sniffing my face, her velvet nose touching my skin with the faintest bumps.

_Hey sweetie,_ I think. Glancing at the TV, I see that Edward has turned it off. Did the movie end? It must have. Oops.

Wisp crawls into the nook my curled up body has created and she seeks out my hand to suck on a patch of skin. I'm already drifting again when Edward comes back into the room. The bed shifts when he lies down on the mattress, pulling the quilt over his legs.

"Bella, you should get ready for bed," he whispers.

"'S okay," I mumble. I'm good. I'm in comfy clothes already, and brushing my teeth can wait until morning. It's not like I ate much today anyway.

"You sure?" he asks.

I nod, but I doubt he can see it. Then I hear Wisp complain as Edward lifts her up and places her on the ground next to the bed. He shifts closer to me, guiding me to lift my head so I can place it on his arm and we can lie closer together.

"Why did you lie?" I murmur as his body lines up with mine.

He pulls back. "What?"

"When I came home," I say sleepily. "You said there was nothing."

He's quiet, thinking. "Oh," he says after a moment. "It's just that it had been a while since I saw you so happy, so light. I was enjoying the view."

I'm rosy from sleep, and warming up rapidly with Edward so close. My hand goes to his chest of its own volition, and I feel his breastbone through the thin shirt he's wearing. My fingertips caress the cotton. It's soft.

"I like seeing you so happy," he says. "I wish… I wish that for you."

"I want it," I say quietly. "I do."

He pulls me closer, and I move my hand from his chest to his back. "I know."

His body is warm against mine, and I can feel the muscles of his back, his shoulder blades move as he breathes.

"He would hurt me," I whisper. "If I would smile. He'd hurt me."

Silence. Then: "Who?"

"Laurent. Said I had nothing to smile about."

Edward curses under his breath. "You know that's not true, right?"

"It's all I knew." I sigh, wanting to sleep. "_Pourqoui souries-tu? Il n'y a vraiment pas de quoi être contente. Tu sais que tout est de ta faute._"*

It's only when Edward speaks it registers that he's been quiet for a while. "Bella…"

I burrow closer to him, barely awake anymore. "What?"

"You just spoke fluent French." I can hear the wonder in his voice.

"So?" Sleep is pulling at me invitingly, luring me into the safety of the not knowing.

"I thought you didn't know any French," he says, still baffled.

"I said I hated it. Is different."

"You did," he concedes. "Still. I never could have guessed."

_Doesn't matter_, I think. I'm too tired to form the words anymore, and I hope Edward will understand. For now, I just really, really want to sleep.

I feel Edward stroke my hair and I drift off, happy to feel so safe in his arms.

* * *

_Translation: "Why are you smiling? There's nothing to be happy about. You know everything is your fault."_


	82. Chapter 82

**A/N I don't own Twilight.**

_I know, I know, It's been to long. Thanks to all who've helped me. Thanks to YOU, dear reader, for keeping me going, even if it's slowly. _

* * *

A soft rustling rouses me, and I open my eyes slowly. In the faint light that comes through the curtains I can see Edward lying on his back, one arm above his head. Behind me, Wisp is ghosting around, and it's her exploring that has woken me up.

My full bladder slowly but surely takes over every other thought though, and I get up to go to the bathroom. While in there, I brush my teeth as well. I didn't eat much today, and now my mouth tastes like something died in it. Last week or so.

Still rosy from sleep, I move back to the bed. Edward is still breathing deeply, evenly, and I crawl onto the mattress next to him, careful not to jostle him awake. I keep my distance from him as I pull the quilt over me, not wanting to disturb him.

"I'm not sleeping," he murmurs, his voice rough. "Come here, silly girl."

We move closer to each other and I end up with my face hidden in his neck. We sigh simultaneously, and our legs intertwine.

My mouth is close to Edward's throat, and in a sudden rush, I move my head just that last little bit so I can kiss his skin. I can feel the shadow of his beard, but I can also feel him stiffen.

Mortified, I pull back, awake in an instant. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I stammer, and at first I don't even realize Edward is hushing me.

"I just never expected it from you is all," he says quietly. He touches my face, his hand warm and gentle. I'm sure he can hear my hammering heart.

"I'm so sorry," I say again. "I never meant to do anything you don't want."

His eyes search mine. "I want it," he says. Then his expression turns bashful. "I just never thought you would reach out like that."

My breathing is uneven when I pull air into my lungs. "You're not upset?"

He shakes his head. "Not at all."

Slowly, I lower my head on his bicep again. I didn't even know what I was thinking, kissing him like that.

"It's only…"

I'm immediately on full alert again. "What?"

"Now I'll want to reciprocate. You know, return the favor."

I gulp, and my still racing heart picks up even more speed.

"I'll go slowly," he whispers. "Just say the word and I'll stop."

I nod, breathless, and feel rather than see how he leans in. I hear him swallow before his lips touch the hollow underneath my ear, and unexpected goosebumps race over my body, the feeling adding to the already overwhelming sensation of Edward kissing me.

His lips move, peppering a trail down to the curve where my neck meets my shoulder. He nuzzles me and takes a deep breath.

He is nervous, too.

Then he pulls back. "You all right?"

I don't trust my voice, so I swallow and nod.

He smiles a little, then takes my hand and places it over his heart. It's hammering just about as hard as mine.

"That's what you do to me," he confesses.

He looks into my eyes for a moment - not that I can really see it in the dark, but I can feel that he does. Then he leans in and kisses me, so softly it surprises me.

Slowly, slowly, our lips touch. His hand cups my face and I only flinch a little. His thumb caresses my cheek, and then his fingertips trail down, along my jawline, and his kisses follow, in a touch so gentle it makes me want to cry.

He leans up on his elbow so he can better reach me, and his shirt shifts up in the process. Wanting to feel the heat of his skin, of _him_, my hand moves downward oh so slowly, until I can feel the hard ridges of his abdomen.

As if giving me permission, he shifts closer to me, and my hand automatically fully connects with his waist. He hums lowly, softly, letting me know he appreciates my touch.

His mouth moves back to mine, and he's still being so gentle that the tendrils of fear that always hover around me, ready to tangle me up, are staying in the periphery. I know they're there, but for now, they're residing in a corner of my mind.

I touch his skin, feeling the heat and the goose bumps that rise in the wake of my caress. I'm trying to be as gentle as possible. Under no circumstance would I ever want to hurt him, even if it's involuntarily.

But then he suddenly twitches and pulls back, chuckling. In a heartbeat, his hand is around my wrist.

I don't know what he's doing but it's a major trigger, and we realize this at the same time when I freeze up completely, holding my breath. My eyes are wide and my body is smashed back into the past, when fingers around my wrist would always, always be the first stage of episodes that somehow caused the most pain.

Edward lets go immediately and backs away before he sits up. "Bella, breathe. Bella?"

Every muscle in my body is tense, so tense I know I'm going to be sore tomorrow. In my mind the movie of my memory plays, or Laurent hauling me up the stairs by my wrists, my hair, once even my ankle. Or Stefan, who would hold my arm with one hand and beat me with the other. You know, so I wouldn't run from him.

"Bella, come back to me. It's just us here. Nothing's wrong. Come back. It's okay."

Edward's constant murmuring to me somehow provides me with the anchor I need to get back to the present. Slowly, I register he has turned on my night light. When my eyes finally focus again, he smiles.

"Hey."

_Hey_, I mouth, knowing without even trying my voice won't work.

"Guess that triggered you, huh," he says.

I swallow, then nod. I don't think my voice is going to be back anytime soon. Needing to be on a more even keel with him, I sit up as well.

"Was it the kissing?" he asks carefully.

I shake my head, and I can tell he's trying to think back to what exactly we were doing when I froze.

Then he looks at me closely, and his hand creeps to mine, until it comes to rest on my wrist. Forcing myself to maintain eye contact, I know the tension must show in my face when he touches me there. And that's not just because it's been broken twice now.

"It's okay," he murmurs as he slowly moves his other hand to take my other wrist as well. I'm not panicking, but I'm only a breath away from it. I don't know what he's up to and my age old fear is battling with my newfound, fragile trust.

He takes my wrists and brings them behind his back, so that he's holding me… holding him. Then he leans his forehead against mine. "Bring on the shackles," he whispers. "I am your prisoner."

I take a slow breath, and I know there's an unspoken agreement between us for me to try and stay still for as long as I can bear it. But it takes only a few seconds before the panic threatens to break through, and I pull back my hands.

Edward lets go immediately, in his way letting me know that I am still calling the shots.

Wanting, no, _needing_ to push through, I don't pull my hands back completely. Instead, I place them against his chest. I can't meet his eyes, so I look at my hands instead.

"I like when you touch me," he says quietly. "It feels good."

Encouraged by his words and by my own desire to leave my past behind, my hand trails to the hem of his shirt once more. Edward lies back slowly, folding an arm behind his head. His shirt shifts up, giving me an opening to slide my hand through.

I meet his eyes in the twilight of the room, waiting for his permission. When he nods, I touch him fully, my hand flattening against his abs. I feel a dusting of course hair below his belly button. His skin is blazing hot, and I come to understand why I always am so much warmer than usual when I am curled up in his arms.

Edward smiles, content, and closes his eyes, and this clear show of his trust empowers me. I caress his abdomen, struggling to find the balance between touching him too roughly or inadvertently tickling him again. It's hard for me - if I have no clue how to receive affection, I certainly have no idea how to show it.

The expanse of his stomach is flat, and his abdomen rises and falls slowly with his breathing. I feel the softness of his skin, of the tiny hairs that grow everywhere, and the ticker ones that form a trail that disappears into his pajama bottom.

I never expected it to feel this good to touch him like this, to see him stretched out on the bed, completely relaxed, his eyes closed as he simply enjoys my touch. It gives me a sense of power; _I_ am making him feel this way, and he is letting me.

I don't know how long we stay like this. After a while I lie down next to him, my hand still on his abdomen, rubbing slow circles.

As much as I never want this to stop, my eyes are getting tired. I start pulling back when I feel I am going to fall asleep, but Edward places his hand on mine to prevent me from moving away.

Slowly, carefully, he shifts closer to me, and then I feel his warm hand at the hem of my own top. He pulls at it, as if asking for permission, and then I can feel his fingers like silk, touching the skin of my waist.

Unexpectedly, a warm feeling in my belly blooms, and I feel closer to Edward than I've ever done before.

And, a little less unexpectedly, the bond of trust between us grows.

**~O~**

The next morning, I open my eyes to see Edward looking at me.

"Morning," he says quietly. "Or should I say _bonjour_?"

"Why?"

He frowns a little. "Because apparently you speak French quite adequately."

Now it's my turn to frown. "What?"

He looks nonplussed. "Last night, you spoke fluent French. Something Laurent used to say?"

My mouth opens, then closes. In my mind, I can hear his voice. _Tout est de ta faute_. "I _said_ that?"

"You must have been really out of it. Yeah, you said something. I didn't know what it meant. You really didn't realize?"

I shake my head.

"So you speak French?"

Apparently. "To some extent, I guess. But I hate the sound of it so much." I look at him, almost pleading. "Don't tell anyone. It's really not important." I never thought about being able to speak French, but after having heard it for years and years, maybe it's not such a surprise I have dormant knowledge that can help me to some extent. Not that I'd ever want to do anything with that.

"Okay," he says. A sparkle lights up his eyes. "If you say something to me in French, I'll stop bugging you about it."

His eyes show me he won't let this one go. I take a breath. "Very well. _Ce n'est pas important_. It's not important. Satisfied?"

"Party pooper," he grumbles. "But, a deal is a deal. Let's go get breakfast. I'm starving."

He jumps out of bed and disappears from my room to use the bathroom in the hall. I look after Wisp before I take care of my own business, and then I carry Wisp downstairs, so she can explore the living room while we eat.

The smell of authentic silver dollar pancakes fills the air when I enter the kitchen, and my stomach lets out a howl at the scent.

"Ah, good morning!" Rosalie says excitedly. She's behind the stove, looking at a pan with intense concentration. Esme is standing next to her, and she smiles at me when she meets my gaze.

"Do I flip it now, mom?" Rosalie asks.

"Just a little longer," Esme says. "When the batter isn't forming bubbles anymore. See? Now it's ready to flip."

The tip of Rosalie's tongue peeks out when she flips the pancake. A faint but satisfying hiss fills the kitchen.

"Look, I'm learning how to cook," Rosalie tells me. "I finished a few already. I hope you'll like them."

Edward and I walk over to the table where Alice and Jasper are already sitting, munching on Rosalie's creations. In the centre of the table, a somewhat sad-looking pile of pancakes is waiting to be eaten. I put one on my plate and try it. Since there's not much you can do wrong with these pancakes, they do taste like I know them.

"And?" Rosalie asks expectantly.

"They're great," Edward says after he has swallowed his first bite. "They really are."

Rosalie beams and looks at me. "What do you think?"

I give her a two thumbs up, and her smile grows bigger.

"The weather is going to be so beautiful," Jasper says, pointing at the newspaper. "We might actually get a summer this year."

"Dude, where can I sign for that?" Edward says.

"You'll need some summer clothes," Esme tells me as she comes to sit at the table with us.

Alice looks at me. "Let's go to Port Angeles next week. Or maybe if we ask mom nicely, we can go to Seattle. That would be awesome."

"If you're going to Seattle I'm coming along," Edward says. "Haven't been there since last summer. Mom, can we go?"

"Mom, what do I do?" Rosalie asks from the counter, alarmed.

Esme gets up to help her, her calm voice giving Rosalie instructions.

Edward turns to Esme to get an answer. "Please?"

"Yes," Esme says, "but let me know beforehand when you will go. Will you take the ferry?"

"It's the shortest route," Edward says. "Alice and I can alternate driving."

Alice squeals and bounces in her chair, clearly happy. "Can we go next week?"

"As long as you're careful," Esme says. "But you're not getting your credit card back yet."

Alice frowns. "I know that. But I can help Bella shop, right?"

"If she goes," Esme says. Then she looks at me. "Will you go too, Bella? It'll be nice for you to have a change of scenery."

I nod, and Esme smiles. "Good. And be sure to buy summer clothes. Spoil yourself a little."

"I'll help with that," Alice says happily. "No problem."

Esme chuckles. "All right. I've gotten the summer clothes from storage, Edward, Jasper, so you can sort them out and see what you want to keep. Anything that's not inside a laundry basket will not be washed."

"I can help with the laundry," I say immediately.

"You can help by buying clothes to create some laundry," Esme replies. "Honestly, it's your holiday. Enjoy yourself."

"Who will help me set up the hammock?" Jasper asks. "It's in the storage upstairs."

He is up in a moment, and Edward follows him, still chewing on the last bite of his pancake.

He stops at the bottom of the stairs to look at me. "You ever seen our Room of Requirements?"

Why he would be using a term from Harry Potter is beyond me, and he smiles when he sees my puzzled look. "Come on, let me show you."

After grabbing Wisp and dropping her off at her litter box in my bathroom, just in case she has to use it after eating, I follow Jasper and Edward up to the third floor, where I really only ever took a left at the top of the stairs to go to Edward's room. But there's a right wing of the house as well, even if I never really registered that with the space on the ground and second floor, there must be some extra room on the third floor somewhere, too.

Jasper opens a door I've never consciously noticed before, and walks into a storage that must be the size of several rooms combined. Floor to ceiling closets line the walls, and to the far end, underneath the big window, some old furniture is carefully stacked away, tucked under white sheets. A big, old, winged chair is next to the window, the colors of the fabric faded to almost grey.

"There's a good chance that if you ever need anything household related, you can find it in here," Jasper says. "That's why we dubbed it the Room of Requirements. All our old toys are here, and our clothes. I think one of the cribs is here still, too. And so on."

Clothes and toys for five babies takes up quite some space, I imagine, even if you're able to reuse some things. I walk along one of the bookcases and see rows and rows of books for children of varying age. On display on one of the shelves are some drawings, carefully laminated to keep them from fading. Esme has made a sort of sanctuary, filled with mementos of her children as they grew up.

I have nothing from my childhood. No pictures, no drawings of stick figures I undoubtedly must have made at some point. No babies' clothes or ribbons or a lock of hair from my first haircut or the shoes I learned to walk in. I pull my hand back, feeling like a stranger invading these perfect, uninterrupted lives.

"You okay?" Edward asks quietly as Jasper walks ahead in search of the hammock.

I nod, but the stiffness of the movement betrays what I really feel.

Edward's gaze lingers on me for a moment, but a call from Jasper to help him makes him move away from me.

Wow. I've never been bothered, really, by my lack of past. I have some memories I'd love to keep, and a lot of memories I'd love to forget. I don't have anything tangible, and when I left Stefan the only things I brought were what was in my bag at that moment and the clothes I had on my back. Maybe it's a good thing I don't care for material possessions. I would have missed having them, for sure. And now I have the means and opportunity to buy them, I don't really want to.

The value of life, to me, is not in the mementoes you keep.

But when I look back at this shrine of lives past, I can't help but think that sometimes, it's damn nice to have memories you can actually touch and see.

I tear my gaze away from the drawings and walk up to Edward and Jasper. I don't step in to help for fear of being in the way, but I look on and see how they work together to lift several packages off a shelf.

"Is that everything?" Edward asks, looking over the things.

Jasper nods. "Let's take this downstairs." He hands me one of the bundles and picks up a heavier one himself, and then we take down the canvas bags with god knows what's in it.

Once outside, Edward opens the bags and empties them in the grass, and I start to see the outcome of this endeavor. Carlisle, who has come home from work in the meantime, comes outside with a smile and offers to help, even though he looks tired.

I step out of the way, since I have no idea what has to be done, and look on as the three others create a metal structure that's certainly bigger than the smaller hammock constructions I have seen before.

The poles are anchored in tube-like holes in the ground, thus giving it the solid support the structure needs.

When they're done, the hammock is hanging from what I can only call a sort of swing set structure, and Jasper rolls into it with a gratified sigh.

Carlisle smiles. "I'm going inside for a drink and then I'm afraid I have to go to my office a bit. Want to join me before I go up?"

"God, dad, you're always working lately," Edward says quietly. "What happened to actual time off?"

Carlisle looks guilty. "I know, son. It's been crazy, and I keep hoping things will calm down soon. I should have Monday off, though."

"Are you going to be stuck in your study all day then, catching up on reading?"

"I was actually planning to," Carlisle says, "unless you have other plans."

"We can go kart racing," Jasper says, his eyes lighting up. "It would be so cool if you came with us."

"Boys' day out?" Carlisle proposes.

"Hell yes," Jasper says excitedly. "I'll ask Emmett, too."

"Excellent," Carlisle says. Then he turns to me. "Now, maybe you can think of something I can do with my daughters. I'd prefer it not to be anything related to shopping."

Next to me, Edward snickers. "Too bad we don't really have a theme park close. I mean, The Oaks amusement park is like 200 miles from here."

"Well, there's enough woods around us for a walk," Carlisle says jokingly.

"And there's the hot springs," Jasper says as he tries to get out of the hammock. "But that's maybe not something you're looking for right now."

"If only we lived near Disneyworld," Edward says wistfully.

"I think the park would lose its silver lining quickly enough if you lived close to it," Carlisle says. "No, I prefer the deprivation of anything fun. Makes for strong children." His tone is absolutely mocking, but Jasper goes for the bait nonetheless.

"Makes for bored children," he mutters. "Seriously, what's out here but green, and more green?"

"You get yourself into a university close to the place you want to be then," Carlisle says. "Problem solved."

"But then I'd be away from you," Jasper replies. "I want to see you more often than over the summer and at Christmas."

Carlisle looks at his son with a warm, fatherly smile. "You say that now. In no time it'll be a nuisance for you to come down for Christmas, believe you me."

"I believe you not," Jasper says with a shrug. "But we'll see, I guess. Anyway, I'm getting a book, and I am reserving this hammock until dinner today."

He walks off into the house, and we follow him. It's a bit chilly to stay outside, even though the air is definitely warmer. As I stand in the hallway between the living room and the kitchen, lost as to what I am supposed to do now, I see Jasper coming down with a book and a blanket.

"Never underestimate the weakness of summer in Forks," he tells me, and then he walks on to the garden.

"Jasper is always cold," Edward says as he looks after him. "It's bordering on ridiculous."

"Edward, why don't you go sort out your clothes," Esme says as she appears from the kitchen. It's not phrased as a question, and Edward frowns at his mother.

"Can't I do that tomorrow?"

"You can do it now," she says, her voice not unkind, but leaving no room for discussion.

Edward sighs. "Fine."

As he goes upstairs, I realize that the house is now very quiet.

Deciding I'd like to enjoy this quiet, I go to my room to read. I smile at Wisp who, startled by my suddenly opening the door, jumps straight up. She regains her composure quickly though, and then pretends like nothing has really happened, as cats will do.

I drag my rocking chair over the the window so I can catch some of the sunshine, and then curl up with a book. From here I can just see Jasper in the hammock, the blanket draped loosely over his legs as he reads.

I get lost in my book for some hours, until Wisp meows. She's at my feet, looking up with imploring eyes. She must be hungry, so I go downstairs to fix her some food. Alice appears while I am filling the tiny bowl, and she greets me with a smile.

"Can I play with Wisp for a bit?" she asks. "I can't believe how fast she's growing."

I nod to answer her question and Alice waits patiently for Wisp to finish eating before she lifts her up ever so carefully, mindful of her full belly, intend on taking the kitten to her own room.

"Rose was looking for you earlier," she says just before she leaves. "I think she's in the garden."

I nod again, and head outside to seek out Rosalie. She's in the hammock. Jasper must have gotten too cold to have left earlier than he wanted to.

Rosalie sits up when she sees me approach. "Hey."

I smile a little. "How are you? After yesterday?"

"I'm okay, I guess. It was way more difficult than I expected." She scoots over and gestures for me to sit down next to her. Clumsily, I follow up her invitation, the hammock bobbing as it accepts my weight.

A flash of a memory plays in my mind's eye, of my mother and I in a smaller hammock, rocking gently.

"_I met a man, Bellarina…"_

"At first I didn't like that you had to wait outside, but then when the actual interview started, I was glad that you didn't have to hear it," Rosalie says quietly. "It really wasn't fun. They kept asking for details. At one point I was ready to snap."

I'm silent. I wouldn't know what to say, and I have no words to comfort her. Her bleak description of what's awaiting me should I press charges hangs like lead between us.

"I waited too long," Rosalie continues. "The chance that these guys will get caught is just about zero." She takes a breath, inspecting her fingernails. "Still, I think I'm glad I did it. Just by going to the police I showed that I wasn't going to let them get me down any longer."

Now it's my turn to inspect my hands. They're not pretty like Rosalie's. I tend to fuss with my cuticles until they bleed sometimes. Seeing Rosalie's slender hands makes me feel ashamed of mine, and I pull my sleeves over them to hide them from sight.

We sit in silence for a moment, rocking back and forth slowly.

I look up when I hear a car coming down the driveway.

"That's not one of our cars," Rosalie observes.

At my questioning gaze, she smiles. "I'd recognize the sound of our engines anywhere. I'm the mechanic of the house, remember?"

I return her smile, but at the same time I wonder why she hasn't been tinkering at all lately.

"Winter. Worries. Preparations for college," she answers my unspoken question. "I hope to get back into it, though. Anyway, the car must be Saskia's."

I wonder how Rosalie would recognize the sound of a car she has maybe heard twice, but she smiles at my puzzled look. "She called when you were upstairs. We're going to watch Simon for her this afternoon."

My gut unclenches; having Simon around never fails to cheer me up.

Saskia's car comes into sight and then stops, and then we hear her warning voice when the car doors open.

"Be calm, Simon. Don't jump all over them."

I don't think Simon registers his mom's warning as he comes running towards us. "Bella. Bellaaa!"

I smile when he comes near. He's holding something in both his hands and it's slowing him down, but he's not bothered by it. Behind him, Saskia approaches us.

"Look, Bella, look!" Simon exclaims. "I gots you a gift!"

"I got you a gift," Saskia corrects gently behind him. Then she looks at us. "Hey, girls. Thanks so much for agreeing to look after him this afternoon."

"No problem. We really like Simon, don't we," Rosalie says easily.

I nod in agreement. It just amazes me that Saskia would leave her child with other people, even though I'm very certain that he would be safe here.

"Bella, look," Simon begs.

I turn my attention to him, and he drops a Magic 8 ball in my hands.

"He was adamant he give you something," Saskia explains. "Since you gave him your voice."

His sentiment makes my throat tighten for a moment, and I smile at Simon, forcing myself to speak. "Thank you! You know, I really needed one of these."

Simon smiles giddily. "See, mom?" he asks as he looks over his shoulder to Saskia. "I told you!"

"Yes, you did," Saskia replies patiently.

"Ask it sommin'," Simon says. "Please?"

I chew my lip, feigning to think deeply about a question. "I know one." I turn the ball so the answers face down. "Has Simon been a good boy?"

Flipping the ball back up, the answer states, "ask again later."

I narrow my eyes at Simon playfully. "What did you do?"

I never meant him to take it seriously, but he looks stricken, as if he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"I gave mommy a headache yesterday," he confesses.

His choice of words strikes me as odd. "How so?"

"Because I didn't want to go to bed! Only _small_ kids go to bed so early."

I look up at Saskia, but she just smiles. "Is Esme inside?" she asks.

Rosalie nods, and the other woman turns to go into the house. I turn my attention back to Simon.

"Did mommy tell you that you gave her a headache?"

Simon nods, his eyes wide. "But I'm a big boy. I don't want to go to bed early."

I smile in understanding. "Of course you're a big boy. You've grown since the last time I saw you! But d'you know what big boys also do?"

He shakes his head, mesmerized.

"They take care of their mummies sometimes," I say, trying not to sound belittling or moralizing. "They go to bed without a fuss, even if they think it's too early."

Simon frowns. "Really?"

I nod solemnly. "Really."

He thinks it over, chewing his lip. "I don't want to give mommy a headache," he says then. I can tell he has no idea what a headache even is, but his serious face makes me smile.

"Want to bake cookies for her? Or don't big boys want to bake cookies anymore?"

"I want to bake cookies!" he says, his earlier enthusiasm coming back in a flash. "I'm not too big for cookies. Can we bake cookies?"

"We can," I promise him. "Go and give your mommy a kiss before she leaves. Then we can bake cookies."

He shoots me a radiant smile and rushes off, calling out to his mother.

"God," Rosalie whispers when Simon disappears inside the house.

I frown, worried I did something wrong. "What?"

She's emotional, and my fear of having made a colossal mistake grows.

"You are unbelievably perfect with children," she says. I can see tears in her eyes. "Do you have any idea?"

I shake my head. I just do what feels natural.

Rosalie swipes under her eyes carefully so she won't mess up her make-up. "God," she says again. "When you're with him, you change completely. It's like I've only just seen _you_ for the first time."


End file.
